Citation
Little folks' story album

Material Information

Title:
Little folks' story album
Creator:
Wall, H. M ( Lithographer )
Cassell Publishing Co. ( publisher )
Mershon Company Press ( Printer )
Place of Publication:
New York
Publisher:
Cassell Publishing Company
Manufacturer:
Mershon Company Press
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
156 p. : ill. ; 25 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Brothers and sisters -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1892 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1892 ( lcsh )
Baldwin -- 1892 ( local )
Genre:
Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- New York -- New York
United States -- New Jersey -- Rahway
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Conatins prose and verse.
General Note:
Cover chromolithographed by H.M. Wall, Brooklyn, N.Y.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026638091 ( ALEPH )
ALG4366 ( NOTIS )
18849360 ( OCLC )

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Full Text
Al

New YORK

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say
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COPYRIGHT 1892 BY CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY.

*



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































LITTLE FOLKS’
STORY ALBUM



NEW YORK
THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO.

31 EAST 17TH ST. (UNION SQUARE)







Copyricut, 1892, BY
CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY,

All rights reserved,

THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,

RAHWAY, N. J.











RE Ess

SLOiney

EOWKs.

ALBUM.

SS

“NAIL YOUR COLOURS TO THE MAST.”

= HE commander of the
(eas — ae first ship in which I

went to sea used to say
222°, to each of his midship-
men when they joined
“Nail your colours to the
mast, my lad, and fight
under them ”— meaning
that he was to maintain
his principles, if they
were true ones, at all cost, however teased,
bullied, or otherwise annoyed they might be by
their thoughtless messmates. What the com-
mander said to us, he said also to the ship’s boys
_ and lads when they first joined ; speaking to them
always as an affectionate father would to his sons.
Among the latter was Dick Harlow, a fine young
lad who joined the ship at Portsmouth when we
first fitted out. Though bright and intelligent, and
evidently good-natured, I never saw any one more
bullied and badgered than he was by the men
forward. I had often opportunities of observing
how he was treated, and was struck by the cool
way in which he bore it all; and though occa-
sionally the colour rose to his cheeks, his brow
remained as smooth as ever. Not a word of



complaint or retaliation escaped his lips. I was

for some time puzzled to know why a part of the
crew—for it was only a part—had singled him out

for scorn and ill-treatment, and it was not until he
had been sonie time on board that I discovered
the reason; and sad it was that such it should
have been. Dick had a Bible, given him by his
dying mother, and that Bible he read diligently
whenever he could find an opportunity, or, rather,
make an opportunity, for Dick was not one of
those fellows who declare that they like the Bible,
and yet excuse themselves from reading it by
saying that they cannot find time and opportunities
for doing so. Dick, however, would not have
opened his Bible when he was on the look-out or
engaged in duty ; he would have considered that it
was wrong to do so. When Dick had first come on
board, the commander had said to him,“ Nail your
colours to the mast, Harlow, and fight under them.
You understand me? remember that.”

“Yes, sir,’ answered Dick, touching his broad-
brimmed hat ; ‘‘ by God’s grace I hope to do so.”

The commander smiled. “You are right, my
lad ; put no confidence in yourself.”

“J don’t, sir,” answered Dick. “I know that if
I did I should often be steering a wrong course.”



10 “Nail your Colours to the Mast.”



The knowledge of this was the secret of Dick’s
strength.

Our ship—the Fora, a fine corvette of eighteen
guns—had been some time in commission, though
we had not met our enemy, when Commander
Crawford received orders to carry dispatches of
great importance from Gibraltar to England. He
was to do his utmost to avoid an encounter with an
enemy. The day after sailing we were becalmed ;
and there we lay on the smooth ocean, the ship
rolling from side to side until the yard-arms almost
touched the water; while the sun, from the unclouded
sky, sent down its beams with intense force on our
decks, making even us, accustemed as we were
to the warm temperature of the Mediterranean,
glad to seek the shady side of the deck. The
commander paced the poop, anxiously looking out
for a breeze, knowing as he did the importance of
making a quick passage. He did not look im-
patient, for-he had the habit of keeping his feelings
wonderfully under control.

Hour after hour passed away, and not a “ cat’s-
paw” played over the surface of the shining water.
For what we could tell, the calm might last for
several days. We had no steamers at that period in

the navy, or we might have wished ourselves on

board one, much as we might have disliked the idea
of serving in a “smoky steam-kettle,” as we learned
afterwards to call them, when the first few men-of-
war steamers were sent afloat.

Although the commander did not whistle for a
‘breeze himself, most of the officers and men did.
It was amusing to see them puffing out their cheeks,
as if that would have brought a wind had they
done so ever so much.

Happening to go forward, I saw Dick sitting in
a shady spot—for he was not in the watch on deck
—perseveringly reading his Bible, notwithstanding
the interruptions he received from some of his
shipmates.

“Let the saint alone,” said one; “he’s looking
to see how he can get the wind to blow;” and
similar remarks. Then one fellow would pretend
to tumble, and roll against him so as to fall over
the book ; and one, more ill-disposed than the rest,
at last gave him a box on the ear, while several
cried out to him to “stand up and fight, like a
man,” and the rest shouted, “ He hasn’t the heart
of a chicken!” when they saw him sitting quiet,
without taking notice of the remarks which had
been made.

I felt, I own, very much inclined to order the
men to let Dick alone; but I knew, for his own
sake, it would be better not to interfere, hoping, as
. Many others had done, that he would live out the
abuse.



All that night the calm continued. Next morn-
ing, just before sunrise, while the first lieutenant
and the watch were paddling about, with bare feet
and trousers tucked up, washing decks, the look-
out shouted, “A sail, on the larboard beam !”

“She wouldn’t be there without a wind,” observed
the first lieutenant. :

‘A few seconds afterwards we saw the long-
wished-for “ cat’s-paw.” playing over the ocean.
Quickly finishing the work we were about, the sails
were trimmed, and in less than ten minutes they
were filled by a breeze from the south’ard, and the
ship began to glide through the water. Hammocks
were piped up, and the commander made his
appearance on deck.

The second lieutenant went aloft with his spy-
glass, and on his coming down reported that the
stranger was either a heavy corvette or a frigate.
Whether friend or foe, it was impossible to say.

Every stitch of canvas the ship could carry was
now set, and her speed rapidly increasing, the water
foamed and hissed around her bows with a pleasant
sound. On we flew, hoping to keep ahead of the
stranger, although, from the courses we were re-
spectively steering, we neared each other. About
noon it was seen that she was a large ship, and by
the cut of her canvas she was pronounced to be
an enemy. Her size, however, was such that,
under other circumstances, the commander would
have hove to and fought her. Whether he could
avoid doing so now was from the first doubtful.
Still, ever mindful of his duty, he did his utmost to
escape a contest. :

The sails were wetted, the hammocks slung
below, and the men turned into them with shot in
their arms, and every other device was resorted to
to make the ship move along.

The officers looked as if they did not like this
running away, and the midshipmen expressed their
hope that, after all, we should have a battle.

Suddenly the commander, who had been keeping
his eye on the enemy, shouted out, “ Pipe ham-
mocks on deck again !”

We thought that meant something; still we
stood on. The enemy was on the larboard quarter.
Presently we saw her keep away ; a puff of white
smoke issued from her bows, and a shot came
flying towards us, falling into the water not five
fathoms off.

On this the commander ordered us to beat to
quarters ; the larboard guns were trained aft, and
we commenced firing, though our shot did no
damage to the enemy. Our sails were all the time
kept standing, so that we did not deviate from our
course.

Thus we ran on, receiving the fire of the enemy



“Nail your Colours to the Mast.” faders, II



.and firing in return ; and at length one of her shot
struck the main-yard, which it severely wounded,
and cut away some of our rigging. ,

The commander now gave the order, “In with
the studdin’-sails !”

We then knew that, being convinced that escape
was impossible, he was determined to fight. Sail
was rapidly reduced. Now hauling our wind, we
fired our whole broadside at the advancing enemy.

I must not describe the battle—it was the first I
had been in. Much as I had longed for it, I felt
very sick as I saw several of our poor fellows
knocked over. In a short time the enemy ranged
up upon our beam, when we perceived that her deck
was crowded with men, who began firing away at
us with musketry. Our men were falling fast. I
won’t say that they showed any disposition to
desert their guns—British seamen never do that—

but they could not help seeing that the result of _

the battle was doubtful. Soon afterwards, on
looking up, I saw that our colours, which had been
hoisted at the masthead, had beer shot away. The
next instant, however, I observed some one ascend-
ing the rigging, with a hammer slung by a lanyard
round his neck, and the colours under his arm; a
second glance showed me that the seaman was
Dick Harlow, his face as bright, and his look as
cheerful, as if about his ordinary duty. In spite of
the showers of shot flying around him, he reached
the masthead, and there, coolly hammering away,
he succeeded in nailing the colours to the mast.



As he descended, a cheer burst from the crew; and
firing their guns with renewed vigour, they shot
away the foretopmast of the enemy’s.ship, while
we could see that her mainmast and several other
spars were severely wounded.

In vain she tried to board us ; each attempt was
frustrated by the skill of our commander. Presently
her men were seen going aloft, when, hauling her
wind, she stood away under all the sail she could set.

As may be supposed, cheer upon cheer burst
from the lips of our crew. Much as our brave
commander would have liked to follow up the
enemy, had he not been compelled by the stern
necessities of duty to avoid a further contest, all
sail was set, and we once more stood on our course
towards England. -

The commander immediately sent for Dick
Harlow, and, taking him by the hand, said, “My
lad, you did a gallant deed just now, though you
did it without orders.”

“Yes, sir,’ answered Dick, touching his hat;
“but. you told me always to nail my colours to the
mast ; and I guessed that then was the time to do
so, that the enemy might understand that we were
not going to give in.”

I need not say that from that day forward not a
man on board dared even to sneer at Dick; and,
ever doing his duty in the sight of God and man,
at an early age he became the captain’s coxswain,
and, in course of time, a warrant-officer in the
service. K.











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































12 A Night on the Hillside.



A NIGHT ON THE HILLSIDE.

WAY ONG, long ago,
a . there lived two

ate little girls, called
Bel and Fan.
They were twins,
and were at first
so much alike
that to distin-
guish them their
’ nurse tied Bel’s
sleeves with blue
ribbons and Fan’s
withred. Asthey
grew bigger, the resemblance was not so strong.
Both had thick fair hair, large eyes, and the same
~ complexion, but Bel was taller and stouter, and
had not such a fine nose as Fan. Indeed, Fan
was the prettier of the two, only rather thin.

They never thought, however, of being pretty at
all; for, whatever their faults were—and they had
many—vanity was not one of them.

They lived with their uncle and aunts in a
Highland valley, among great wild hills. Such
a lovely wild place, full of rocks and trees just
made to be climbed, and the twins were excellent
at climbing. Their uncle was the proprietor of
the whole place, which was called Glenmorven.
The twins had a brother, called Tommy, and a
small brother and sister. They had been a long
time at Glenmorven—ever since they had been sent
home from India.

Glenmorven was a charming place for children
to live in—there was so much to see and to do
always. There was a clear trout stream rushing
at the foot of the field below the house; then there
were the hills, full of rocks and caverns and hawks’
nests; the great fertile garden; and last, though
not least, the sea-shore bu! mile and a half
distant. There were ponies to ride, and pets to
feed, and boats to paddle in, and fish to catch—in
fact, the list of occupations would be an endless
one. Enough; it was the most delightful place
children can imagine, and the twins were very
happy there.

They had had a governess for awhile, but this
particular summer, the adventures of which I
mean to relate, she had left them, partly because
the twins were getting too much for her, and
partly because her brother, the lately appointed
minister at Dunard, wanted her to live in his
manse. So the twins were at present. enjoying
a long holiday. They were perfectly free to
follow their own devices, as their two aunts were



very much occupied with their own affairs, and
they had outgrown the authority of the old Scotch
nurse who ruled in the nursery.

One day their aunts toldthem that their parentshad
arrived in England, and might soon be expected
at Glenmorven. The twins had not seen their
parents for so long that they could not recall their
features in the least. They knew that the pretty
presents they often got, the sandal-wood boxes and
carved ivory toys, came from them; and in the
time of Miss Murray, their governess, they had
written letters, beginning, “My dear Papa and
Mamma,” and ending, “Your dutiful daughters.”
But they. could not be expected to love such far-
away parents ; and the news of their approaching
visit, though it excited them a little at first, was
soon forgotten.

About a week after that the twins were up on the
hill making a dam, or rather, enclosing a pond,
where they intended to keep fish. After a time,
they felt hungry, and suspecting it was near dinner-
time, raced down the hill.

When they reached the avenue, they saw a dog-
cart, with a lady and a gentleman in it, standing
before the large green gate.

“ Here, you little girl! open the gate, will you?”
called the gentleman ; and as Bel held it open, he
threw her a sixpence, and drove on to the house.

Bel was very much astonished—not athaving been

‘told to open the gate, but at having a sixpence

thrown at her. Dirty and untidy as she generally
was, everybody knew her, far and wide, as Mr.
Farquhar’s niece, and she felt rather offended.

“ T wonder who those people can be, Fan?” she
said, showing the sixpence, which she immediately
flung to the ground contemptuously. ‘ Just fancy !
They threw that at me as if I were a beggar! They
must be Sassenachs.”

“Yes, I am sure they are. Very likely those
English people that Aunt Kate was visiting last ©
winter. That was the dog-cart and mare from
Dunard Inn, so they must have driven over the
hill.”

“ Let us go in by the kitchen, Fan, that we may
not meet them.”

Accordingly they went round by the back, and
found all the servants in an extraordinary bustle.
Nurse, who happened to be there, carried them off
in haste to the nursery, for she said their father and -
mother had just arrived that instant “frae the
Ingies,” and wanted to see them.

So it was their father and mother—Colonel and
Mrs. Farquhar—who had passed them on the road,



A Night on the Hillside. - 13



having come by a different route than was expected,
‘and having driven over the hill.

The twins felt much embarrassed at having to face
them, but when dressed nicely in white dresses with
coloured sashes, and their long hair combed out,
they looked so differently from the tinker girls





“What a lovely place this must be to live in !"
a Mrs. Seton.

“Oh ! itis well enough,” returned Mrs. Farquhar? ;
“but I should soon be bored to death here. I
hope the colonel will not insist on my accompany-
ing him here for the longer visit he speaks of,”



“(| WONDER WHO THOSE PEOPLE CAN BE, FAN?” (p. 12.)

in torn frocks, that they hoped their parents would
not recognise them.

Their father, a tall man, with a sunburnt face,
kissed them as they entered the drawing-room, and
then Aunt Kate said—

“There’s your mother, dears,” and pushed them
' towards a beautiful lady lying on the sofa—oh ! so
beautifully dressed! who kissed them languidly.
The other children were in the room, too, all dressed
out in their best “bibs and tuckers,” in honour
of their parents’ arrival.

Colonel and Mrs. Farquhar stayed fora few weeks
at -Glenmorven, during which time the house was
nearly full of visitors ; and the twins tried to keep
out of sight and out of the way as much as possible.
Their father had always a kind word for them, but
of their beautiful mother they stood in great awe.
As Mrs. Farquhar was very short-sighted, and very
much taken up with the visitors, she might never
have discovered the wild ways of her little daughters,
but for the following incident :—

It was two days before that fixed for the colonel’s
departure, and Mrs, Farquhar and a friend of
hers, a Mrs. Seton, were strolling by the bank of
the river.

“While your children are here, Charlotte, I
should think you would wish to return.”

“Oh, Leonora! I wished so much to speak to
you about my girls, but have never had an oppor-
tunity. The colonel won’t let me find fault with
his sisters, but I must say that the education
of Isabel and Mane has been shamefully
neglected.”

. While conversing, the ladies had arrived at the
banks of a strearr _ dich crossed the path. This
was the same “ burii” that came down the hillside.
Though now only a streamlet, in winter it was quite
a torrent, and had cut deeply into the sandy terrace,
so that its banks near the river were many feet
high: It, too, had its little grassy meadow in the
summer-time, and this place was one of the twins’
favourite playgrounds. They had built a little hut
against one of the steep banks, and here they often
played at keeping house. Near the hut a peat fire
was now burning, its smoke curling gracefully in
the still air. Over the fire an untidy childish figure
was bending. A few paces off, another child, the
remains of an old straw hat on its head, was wash-
ing some objects, which looked like potatoes, in the
stream.



14 A Night on

the Hillside.



When she came suddenly on this scene, Mrs.
Farquhar had recourse, as usual, to her eye-glass.

“Took here, Leonora!” she exclaimed, “here is
something very interesting, I declare. I think it
must be a gipsy encampment.”

On examining the supposed gipsies more closely,
an unpleasant suspicion entered her mind, and she
would gladly have turned away. But too late ; for
just then the child at the fire raised her head,
and displayed the rough hair and very grimy face
of Bel!

“ Heavens! Isabel,” exclaimed her mother, “what
a fright you are! What on earth are you doing?”

Bel stood up, dreadfully startled, and very much
inclined to run away. .

“Tam only roasting potatoes,” she stammered,
“and Fan is washing them.”

Mrs. Farquhar turned pale. Mrs. Seton laughed
good-naturedly. Meantime Fan had also stood up,
letting her potatoes roll into the stream.

“There, Leonora!” exclaimed Mrs.. Farquhar,
pathetically, “you see what training my children
are getting here!”



Mrs. Farquhar with all particulars about Madame
Savan’s school.

When they were out of. sight, Bel and Fan
returned to their potatoes. But Bel’s had burnt to.
cinders, and Fan’s had been carried away by the
stream. :

So their little feast was spoilt.

Next morning the twins were sent for to go to their
mamma’s room. They felt rather frightened ; but
they need not have been, for their mamma sent for
them in order to give them some pretty presents she
had selected for them out of a box of things she
had brought from India—sweet sandal-wood fans,.
baskets, and some ivory toys. She told them she
had brought them some trinkets and some more fine:
dresses, but these she would not give them at
present, as they were thrown away at Glenmorven.

The twins were delighted with the fans and.
baskets, and spent a great part of the day in sniff-
ing them to enjoy their sweet smell.

Next morning every one was up very early to be.
in time for the steamer. Mrs. Seton and her maid:
were also going, so there was quite a large party

“Oh! I assure you, I don’t feel the least ' to convey to the shore.



S WRN
SSG |Q|Q__|_GAQA
SSS

-















“(A GIPSY ENCAMPMENT.”

shocked,” said Mrs. Seton. “When my sisters and |

I were young, in Ireland, we used to play about
just the same. A year or two at Madame Savan’s
will soon. put all that to-rights.”

The ladies then turned away and resumed their

The twins went to the shore to see their parents
off, and could not -help shedding a few tears as.
they watched the steamer lessening in the distance.
But their tears soon dried, and by the time. the
steamer had disappeared they seemed to feel happier

walk and conversation; Mrs. Seton supplying | than they had done for a long time. Now they



A Night on the Hillside.

could play how and where they pleased ; now they
could ride whenever they felt inclined ; now they
could climb trees again ; now they would not require
to be always trying to keep out of sight, nor
be forced to slip in and out by the back entrance,
feeling as if they were culprits. No; now they
would feel at home again at Glenmorven, as they
thad done for so many years. For the next week
or two they were indeed perfectly happy. All their
- old liberty was restored, and to make up for their
late discomfort, their uncle and aunts indulged them
in every way.

The surprise and distress of the twins were great
when, one unhappy day, a letter came from their
mamma to say that, thinking Isabel and Frances
now too old for a governess, she had resolved to
send them to school; that she had found an ad-
mirable school for them at Brighton, and that she
had already arranged with Madame Savan that
they should go to her at once. She wished them,
therefore, to start for the south by the first steamer,
under the care of a servant, unless, indeed, Aunt
Kate, who had promised her a visit, could come
now and take charge of them. She herself would
meet them in London, and get their necessary out-
fit before going on to school. '

Mrs. Farquhar had all this so well arranged, that
the only matter to be discussed was whether Aunt
Kate could possibly start on so shortanotice. But
seeing the despair depicted on the faces of the twins,
Aunt Kate resolved to go—for she could not bear to
think of letting them go alone—so far, and among
strangers.

Poor Fan! poor Bel! so this was the end
of it all! For this they had rebelled against Miss
Murray! Were ever children so unfortunate? All
they wanted was to be let alone; and now they
were to be sent off to a hateful school, to be made
to learn music and languages, and stuff of that sort,
whether they would or no. ;

It was at breakfast-time that this dreadful letter
was read, and as soon as possible the twins slipped
out into the garden. They went down to the far
corner of the orchard, and got up into a pear-tree.
This tree was called the umbrella-tree, because its
lower branches were thick and strong near the
trunk, forming delightful seats, while its upper
branches drooped all round, and hid any one who
might be sitting there. Here-the twins seated
themselves and began their lamentations.

“ Oh dear ! oh dear!” cried Bel; “itis too cruel
of mamma to take us away! Why couldn’t she
leave us here?”

“Oh ! what shall we do?” sobbed Fan; “ it will
be much worse than having a governess ! Oh, I wish

‘we had been good when Miss Murray was here !”

15

“If we could only miss the steamer,” said
practical Bel, after reflecting a little, “that would
give us, at any rate, a week longer here. Let us
think of some plan.”

“Oh, Bel, I’m ready to do anything! Let us run
away to the hills, where nobody can find us.”

“But we might die of hunger, Fan, and our
bodies would be found like those of the Babes in
the Wood. No, we cannot do that.”

“Well, let us go off in the boat to old Rory, who
lives in the island. I am sure he would hide us
and give us food.”

“Yes, Iam sure he would; but do you think we
could row so far, Fan? Besides, the people on the
shore would see us and tell where we had gone.”

“Why, then,” said Fan, after a pause, “I can
think of nothing else, unless we go to the Big
Cave.”

“That's the very thing! Fan, we'll go to the Big
Cave! They'll never be able to find us there ; and
I think we had better just set off at once and look
at it.” -

So the pair, without loss of time, jumped down
from the tree, and set off up the hillside.

The cave was pretty far off and rather difficult
to find, for a number of large stones had fallen
down from a steep cliff above it, and nearly hidden
the entrance—one of them, indeed, had almost
blocked it up. The children had been there but
once before, and then had not examined it atten-
tively. Great, therefore, was their disappointment,
when they-at last discovered it, to find it quite
different from what. they had expected. Its sides
were dripping with water, and a little stream ran
through the middle of its floor. They felt certain
there must be lizards there, if not serpents! No,
it would not do to hide in, even for a few hours ;
they must think of something else.

Down the hill they slowly came, in a very melan-
choly state of mind.

On the hillside, a little way above the stables,
was a large sheep-pen, or “fank.” Near this stood
a ruinous hut, or bothy, used by the men who
watched the sheep when they were gathered for
shearing or other purposes. When the twins came
to this hut they stood still and looked at one
another. ° i

“I declare, Fan,” said Bell, “ here is just the
very place we want. Let us go in and examine it.”

On going in they found that the floor was clean
and dry, and there was a heap of straw in one
corner. The door, indeed, was rather off the hinges,

,and of the original two small panes of glass which
formed the window but part of one remained ;
but the hardy twins found the place delightful,
and made up their minds at once that it would



16

A Night on the Hillside.



do. So they resolved to hide themselves here
the night before the steamer sailed, and not make
their appearance until they were sure she was
gone.

As they had read many tales of “ barring out” at
school, and remembered how the boys had supplied
themselves beforehand with provisions and other
things, they resolved to do the same, and to
begin at once to lay in their stores.

They became quite cheerful over their project ;
and as soon as they got to the house, they went at
once to the pantry and removed all the candle-
ends they could find in the bed-room candlesticks.
They then went to their hut near the river, where
they had a box of matches, a frying-pan, and some
other little things that might be useful; but they
did not dare to return to the. hut on the hill that
day, for fear of attracting notice.

They had no difficulty, in the course of the next
few days, in collecting provisions. Oat-cake and
meal they easily got from cook, as they were in
the habit of coming to her for food for their pets.
There was always a large quantity of potatoes
kept in an open out-house, so they easily got a
basketful of them. Sticks and peat were not
forgotten. :

At last, the last day before the sailing of the
steamer arrived. Bel and Fan had finished all
their preparations, and felt restless and anxious, and
kept wandering aimlessly about. They went to
their aunts’ sitting-room, and found them busy
making up warm cloaks for the travellers. As soon
as they went in Aunt Kate called out—

“ Now, children, do keep away; don’t you see
how busy we all are here?”

So they went up-stairs to the nursery, and kissed
and said good-bye to the children, for they felt that
they might not see them for some days. Then
they wandered out again, but felt no inclina-
tion for their usual- play, and at last resolved to go
and visit the horses. They found the ponies quite
near the house.

“ Fan,” said Bel, “I think it would be very nice
to have a last ride after tea.”

“T think so, too, Bel, and then perhaps we would
not feel so dull.”

So at tea-time they told-nurse that they were
going to take a ride up the glen.

During tea, when nurse was not looking, they
kept putting bread-and-butter into their pockets,
until at last nurse, who was angry at having to
go down-stairs to fetch more, said—

“Ye are mair like greedy gleds than young ladies,
and ye’ll ha’e to mind yer mainers when ye go to
scule.” .

When tying on their riding-skirts and making



ready to leave, they felt a strong wish to go and

kiss their uncle and aunts, for they began to feel

quite low-spirited and disinclined to carry out their

plan; but their spirits revived when they found

themselves cantering merrily up the glen. The

evening was very hot and still, and soon it began to

grow dark. The twins thought it was time to-
return, so they rode slowly back.

At some distance from the stables they dis-
mounted, and led the ponies up the hill in the
direction of the hut. On reaching it they un-
saddled and unbridled the horses, and let them
loose on the hillside. The saddles, Bel said, would
make excellent pillows, and the riding-skirts would
do for blankets.

It had become so dark that they had to feel their
way inside the hut to the corner where the straw
was. Here they sat down, hardly daring to speak
or breathe, for fear of being overheard.

After a time, hearing no sound but the noise of
the “burn,” they became a little bolder. It was
very tiresome sitting still there in the dark, so
they thought they might as well lie down. They
arranged the saddles to put their heads on, lay
down on the straw, and spread the riding-skirts
over them. Unfortunately, they had not thought
of providing any shawls or cloaks. As they were
lying down, Fan said—

“Don’t you think, Bel, we might eat some of our
bread-and-butter? I am very hungry, for I hardly
ate a bite at tea.”

“Oh no,” said the prudent Bel, “we must not
begin to eat sosoon. You see, we may have to stay
here for a day or two ; sometimes the steamer is a
day late.”

Fan lay quiet for a time, and then began again.

“Oh Bel! I wish we might light a candle, it is so
very dark.”

“We dare not light one yet, for fear the light of
it should be seen, but when it gets later we can do ~
it. Here, if you are frightened, lie quite close
to me, and we can then put one skirt over the other,
which will be warmer.”

Both were silent for a time, until Fan called out
suddenly and hysterically—

“Bel! Bel! what noise is that ?”

Both sat up and listened, but found that it was
only rain pattering on the roof. The night had
quite changed, and it was now raining heavily.
The girls lay down again.

“ Bel,” said Fan, in an anxious tone, after a pause,
“ what if mad Christopher should come across the
hill, and should come in here? You know nurse
often told us we should be sure to meet him if we
ran about on the hills.”

“But we never did meet him,” said Bel, calmly ;



A Night on the Hillside. 7



“and I am sure nurse only said that to frighten
us, and to keep us from going too far away.
But really, I think, Fan, we might light one
of our candles now,” she continued ; “it is such
a bad night, I am sure no one will be out; and
I think we might eat some of our bread-and-butter
too.”

Fan quite rallied at hearing these proposals.
Bel got up and groped about until she found the
match-box and a piece of candle. The first two or

three matches she lit went out, but on Fan holding .

up a skirt to screen off the draught, one burnt long
enough to light the candle. When it was lit, they
discovered that, with all .
their forethought, they
had forgotten to provide
any kind of candlestick.
However, they managed
at last to fix the candle
on a projecting piece of
stone in the rough wall ;
then Bel hung up one of
the skirts overthe window
to make all safe. After
this, they shared between

them the _ bread-and-
butter that was in Fan’s
pocket.

They felt, too, that they
were really heroines,
spending a night alone
in this lonely hut. They ¢
"had actually begun to #
doze, and had forgotten
the hardness of the





shivering with cold, and they had now but one
skirt to cover themselves with. Each by this time
had secretly resolved that she would not pass such
another cold wakeful night in the bothy, but go
back to the house some time to-morrow: making
sure first, of course, that the steamer had taken its
departure.

They began, indeed, to be very miserable, for
sleep was impossible. Fan felt inclined to cry, but
Bel tried to comfort her.

“If we can only manage to stay here till the
steamer sails we shall be all right; and I am sure
it must be near morning now, Fan; and besides, I
don't think you would
care to go home now,
while it is so dark!”

“Oh, no! no!” said
Fan, with a sob; “we
might meet mad Chris-
topher, you know.”

At that moment there
was a loud knock at the

door,
“Oh! oh! it’s mad
Christopher!” shrieked

Fan, crouching up into
the corner; “he'll kill
us! he’ll murder us !”

Bel, losing all presence
of mind, began scream-
= ing too.

The door was violently
= pushed open. The girls
=== s_— covered their faces and

23: shrieked with terror.



saddles, when Bel sud-
denly started up, saying
something cold had touched her hand. Bel had
strong nerves, and was not a bit afraid of ghosts ;

but she had heard of polecats that came to steal

the chickens, and she thought that this must have
been the nose of one.

The candle was just going out, so she got up to
light another.

“Oh, dear me! what shall we do when the
candles are done?” she groaned; “the draught
makes them run down at once.” She had hardly
lain down again when she felt a cold drop on her
face, and discovered that the rain -had soaked
through the roof and was dropping down upon
their bed.

So'the twins were obliged to get up, and drag
the straw, saddles, and all, to another corner of
the hut.

After arranging their bed anew, they lay down
again, but not to sleep. Poor thin Fan was

““ COLLECTING PROVISIONS "



“Bel! Fan! my poor
children!” exclaimed a
kind voice they knew; and looking up, the twins
saw their uncle, dripping with rain from head to
foot, even his grey hair quite wet.

“ Don’t be frightened, dears,” he continued ;
see it is your old uncle. Thank God! you are safe,

(p. 16).

“you
”

, he added, gravely.

“Oh, uncle! dear uncle! we were so frightened !
we thought it was mad Christopher! we'll never,
never do so again!” they both cried, getting up and
running to him, and clinging frantically to his wet
coat.

He kissed them warmly, and then said: “ Re-
main ~here for a minute, my dears,” and went to
the door. Here he shouted to some one at a
short distance, and then returned, soon followed
by the coachman, carrying a lantern and some
shawls.

“Here, children, wrap yourselves well up in ee
warm shawls.”

B



18 A Night on the Hillside.



Bel was rather frightened when she noticed how

very white Fan looked and how she shivered ; but
she shook just as much herself, though she was not
quite so pale.

“What are those things in the corner?” asked
their uncle. “Ah! saddles, are they? Well, they
and the riding-skirts are safe enough here till
morning. But it was fortunate for you, girls, that
when you covered the window you forgot to do so
to the door ; for it was the light shining through its
chinks that guided me here.”

The repentant girls were carried through the rain
to the farm-yard, where their uncle stopped a
moment to leave word

Then Aunt Kate went with the children to their
room, to see that they got quickly into bed, and
while helping them to undress, she told them of the
dreadful alarm they had all been in, quite believing
at last that some terrible accident must have
happened. Bel and Fan began to cry anew at
hearing this; and they wondered very much how
it was that they had never thought of the distress
their disappearance might cause. -

All this trouble came from-the twins trying to
avoid obeying their mother’s orders, and forget-

| ting what they had been often taught to repeat :
_ “Honour thy father and mother,” or, in other words,

“Obey your parents.”



that they had been
found—for all the
Glenmorven people
were afoot seeking
them on the hillsides
or by the river—and
then the party went.
on to the house. - Not
a word of reproach
did their kind uncle
utter for all the
trouble and anxiety
they had caused him
from the time nurse
had announced that
it was far past ten
o’clock and that the
twins had not come

Ta tl
ii HA i
Ah uth a i
A a PH

i th

home. Bel and Fan
could have borne
scolding and _ re-

proaches—indeed,
they had quite ex-
pected them—but this . :
kindness and forbearance quite overcame them,
and filled them with remorse.

“Oh, uncle! can you forgive us? we are so sorry!”
sobbed Fan, as he carried her along.

“ Of course I can, dear ; don’t distress yourself so ;

much. Iam only too thankful to have found you.
It was a little mistake, and I see that you are very
sorry for it.”

As they neared the house, they met some of the
servants, anxious for news, and in the hall nurse
and their aunts were waiting to receive them.
Aunt Margaret took Fan out of Mr. Farquhar’s
arms, and nurse took charge of Bel. Then their
aunts took the twins into the warm parlour, took off
their wet shawls, and then kissed and embraced the
girls tearfully. If they had at first felt rather in-
clined to scold them, the pale and tear-stained faces
of the children made them change their. minds.



IN THE ‘BOTHY.”

Aunt Kate now
kissed the children
and said good-night ;
and they were not
many minutes in their
warm beds—oh! so
different from the
damp straw and hard -
saddles — when they
fell sound asleep. So
sound, indeed, that it
was only with diffi-
culty and a good deal
of shaking that nurse
could wake them next





























morning.
But though they
felt very stiff and

sleepy, remembering

last night, they were
- determined to be very

good to-day. So they

got up at once, were

quickly dressed,
| breakfasted, and ready to set off to the shore. All
the people about the place had come to bid them
good-bye ; and when they got to the village, the
inhabitants were all standing at their doors for the
same purpose.

A little crowd even followed them to the shore,
where the boat was waiting. “Aunt -Margaret
kissed them, their uncle lifted them into the boat,
helped Aunt Kate in, and then followed himself,
to see them all right on board the steamer ; and so
they started for school.

School-life, after all, was not so bad as they
expected, and when, at the Midsummer holidays,
they again returned to’the highlands, they were
able to laugh at the remembrance of their
fright in the bothy, and wonder how they could
have been so foolish as to have tried to shirk their
duty.







The Results of Playing Truant. 19





THE RESULTS OF PLAYING TRUANT.
PART I.

EAR me!”
cried
Freddy
Faulkner,
“1 wish
there was
no school
to-day.”
Freddy
had his
bag full
; of books
‘and din-
wi, ner ‘bas-
AE ket, which
his kind
mother
had put
into his
hand just
“as he had
expressed
the very
. indolent
wish which opens our story.. Mrs. Faulkner’s only
reply was, “ Make haste, Freddy, or you will be
late. Mind you study hard, my boy.”
' But Freddy was no sooner out of his mother’s
sight, than he threw himself down under a tree, and
exclaimed, “I wish I could stay here allday. It is
too bad to have to go to school such a bright
summer’s morning! I wish I were a robin, then I





should not have to sit in a close musty room, with
nothing but maps to look at. How I wish I lived on
an island like Robinson Crusoe. Then there would
be no school or schoolmaster to plague me, and no
compound division sums to worry me. It will be so
warm and tiresome in school ; it will be no harm if I
do not go to-day. If mother only knew how much

_I should enjoy a day in the woods, I am sure she

would not mind this once. It is so cool and
beautiful here, I am sure she would not mind my
enjoying myself.”

So Freddy reasoned, trying hard to make wrong
appear right. It was a lovely scene upon which
Freddy gazed, and a pleasant sight enough to one
whose conscience was at rest. The bank on which
he now wandered was covered with foxgloves,
and near was.a deep pond spangled with water-
lilies.

“How lovely to dabble my feet in this cool
water!” and Freddy at once took off his shoes
and stockings, suiting the action to the thought.

“So you are playing the truant !”

Freddy sprang upon his feet with a bound, to
face a boy some years older than himself—a boy
who lived in the village, but with whom his mother
had forbidden him to associate.

“Hullo, Faulkner ! won’t you just catch it!
I go to tell the schoolmaster.”

“Jim!” cried Freddy, in the ‘greatest alarm,
“you never would be such a sneak. I’m sure I
would not do such a mean thing to you for the
whole world!”

“Tt was only my fun, boy ; I think you are a

Off



20

The Results of Playing Truant.



plucky youngster zo¢ to go to school to-day. But
you don’t mean to stay here all day? What do you
say to going fishing with me and my brothers ?”

“T should like it very much, Jim; but I don’t
think my mother would let me go.”

Jim gave a great coarse laugh, and cried out,
“You young innocent! Did your mother give you
leave to be in the woods this morning. Come
along, and make a day of it. You need not go home
till night.” ;

Freddy hesitated, and then putting on his shoes
and stockings, prepared to go with Jim. Freddy
had taken the first wrong step, and now found it
hard to turn round to the right road again.

Jim’s brothers welcomed Freddy boisterously,
and declared if they were Freddy, they would run
away from school every day. ’Twas folly to be
shut up ina close room all day.

Freddy so enjoyed himself, that for a ieee time
he ceased to think how he had obtained such
pleasure.

When they had reached what the lads knew to
be good fishing-ground, the boat was pulled on
shore, and Freddy lay full length upon the grass.

“No one will pass and see me,” he thought.
“T must be a good way from home. But oh! how
hungry I am. I don’t think Jim or his brothers
brought anything with them to eat. Shall I
have to share my dinner with them? I could eat
that and more myself.”

Just then Jim came to where Freddy was lying,
and said, “ Come, a boy, help me to make a fire
to cook our dinner.”

“T am so glad, Jim. I was ae thinking how
hungry I was. But I did not see any provisions
in the boat.”

Jim seemed to think this speech of Freddy’s very
amusing, for he again laughed boisterously.

Freddy was very pleased at the idea of cooking
and eating their dinner in the open air. He had
read of such pleasures, but to.partake of them had
~ been beyond his expectations.

The fire was burning brightly when Tom and
Sam—Jim’s two brothers—made their appearance:

“ What luck ?” cried Jim.

For answer, Tom pulled from his cap several
large potatoes, which he threw into the fire. Then
Sam drew out of his pocket a fine hare, which he
proceeded to skin.

Jim had run towards the boat when he saw the
hare, and now brought forward an old tin saucepan,
into which Sam threw the hare. And then he de-
liberately drew forth some onions from his other
pocket.

_“ Now for some water, Jim, and we shall have a
dinner fit for a king.”



Freddy felt-he should like to ask them how they
came by the potatoes, hare, and onions, but he did
not like to. He remembered having heard these
boys were not honest, so he secretly resolved not to
eat any.

“Now, youngster,” cried Jim, “let us begin on
your dinner whilst ours is cooking. Share and
share alike—that’s fair, eh?”

Freddy produced his basket, and the contents
so rapidly disappeared that Freddy had very little
chance of securing even a small portion of it to
himself.

“T must eat some of it,” he thought, “I am so
very hungry; besides, it smells so good I could
not resist.”

So Freddy ate, and even laughed heartily when
Sam boldly showed how the dinner had been
stolen from a crusty old farmer in the neighbour-
hood.

Freddy spent the afternoon much as he had
spent the morning—lying lazily on the grass. He
lay for a long time, and then began to think it must
be getting late.

“Oh dear!” he thought, “I hope those boys will
soon come back and row me home. It will be late,
and mother will be frightened ; besides, she will
know I have not been to school.”

Freddy now began to be veryuneasy. The ban

had been gone a long time, and there was no sign

of their appearing.

“We are going ‘land fishing,” Jim had said to
Freddy: ‘You wait here till we come back.” __

But now it began to grow dark, and Freddy was
terribly frightened.

“T will try and row myself back,” he cried,
desperately. “The boys must have gone off and
forgotten me entirely.”

Freddy rose to his feet, and was rejoiced to see
the tide had risen so as nearly to float the boat.
“T will sit in it, anyhow,’ he said ; “if the boys
come back, I will persuade them to come off at
once.”

But the tide rose higher and higher, and still no
boys appeared. Freddy saw the oars were in the
boat, and he -thought he could manage to row
himself, if the worst came and he was left alone
much longer.

“ Hie, there! stop!”

Freddy looked towards the spot from whence the
cries proceeded, and saw the three boys running
furiously towards the bank of the river, and two
men shouting and running after them.

Freddy was too frightened to know quite what
he was doing, but he caught up one of the oars,
and giving the boat a push, he managed to set it
floating towards the middle of the stream.’











































































































































































































y
i,

, : CL We “yN y ,
PLING HUGE?

PREPARATIONS FOR DINNER. , (See p, 20 )





22 _ The Results of Playing Truant.



Then Freddy heard the three boys crying wildly

to him to come back, but he was unable to do so,
for the boat was drifting faster and faster away
from the spot where they stood. Next, he saw
the two men come up and roughly seize the boys.
One, Freddy saw, was a policeman !

“Stop! stop! you young thief!” the other cried,
shaking his fist in the direction of the drifting
boat.

But Freddy was now terrified beyond measure.
If he had dared to return, he had now no power
to doso. The boat was rapidly floating with the
tide.

“Oh, mother! mother!” wailed Freddy, “how
frightened you will be! Whenever shall I reach
home?”

Alas! poor Freddy, it will be many a day before
you see your fond mother again.



PART II.

_Not once did Mrs. Faulkner lie down the night
succeeding the day Freddy had played the truant.
When tea-time passed and no uaeady, Mrs.
Faulkner became alarmed.

“ Susan,” she said to her faithful servant, “go to
the school-house and see if Freddy is still there.”

But who shall paint her consternation when
Susan returned with the tidings that Freddy had
not been at school that day.

Freddy’s mother sat listening with an aching
heart throughout the night, hoping every moment
her boy would return.

The next morning she did receive tidings, but
only such as made her more and more anxious for
her boy’s safety.

The news was brought her by a policeman, who
had the three boys—Freddy’s companions of the
day before—in charge for robbing a farmer.

“You say my boy is a thief!” cried the half
frantic mother.

“T don’t know that he actually stole, but he was

with them who did,” replied the policeman.

“‘ And where is he? surely not in prison ?”

“ Not he, ma’am ; but I am almost sorry he is not,
for then you would know he was safe. Now, I
cannot say what has become of him.”

The policeman then proceeded to tell Mrs.
Faulkner how Freddy had been seen drifting
along with the tide in an old leaky boat; that
though some fishermen had gone in Pern
nothing had as yet been heard ce tpe boy or

- boat.

We must now leave the hone pean mother to
see what had become of Freddy. :

When Freddy found himself drifting with the



tide, he was so frightened that he let the sculls,
with which he had been attempting to steer the
boat, fall from his nervous hands. :

“Oh! what will my mother think!” wailed
Freddy. “Mother! mother! shall I ever see you
again?”

Freddy threw himself down into the bottom of
the boat and cried as if his heart would, break.
Then he fell fast asleep. When he awoke it was
morning, and the boat was rocking gently on the
sea, but no land was visible. Outwards, onward
drifted the boat, and the sea-birds came flocking
and uttering harsh cries, as they circled round poor
Freddy’s head.

’“ They are mocking me in my sorrow,” thought
Freddy. “How hungry I am! shall I die of
hunger, I wonder, as I have often read of ship-
wrecked sailors doing?”

Freddy was only a little boy, and his faner
made him cry.

Towards noon Freddy saw the sails of a ship.
At first he shouted, but no one heard. Then he
waved his jacket, and at last, to his joy, saw a
boat being lowered from the ship.

When the captain of the ship heard Freddy’s
story, he first ordered some food to be given him,
to which Freddy did good justice.

His hunger satisfied, Freddy ventured to ask the
captain when he thought he could send him
home?

“I cannot put you ashore, my boy,” replied the
captain kindly enough, “my ship is on the way to
China, and we shall be away four years /”

“ But I must go home,” almost shrieked Freddy,

ee mother will not know what has become of
me.”

“T am sorry for you, my boy ; the only cians
for you isif I should meet with a vessel home-
ward bound, and then I. would put you aboard.
But do not hope too much from this ; the chances
are I shall not meet with a vessel, and then you
must go the voyage. I am without a cabin-boy,
and as idleness will only make you think more of .
your troubles, I shall expect you to work whilst you
remain aboard my ship.”

«“ Four years /” was all Freddy could say. It
seemed more than the poor, miserable, home-sick
boy could endure. How bitterly he was being
punished for his one day’s playing truant !

Freddy covered up his white face and cried, oh,
so bitterly! Then for many days Freddy was very
ill. Ashe lay allalone in his dark cabin, he thought
he must die. How Freddy longed to lie in his

‘mother’s arms, and hear her Da to God on his

behalf. s
But Freddy did not die ; he became quite well,





—

The Results of Playing Truant. 23



but he found he had to work very hard as a cabin-
boy. Poor Freddy would much rather have been
at school, working even compound division sums,
than having to obey the orders of any sailor who
might need his services.

As month followed month, and no homeward-
bound ship appeared, Freddy gave up all hope of
being sent home.

I must not forget to tell you of one very exciting
adventure Freddy met with on this voyage. They
were nearing China, when Freddy one morning saw
the captain looking through his glass a long, long
time.

He saw the mate go up to the captain, and heard
him say— ~

“ What is it, captain ? Be ‘

“There is a vessel chasing us,” said the captain,
in a low voice ; “don’t alarm the men, but we must
make the most of a fair wind.”

But it was no secret long, for suddenly one of the
sailors sang out, “Sail ho!”

The sailors now all saw her, and seemed to
know in a moment what it meant.

Freddy saw the sailors collect in a group, as they
looked very anxiously at the approaching vessel.

“What is it? Why are the sailors looking
so frightened and anxious?” asked Freddy of an
old sailor who had often been kind to him. “ Per-
haps it is a vessel going to England, and then
I should go home.”

“Not it, boy. That be a pirate ship. Let her
only come alongside. of us, and there will be no
going home for any of us.”

“What will they do with us?” asked Freddy,
with trembling lips.

“Murder every mother’s son of us ! -! Dead men
tell no tales. They would never risk letting us go

and telling of them, and so getting them punished:” .

“There it is!” cried all. the crew, as with one
voice.

Freddy looked, and saw it was a black flag which
the pirate ship had hoisted.

“Tt be only three or four miles away from us,”

. groaned the sailor who had given the information
_ to Freddy.

“Can we not get away?” asked Freddy:
“Tf we can outsail her we live ; if not, we-die!”
Freddy could ask no more questions, for now
every one was busy doing his utmost to keep the
good ship from falling into the hands of the pirates.
The wind had freshened into a gale.
You should have seen how the men flew to obey

_ the captain’s orders.

The captain looked anxiously at his masts. They

were bending like whips already. It seemed a-
‘miracle they did not go overboard. Never before





had the captain so much canvas on in so heavy a
gale.

“She gains on us!” Freddy heard him say to
the mate; “we must carry more sail. Get on the
studding-sails!” he shouted.

It was fearfully dangerous work for the sailors,
but they sprang up the: shrouds like cats.

Then there were a few moments of deep
suspense.

The captain looked on eagerly at the advancing
pirate ship. “Courage, boys!” he cried at last ;
“the ship no longer gains on us.”

What an hurrah went up from every throat ! The
ship flew on, and the pirate ship after her. Then
Freddy heard the captain say the danger was over
—the pirate ship was so far astern she could no
longer be seen.

This was the most exciting adventure Freddy
met with on his long voyage. He had full expe-
rience of storms, and was very nearly shipwrecked.
He saw many strange places and strange people,
but all the time his heart ached to see his fond
mother once more.

Mrs, Faulkner had heard no word from Fred¢ey.
The vessel which carried a letter from him when
he reached China, was lost.

One night Mrs. Faulkner was sitting alone,
thinking sorrowfully of her lost boy. “I shall
never see him again—he is dead!” she thought.
“Rover! Rover! what ails the dog?” she cried.

The dog which had belonged to Freddy had
suddenly set up a loud bark, hough till now he
had been quietly lying at Mrs. Faulkner’s feet.
Then she heard Susan open the front door, and
the dog barked more furiously than ever.

“Mother! mother!” In another moment two
arms were round her neck, and the mother’s tears
were falling in showers upon> her boy’s face.
Rover jumped upon him, barking his welcome.

When it became known in the village that
Freddy had returned, there was great excitement,
and every one came to bid him welcome home
once more.

The first night of Freddy’s return, the mother
and son sat together long into the night—Freddy
on a stool at his mother’s feet. Very few words
were spoken, but Freddy knew his disobedience
was forgiven.

‘Once his mother said to him, “ God aways
works the best way, my Freddy. Perhaps nothing
else would have saved you from falling into evil
ways. You began your first false step by playing
the truant. Who knows whether your bad com-
panions of that day might not have led you on
to commit worse sin? They are in prison now,
for being concerned in a burglary.”



24

Pretty Polly Pippin.


































a

cried, she
never com-
plained. If

you laid her
on her back,
or on her face,
if you made
her stand, or
tried to get her
to walk, it was
always the
same, she
neither mur-
mured nor
fretted, she
wore a bright
and smiling
face, looking
straight at you
with her ear-

nest but rather.

staring eyes.
She was not
the least like
her mamma.
Her mamma
was dark afd
pale, with an
anxious little
face, and, I
am afraid, an
anxious little

heart. Her mamma too was very particular,
even fidgety, when things were not exactly to

het liking.

HE had blue eyes, and golden hair, and
meee. rosy, dimpled cheeks. She was cer- | this beautiful doll-baby of hers.
JO tainly very pretty. Then, too, she was
good—she was very good—she never

SAAMI

Tai

SS

PRETTY POLLY PIPPIN.

fi}



‘WHAT LONG TALKS THEY HAD TOGETHER” (J, 25), °





In short, she was a perfect contrast to this baby,

’ The baby was three months old, the mamma
was ten years; er name was Ella, her baby’s,

Polly Pippin.
Preity Polly
Pippin she was
always called.

Ellahad her-
self given her
the name, and
certainly if
ever a baby
doll deserved
to have the
word “ pretty”
applied to it,
this baby of
Ella’s was the
one.

Ella was, as
I have said,
very unlike
her child; she
was not very
strong, she
constantly,
poor little
mamma ! suf-
fered pain, and
as she had no
sisters, and no
playmates, she

‘was often both

sadand lonely.
That was

three months ago; but since, on her last birth-
day, Polly Perkins arrived, all was changed. The
amount of good the doll did the child was in-



Pretty Polly Pippin.

25



calculable—she gave her something to love, and
also something to work for. Ella made all her
doll’s clothes ; she dressed her and undressed her,
and took her out walking, and at night she slept
with her arms about her.

What long talks they had together—this mother
and child! Of course the mother did all the
actual talking, but then the child looked back at
her with such sweet, smiling eyes, in reply, that
no further language was

night-dress, when, raising her eyes, she saw the
monkey Jacko sitting amid the foliage of a thick
tree which grew close to the window.

Jacko was watching her intently. From Ella to
Polly, and from Polly to Polly’s clothes, he looked,
and to judge from the expression of his face he was
very much interested in what he saw.

“Oh! you are a funny monkey !” laughed Ella.
“ So you want to watch me putting my baby to bed.”
But she little guessed



necessary. In short, they
understood each other
perfectly, and not one
trouble came between
them, until Hugh, Ella’s

brother, arrived home
from school.
Polly Pippin was three

months old at that time—
this means that she had
been three months in
Ella’s possession, for of
course the time when
she was wrapped up in
silver paper in a large
warehouse counted for
nothing in her life.

She was born on the
day when Ella’s grand-
papa walked into a shop
and said—

“Do you sell dolls
here—real, large, hand-
some dolls, suitable for
birthday presents ?”

Then the silver paper oe t}
was pulled off Polly s fi
Pippin’s face, and she i i
was born.

This happened three
monthsago. Well, Hugh
came home from school, and hearing that Ella had
a pet, he was quite determined that he also would
have one. So he brought back with him—what do
you think? A monkey!

Oh, how Ella laughed when she saw it! She
even forgot, so absorbed was she in watching its
antics, to put_Polly Pippin to bed.

Never was there a monkey possessed of so many
tricks—so altogether funny. Ella and Hugh spent
a delightful evening following this new pet from
place to place. |

It was quite late when Ella ran away to her
pretty bedroom to undress Polly Pippin.

She had just taken off her dress and petticoats,
and was putting on her handsomely embroidered









OH) 1H aT
a



ft








i a i
nH a Hi ee
a a ca

JACKO AND POLLY PIPPIN.



what was going to fol-
low, or what trouble she
would soon be in.

In the morning Polly
Pippin was gone! Pretty
Polly Pippin was no-
where to be seen.

She was not in her
mamma’s bed, nor in her
own pink-lined cradle.
She was gone, and so
were her clothes—her
nice little shoes and
stockings, her blue silk
frock, even her hat with
the daisies round it,
which her mamma had
made for her only yester-
day. All, all were
gone !

Poor Ella indeed was
in trouble ; and her real
sorrow was so great that,
to try and comfort her,
everybody in the whole
un house began to look for
a i ae f hl Polly Pippin.

co Her papa looked, and

yy a? in a so did her mamma ; the
igae, 26.) cook looked, and so did
the housemaid ; and so
also did the butler, and the buttons, and the coach-
man, and the stable-boy. Hugh also looked, and
last, but not least, Jacko followed every one, and
went in front of every one, and jumped on the cat’s
back, and pulled the dog’s tail, and ran up to the
tops of the trees and down again, and snatched the
cook’s cap off her head, all in his apparent zeal to
find Polly Pippin. :

But though they searched under the beds, and
Hugh even poked his head up the chimneys, no
sign of the missing doll was to be seen.

Poor little Ella kept up bravely all day, but
when the weary searchers sat down at last without
any result, she burst into tears. “My darling,
sweet baby, I know she’s guzte gone; no, Hugh,











26 Pretty Polly Pippin.

i

I can’t be happy—indeed, I can’ never be happy
again.”

“Tl buy you another doll, Ella,” said her grand-
father.

But this kind offer only made Ella’s tears flow
faster.

“As if I could have another baby like Polly
Pippin!” she sobbed.

And all the time there sat that mischievous
monkey, grinning from ear to ear and watching ;
as grandpapa looked, suddenly an idea struck him.
Was it possible that Jacko had anything to say to
the mysterious
disappearance of
Polly? “Ella,”
he said, “what
was that funny
story you told me
about the monkey
last night?”

“Oh! I don’t
want to think of
it,” sobbed Ella ;
“T had my baby
at that time.”

Then grand-
papa went out-of
the room and
called Hugh to
his side, and
whispered to
him that per-
haps Jacko was at
the bottom of the
mystery. “ Those
creatures are al-
ways getting into



“Tt is time for bed, Ella,” said her mamma.

And the little girl prepared, slowly and un-
willingly, to.go up to her lonely room, no longer
brightened by the presence of her darling doll.

“ T will come with you, Ella, and tell you a story,”
said grandpapa, who noticed how pale her little
face was, and how wistful and sad her dark eyes
had become.

“What shall the story be about, grandpapa?
shall it be about the stars?” asked Ella, as, up in
her own room, she nestled down into his arms ;
but then looking out of the window, she uttered a
scream.

Seated on the
thick limb of the
tree was Jacko,
and in his arms
— yes, resting
comfortably in his
arms— was the
missing baby, the
lost baby-doll, her
own darling Polly
Pippin.

One by one he
was gravely re-
moving, first her
frock and then
her petticoats, and
putting on her
pretty nightdress,
pressing a loud
smack every now
and then on her
rosy lips,as he had
observed Ella do
the night before.

mischief,” said “Don’t _ stir,
26 5 :

grandpapa ; “they “WITH HER LITTLE ARMS CLASPED TIGHTLY ROUND HER PET.” Ella,’ whispered

are also very grandpapa. “I

imitative, and you know how Ella described his ;

watching her last night when she undressed her
doll.”

“ But where has he put her?” questioned Hugh ;
“we have searched every hole and corner.”

“Watch Jacko, but say nothing to Ella on the
subject,” was the wise counsel of grandpapa.

This Hugh did, and not only ‘Hugh, but the
stable-boy, and the coachman, and the groom,
and the cook, to all of whom he confided grand-
papa’s idea; but though they watched, they saw
nothing. The monkey was very quiet and pleasant,
not at all as ill-natured as many of his race, and
yet he was so funny in his grimaces and antics,
that even Ella, notwithstanding her sorrow, could
not help laughing at him more than once.



thought all along the monkey had something to say
to this; but stay quiet, or he will run away with
her again.”

And then that clever grandpapa stepped softly
to the open window and very quietly and cautiously
stretched out his hand before the monkey had
time to see him, and snatching up the doll-baby,
he laid her, safe and uninjured, in her mamma’s
arms.

“Oh! how I love her! how glad I am!” sobbed
the happy little girl, And that night Ella slept
happily again, with her little arms clasped tightly
round her pet.

“T don’t think we can keep Jacko,” said grand-
papa.
AUNT PENN.



Chatterbox Hall. 27



_CHATTERBOX HALL.

DOWN the village lane they went,
On simple pleasures both intent—

cs To watch the cattle in the fields,

~’ Or pluck the flowers that summer yields :

Sister and brother, Maud the fair,
And Roger of the long brown hair.
They bound with daisy-chains the hours,
And loitered in the woodland bowers ;
Then climbed the hill that fairest day
Climbs ever on its westward way.
But what strange sight now meets their gaze,
And holds them silent
in amaze?
’Tis not the splendour
of the skies,
Where evening weaves
its crimson dyes,
Nor the broad beauty
of the plain,

The mellow light on
fruit and grain.

Beneath their feet a
palace vast

Caught the rich glow
the sunset cast ;

A thousand windows
flashed and gleamed,

A hundred towers with
banners streamed ;

And stately avenues of
trees

Made leafy music to
the breeze ;



For such a sight was worth the pace;
And soon amidst the multitude

They found themselves in conflict rude.
Now died the song, and then arose

A clatter as of chattering foes,

A strife of tongues that knew no shame,
That hushed, then swelled in one acclaim,
Then in a thousand voices fell:

But what was spoken none could tell.

The palace gates swept open wide

Before the eager noisy tide ;

A lofty hall, of splendid art,

ee eee An pearcdeto view, in
every part

pderacd with costly
treasures rare,

And hung with paint-
ings rich and fair.

But ali these marvels

When from a thousand
mirrors gleamed

The evening splendour,
and there seemed

A thousand suns, in
ruddy light

Down sinking to the
verge of night !

Such art contrived the
brilliant scene,

It might ’mid sunset

of the eyes

Were lost in radiant
surprise,

a clouds have been.



While spacious gar-
dens’ every bloom
Mingled in fresh and sweet perfume ;
And yonder, where the glistening lake
Allured the deer their thirst to slake,
A fleet of boats in gay array
Upon the tranquil water lay.

But, hark! the tumult of a crowd
Comes on the air ; and clear and loud
Ring mirthful voices; childish bands
Are trooping gaily o’er the lands,

From the bright west and colder east,
As summoned to some royal feast ;

And as they near, join company,

Like babbling brooks, in wildest glee.
Beneath the palace gates they throng,
While like a whirlwind swells their song.

Maud started at the wave of sound,
Nor felt beneath her feet the ground ;
She ran, and Roger joined the race,

- “SILENT IN AMAZE.”

But sank the suns, and
sudden gloom
Filled the long hall, and every room.

Maud shivered, boding ghostly ill,
The babblement of tongues was still.
She turned to Roger : how absurd !

She could not speak a single word ;

Her speech was empty breath ; her lips
But moved. Like one in strange eclipse,
She shrieked her fright, but swift it passed,
Mere air, and voiceless as a blast

Of wind ; while toddling Roger stared,
And both her fear and silence shared.
The eager children thronging round

Felt the strong spell; and not a sound
Through all the palace vast was heard,
Nor joyous shout the echoes stirred,
Nor whisper crept from ear to ear;

The noisy crowd was dumb with fear—

‘All mute, as though some organ grand,



28 Chatterbox Hall.



That music made to skilful hand,
The listening soul should only tease
With tuneless rattling of the keys.

While speechless still they marvelled,
lo!
The walls with a new brilliance glow,’
In rippling lines of fiery flame
Forth flashes a mysterious name—
““Chatterbor Iall’’—it mocked their
sight,
But conscience told they read aright.
The spell is on their tongues they know,
Bui, ah ! it was not always so.
Reflect a moment, Maud the fair,
And Roger of the long brown hair.
O little maid! O little man!
Speak out the truth now, ¢/you can,
Say, are you not too apt to prate,
From early morn to evening late?
And are you not too loud in speech,









When softer tones the end might reach ?
Here, gathered in this spacious hall,
Are children, chatterboxes all,

But silent every one, bereft

Of voice, no power of language left;

So may they learn more wise ‘to be,

To chink about the things they see,

To meditate instead of prate,

To treasure words and use them well,
And so at last escape the spell.

The silent stars, and silent hours





‘WITH DOWNCAST EYES AND LOOK DEMURE,”







‘FIVE LITTLE MAIDENS PACING ROUND.”

Sped on their course, and silent flowers
Slept with the silent dews, till day
Again rose on its silent way;

And silent all the children woke,

And never one the silence broke;

Yet with the glad returning sun,

New blithesomeness of heart they won;
And hither, thither, now they ran, ;
The wonders of the place to scan.

Maud peeped a tiny room within,
Wher, lo! there gently dropped a pin,
From hand unseen, upon the floor;

And sitting there were damsels four,
With downcast eyes and look demure,
‘That nothing from their task could lure ;
All motionless and siJent they,
Nor dared they cast a glance astray.
These little maidens when at school
Forgot to keep the wholesome rule,
And whispered oft to one another

_ That lessons were a useless bother.

' Now here they sit—no noise, no riot—
Listening intent, and very quiet;
So still that they “say hear a pin
Drop on the floor” —no stir, no din—
And they must count a hundred such
Before their dinners they can touch!
Maud shuddered, and within her vowed
She ne’er would talk in school aloud.

She turned, to give a larger space
To thoughts that clouded now her face;
But saw outside a spectacle









Chatterbox Hall. 29

More strange than common words can tell :
Five little maidens, pacing round,

With eyes fixed ever on the ground; .

A rich and radiant dress they wore,
And on their flaxen heads upbore

The lofty cap that mortals now

Place on the fool’s majestic brow—

Cap ancient, honoured in the past;
Thus, ranged in file, now slow, now fast,
They strutted round the soft green lawn
Till nightfall from the rosy dawn !
These were the little tender dames
Whose sorrows vanity inflames;

They chattered much,:but all of dress, |
Such whims as many must confess,

Of silks and satins, belles and beaux,







Ribbons, and all the dainty shows







That foolish thoughts enslave; and here
They pace—nor dare they sigh, “ Oh,dear!”
In stately silence—a procession

That never seems to mean progression.

While Maud these curious sights explored,
Her gift of speech not yet restored,
Young Roger, of the long brown hair,
Crept slily down the kitchen stair—
And first tried to call the cook,

As if delay he could not brook ;
°Twas vain ; all inarticulate,

His words refused the case to state.
Then suddenly he saw each plate
And empty dish assume a face,

With look of scorn or smile of grace.















‘(THE COFFEE-POT WAS MOST POLITE,”





“A DREADFUL MONSTER MET HIM THERE.”

The coffee-pot was most polite ;
The cream-jug blushed, though silver bright.
So wishful seemed the most to serve him,
The spectacle did quite unnerve him.
He turned and fled, in silence all,
But prostrate fell, a mighty fall.
Now near at hand a youngster strayed,
By years of bolder metal made ;
He saw, and curious to know more,
Rushed quickly to the kitchen-door.
A dreadful monster met him there,
With upturned nose and polished glare ;
He seized it, hurled it on the fire,
And held it down in vengeful ire.
Twas but the kettle—brazen thing !
But hark ! it now began to sing ;
O wondrous melody !—that song
Simmered the corridors along,
Till all the spacious palace heard ;
So sweet was never song of bird.
“ The kettle sings !” the children cried ;
“ The kettle sings !” was echoed wide.
The spell that bound all tongues was gone,
The power of speech again was won !
For the kettle, you know, never chatters,
Its singing is duty well done ;
And if ever the lid clitter-clatters,
You can stop it as soon as begun.
Not selfishly bragging or fuming,
It sings for our solace, you see ;
So hurrah for the kettle !—assuming
We all shall be glad of our tea.



30

Dad Ryan’s Luck.



DAD RYAN’S LUCK.

A STORY

CHAPTER IL

































RERE y’are, sir!







'] This way to see





Mademoiselle
Frascina! Only
two-pence to see
the best tight-
rope dancer in
,| the world! Better
| come, sir! it’s

SN the last perform- |

ance. All right.
‘iqy) IV begin very
hv] Soon!”

‘| This was said
by a very rough-
looking man, in
gorgeous attire.
His costume
consisted of a tight jersey of red flannel, with very
wide yellow stripes, black breeches fastened on the
outer side of each knee with a large yellow bow, his
stockings matched his jersey, and he wore low shoes
with huge buckles. On his head was a small skull-
cap of red, black, and yellow ; altogether he made
a most grotesque figure. He stood at the entrance
of a large tent, situated in the middle of a field—at
least, it could scarcely be called a field, ‘there was
so little grass, only here and there a small green
patch to relieve the monotony of the large bare
space. His present occupation was to try and
induce passers-by to patronise the entertainment
shortly to commence within the booth. He ap-
pealed to their senses by alternately beating a
drum, playing with his mouth on a peculiar instru-
ment_constructed of reeds, and shouting at the top
of a very unmusical voice. When, however, he
caught sight of a gentleman looking at him and his
surroundings, as if hesitating whether or not to
approach, he went out of his way to invite the said
individual in what he considered very coaxing
and refined language. His voice he deemed an
instrument better adapted to the outward ap-
pearance of this new comer.

“T really think it'll be worth founmpenee to you,
sir,” said he, smiling cunningly, as the gentleman
offered him the twopence. “You see, sir, we’re
obliged to make it as low as we can, you see, sir,



because the people that come here in general .

couldn’t afford to pay more than twopence. We

|

'

| the performance was about to commence.
Pay here, please. |





IN FOUR CHAPTERS.

don’t often get the like o’ you, sir. A gentleman
did come the first night tho’, sir, and he gave me a
sixpenny-bit, and a little something for myself ; but
he was such a one as we don’t often see.”

“Come, come! How much do you really want,
man? Will sixpence satisfy you?” asked the
stranger, and without waiting for a reply he left
the man and the sixpence, and went into the

| entertainment. 2

At last all the seats were occupied, the music
ceased, and the ringing of a bell announced that
The
audience were seated, as it were, on a bank, each
bench a little higher than the one before it, thus
giving every one a good view of the centre circle,
which was strewn with clean sand: Immediately
before the bell rang, however, two men came in,
laid a piece of carpet down quite in the middle,

‘and that done, whilst the bell was still ringing, a

tiny little boy and girl appeared through an
opening left on one side, and ran hand-in-hand
into the area, amidst a perfect uproar of applause,
which they acknowledged by bowing and kissing
their little hands. The little girl could not have
been more than eight years of age; she looked like
a sunbeam, with her sparkling blue eyes, her golden
ringlets falling on‘her little bare shoulders.

A striking contrast to her was her little dark-
haired companion, with his large eyes and white
face. Perhaps it was his dark green costume
which gave him such a ghastly appearance, for
everything on him was of that colour—even. his
shoes—and fitted so closely as to show that he was
nothing more nor less than a little mass of over-
developed muscles. There was a look of purpose
in his young face ; but his expression was not at all
an unhappy one, on the contrary, he appeared to
take the greatest possible interest in what he had
to do, whilst the look of tender, loving care he
bestowed every now and then upon his little fair-
haired companion was perfectly bewitching. The
entertainment was much diversified. It consisted of
walking on ropes, dancing, and gymnastic feats of
the most daring kind, in all of which performances
the little girl showed herself possessed of the most
wonderful agility, courage, and grace, and the boy
of very great muscular strength. They were the
sole performers. If I were to attempt to give a

-detailed account of what this diminutive couple

really accomplished, I should certainly be dis-
believed, and accused of exaggeration ; to avoid



Dad Ryan’s Luck. 31



which accusation I shall leave all to the imagination
of my young readers to fill. Suffice it to say
that the conductor of affairs, being too anxious to
please his patrons—this being the last per-
formance —had over-estimated the strength of
the young athlete.

“Tt’s marvellous!” said the gentleman, who had
been scribbling in a note-book ever since he had
taken his seat. Almost before he had uttered the
exclamation, a faint cry pierced the air, and the
little fellow fell to the ground from sheer. ex-
haustion, In an instant the little fairy was
kneeling by his side, panting from her late exer-
tions. Two men lifted him, and carried him out
quite insensible, the other child following, and
sobbing as if her heart would break.

' The audience had apparently been struck dumb
at first by the accident ; but now, finding that their
enjoyment had been brought to an untimely end,
they became uproarious ; some of them were even
low-minded enough to grumble at not having had
their money’s worth. They stamped on the ground,
and called out for the little girl to come back. Their
requests were of course at first unheeded, but at last,
finding that they none of them stirred to go, she
was sent in again, her eyes swollen and red with
crying, and the corners of her lips very much turned
down. Children very seldom look pretty when
crying, but she certainly did, although her little face
was fullof sorrow. A kind-looking man brought her
in the second time, whispered something coaxingly
into her ear, and then left her with a sad smile on
her face. She began to dance, and screwed up her
little features into all kinds of grimaces to keep from
crying. Poor little thing ! it was a great trial for her,
but she did her very best. The excitement of what
she was about seemed for the moment to raise her
spirits, and she was greatly applauded for her pains.
This cheerfulness, however, was of only very short
duration, for in afew moments she sat herself down
on thé ground, regardless of all the eyes fixed upon
- her, hid her face in her hands and sobbed. The
man in attendance felt greatly perplexed, and en-
deavoured to induce her to go on again, but this
time without avail. “Let me go to Willie,” said she,
between her sobs; then in the prettiest and most
entreating way possible she looked up at the audi-
ence, and said, “ Please do go away; I want to go
to Willie.” :

The simple request took all by surprise. Although
there were people there of the very lowest type, there
was not a heart amongst them hard enough to
resist such an appeal. They rose with one accord
to go, and never before had an audience left that
tent in so orderly and quiet a manner. The: place
and people seemed to have been suddenly trans-



formed. Many there had learned a lesson from
that little one, they knew not what it was, but their
hearts for the time being were softened, and I think
I may venture to say that not a cross word was
spoken to any of their own children when they
reached their homes that night.

“Come, Nell,” said the kind-looking man, “ wipe
away those tears and come with me to Willie. You
mustn’t let the other men see you, because they are
rather angry ; but you keep close to me, and I’lltake
care of you. ©

Nellie: put her hand confidingly into that of her
friend, and they went off together to visit the in-
valid.

CHAPTER II,

IN one of the many pretty country lanes of Kent,
bordered on either side by fine old trees in full leaf,
stood three vans with little curtained windows.
Seated on the bank near them were three groups of
people. The first consisted of women who were
busily engaged in cooking, one with a baby in her
arms, which, notwithstanding all her threatening
gestures, would exercise its littlelungs. The second
was a little gathering of men, four in number, who
were smoking and conversing eagerly ; and beyond
them, a few yards distant, were a little boy wrapped
in a large great-coat and lying in the sun, and a little
girl engaged in trying to make some curls on his
forehead out of straight hair, and in so doing almost
blinding her victim with her own curls, which, being
long, would find their way into his eyes and tickle
his face ; they tickled him so that he shook his head,
and so undid all her work.

“ There, you naughty boy,” said she, “it’s all come
out again; I’m sure it would have curled beautifully
that time ; now I shall do it up in paper.”

“Oh, please don’t, Nellie dear; you hurt me so
last time,” said he, smiling ; “I don’t think they’re
worth the pain.”

“Did it hurt you? I’m so sorry you didn’t say so.
Why didn’t you?”

“* Because I thought you liked doing it. You are
so kind, Nellie, I don’t think I should ever have got
well without you. How long have I been ill?”

“Oh, let me see,” said she, turning very thought-
ful; “it was two Fridays ago, 1 think; but we’ve

-come such a long way since, and you’ve been so ill,

that it seems to me like a year.”

“Ym sorry I got ill that night.
much money ?”

“Oh yes ; I heard him say the other day that as
far as money went it was the best night he’d ever
had. But he says he’d rather have lost it all than
had you.so ill. Do you know, he says you’re never
to do anything again.”

Did Dad get



32 . Dad Ryan’s Luck.

“Not do anything?” asked Willie, sorrowfully.

“You know what I mean—not to do any of those
things that you’ve been doing to get money.”

“ Why not? I never was ill before, ere I like to
make money for Dad ; I do love him so.’

“So do I. If it hadn't been for him, I don’t
know what Robins wouldn’t have done to me, he
was so angry because some one told him that I cried
and wouldn’t dance after you fell down. Do you
know, Willie,” continued the little girl, her eyes
growing rather dim, “we all thought you were
going to die one night, you kept saying such funny
things. Dad said that the great God was going to
take you away from him because he hadn’t taken
proper care of you.”

“ Poor Daddie! he is so good, isn’t he, Nell? I
wonder what would become of you and me if he
died ?”

“What do you think I heard Robins saying the
other day?” asked Nellie, suddenly changing the
subject.

“J don’t know.”

“That some one’s been writing a lot in a news-
paper about us, and saying that they ought to be
ashamed of themselves, ahd that Dad ought to be
punished, because what we did, they said, was
enough to kill any child. Shows all they know
about it, doesn’t it? They said it oughtn’t to be
allowed in this country ; and last night, when they
thought I was asleep, I heard them saying that
some people were trying to catch us.”

“Oh, Nell!” exclaimed Willie, sitting up and
looking very much alarmed. “ Whatever shall we
do? . Perhaps they’ll put Dad in prison.”

“We'll go too if they do. Dad wanted to go
and tell them all about it, and say how sorry he
was, but the others wouldn’t let him. They did
call him such dreadful names; and that nasty
Bill Jones said he believed Dad had gone mad.
Oh, here he comes! Don’t tell him,” whispered
she.

“Well, Will, lad, how are you getting on? and
you too, Miss Nurse? I think your patient is in a
very hot place.” ; ;

“Oh no, Dad, I’m not. I’m quite cold.” The
man sighed as he looked at the little fellow
shivering on such a sultry day. “I shall soon be
able to work again, now,” said the little fellow,
looking smilingly at his father. “ Where are we
going to next, and what will Nell’s name be? Do
sit down and tell us, father.”

“You'll know soon enough where we’re going,
my boy; and Nell will be always called by her
proper name now.”

“Why did you give her such a long name
before?”



“ Because, don’t you know, that English people,
for some reason or other, will often go and see
any one with a foreign name, when they wouldn’t if
they used their own names,”

“ How silly !”

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter now; it’s all over.
I’m not going to live in this sort of way any longer.
Stay just as you are and listen to me. You tell
me, Nell, if you see any one coming, because they
mustn’t hear. First of all, I am going to ask you
a question, which you must answer, and tell me the
real truth. Do you love me?”

“Oh yes, Dad,” said she, raising her little eye-
brows in astonishment at such a question; “of
course I do. I love you better than any one else
in the world, except Willie,” and as she made the
exception she looked fondly at.the little boy, who
placed his hand in hers, looking very well satisfied
with her confession.

“Then,” said the man, whose real name was
Ryan, “if I were to ask you which you’d do, stay
here with these people, or go away with Willie and
me, you’'d——”

“Oh, don’t leave me!” said the child, looking
perfectly terrified. “I should die if you went
away ; besides, Dad, you told me you promised
father you’d always take care of me, just as if I
were your own little girl.”

“That I did, child, and I'll keep my promise ;
but I wanted to find out first which you’d rather
do, because, you know, I shouldn’t like to take you
away against your will, you know.”

“ But why are you going away, Daddie?” asked
Willie. ‘‘ Was it wicked to do what we did?”
asked he, very solemnly. “Mother never said
so.”

“Tt wasn’t exactly wicked, but it was wrong. of
me to make you earn money for me, when you
ought both to be at school learning, and I ought to
be working for myself like all honest men do.
Now I’m going to tell you something that you
must keep quite secret ; you must both promise not
to tell any one.”

“Oh yes! We won’t tell any one, will we,
Will?” said Nellie, getting as close as ever she
could to Ryan to hear the news. Little girls
always like to hear secrets, and: her face glowed
with curiosity.

“ You know Thursday is my watch: -night. Well,
what I want you both to do is to get all the things
you want together, and tie them into two bundles,
without any one seeing ; then I’ll arrange that you
shall both sleep close by the door of the van that
night, and, when they’re all fast asleep, you must
get up, and come to me as quietly as ever you
can.”

natn Pernt SROEE TERE:

























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































~e





¢
2
4



























“DO TAKE US FOR A ROW,” (See p. 32.)





34 Dad ‘Ryan’s Luck. |



CHAPTER III.
“Have a boat this thorning, sir?” said a good-
natured-looking man in fisherman’s attire.. “ Fine
day for a row, this.”

“Tt’s rather too rough for me, thank you,” said
the gentleman addressed.

“Ts it, sir? To be sure, now, it is a little rough,
perhaps, for people not accustomed to it; but I do
think it’s the loveliest day we have had, as yet, this
summer.”

“Ves, the season’s coming on. You'll be getting
busy again now, I suppose? Winter’s a slow time
for you here.” ,

“Well, perhaps it is a little; but we manage to
make a nice little bit of money in one way and
another—what with fishing and odd jobs.”

“Vou certainly don’t look as if much went amiss
with you.”

“No, sir; I do think ’m about the happiest
man in the place, and so | ought to be, thank God.
Everything’s gone right with me since I took to
this line. I can’t think what ails some folk; they
seem to have all they want, and yet they’re always
grumbling, somehow; but 2 suppose I’m lucky,
that’s about it.” 2

wo “Tn what does your luck consist?” said the

gentleman, smiling.
“Well, it’s just this, I’ve got two of the nicest,
best, and prettiest children that God ever sent into

.this world.”

“You have brought yours up properly, then, have
you?” ee

“Bless me, if I don’t think they have brought
me up more than I have them®!. but there, it’s all
along of my poor dear wife.. They’re just like her,
they are! Do you know, sir,” said the man, his
heart swelling so with gratitude, “ I often think that
they were sent to me on purpose to teach me,
because I was none too good. Here they are, bless
their hearts! See’em, sir? Those two—a little
boy and a girl—with straps across their shoulders,
carrying their school-books.”

This happy boatman was none other than Ryan,
and the children of whom he had spoken so affec-
tionately Willie and Nellie. He certainly had cause
to be proud of themythey looked so bright, and
fresh, and happy. Nellie had on a very broad-
brimmed hat, intended to keep the sun from her
eyes ; but she had thrown it back, and some little
curls found their way out on to her forehead. _ Her

cheeks were so rosy and fat, as, indeed, were her

little hands, one of which was, as usual, in the care
of Willie. He had wanted to carry her books for
her, but she had a little will of her own and would

_ not allow him; if the truth must be told, she had

grown into a very determined young woman. For-



tunately, however, her inclinations generally led
her in the right direction, so that very little harm
resulted. As for Willie, he was almost a head and
shoulders taller than she, indeed was a very big.
boy for thirteen. There were no traces of care and.
hard work on his face now, as suddenly catching
sight of his father on the beach, he and Nellie ram
as fast as they could towards him.

- “Do take us for a row, Daddie,” said she, rush-
ing up and throwing her arms round Ryan’s neck,
as she kissed him; then, seeing a stranger close
by, she’ turned away very red and pouting. She
was a curious child—very affectionate—but she
could not bear to be seen giving vent to her love,
and now felt quite ashamed and cross.

The stranger noticed it in a moment, and felt am
intruder.

“ Good morning,” said he to Ryan; “I shall very
likely go for a row to-morrow morning with you, if
it’s fine,” and he turned to go, but not before he
had taken a very good look at the children.

“Where have I seen those two little faces
before?” said he to himself, as he walked back
towards his lodgings on the Marine Parade. He
thought and thought, yet he could not remember.
He did not know how it was, but he felt more than
usually interested in them, and the more he thought
of them the stronger became his conviction that
that was not the first time he had seen them. His
lodgings faced the sea, and when he was having
his lunch he saw them again, walking along the
parade with their books, evidently bound for
school, and another look at them cleared away all
doubt. He felt certain that they were the two
children he had seen performing in the tent, and
about whom he had written a long article in a news-
paper. He did not stop to finish his lunch, but,
ringing the bell, put on his hat, walked down to
the beach to Ryan, and told him to take him for a
row. The sea being much rougher than in the .
morning, Ryan was not a little surprised, still he
said nothing, but prepared the boat. They had
not been long out before Mr. Wren explained his
reason for having hired the boat on such a rough
day ; he was anxious to know all about Ryan and
his children. As may be supposed, Ryan was not

_a little surprised to find that this stranger was the

very one who had published the account of Willie’s
last performance, and that it was he who had sent
men in search of the strolling company, and had,
in fact, been the cause of the change in Ryan’s
mode of life. He had much to tell, and Mr.
Wren was so interested that they were still in the-~
boat when the children returned from - school.
They pulled to shore immediately upon seeing |
them, and Ryan formally introduced Mr. Wren to



Dad Ryan’s Luck. 35



them. They, however, did not seem to take at all
kindly to their Dad’s new friend; indeed, rather
annoyed him by their very cool reception of the
gentleman. Nellie was even worse than Willie ;
she would not look at him, but kept pulling Willie’s
coat behind for him to come away. Almost for
the first time Ryan felt ashamed of the conduct of
his pets ; but later on he found that the reason of
it was, that for years they had harboured revenge
in their little hearts against “whoever wrote the
article against Dad, and made.everybody think he
was cruel and bad.”



CHAPTER IV.

WILLIE and Nellie were very much surprised to
find that as time went on instead of disliking Mr.
Wren, as they had intended, they grew more and
more fond of him. Every day they saw him on the
beach and had a long talk with him, for having
travelled a great deal, he always had something in-
teresting to tell them. To Willie he took a very great
fancy, he was so struck with the boy’s intelligence
and good nature.

“What is your father going to make of you when
you leave school ; do you know ?”

“ Make of me, sir? Why, nothing but what I
am, I suppose.”

“Youre surely not going to spend your life in
doing nothing?”

“Oh no, sir. I shall help Dad, go out fishing
with him, and help look after the boats; but Dad
says I may stay at school as long as ever I like,
and learn as much as I can.”

“ He’s avery good father to you, I think. So you
like learning, do you? Have you many books?”

“No, sir. That’s just it; you see if I had the
books I’d learn out of them myself in the even-
ings, and then I couldhelp Dad all day. But books
are so dear—good books, I mean. I’ve got little
lesson books and that sort, but I couldn’t learn
much out of them, and they ae us lectures at
school.”

Mr. Wren had a fine library of his own, but, un-
fortunately, it was in his London house, so that he
was not able to help Willie immediately, as he
wished. A month or two later, however, Nellie was
surprised to see, one day, a man with a cart at the
door. He beckoned to her, and produced a large

heavy parcel addressed to Willie. It proved to be
full of books chosen by Mr. Wren from his library,
for his young friend. Such an advent, of course,
caused infinite delight in the little household; the
books, which were of the best character, highly in-
teresting and instructive, were feasted on for months,
nay, years. This, however, was only the commence-
ment of Mr. Wren’s kindness. Whenever he came





to Hastings, which was always at the least twice a
year, he gave Willie lessons, and this he continued
doing until the boy was eighteen years of age. He
had left school some time,.and was carrying out his
former intention of helping his Dad during the day,
and spending his evenings intellectually. He was
not only a very well-informed boy himself, but inas-
much as it had always been his delight to teach
Nellie anything that he himself learnt, they were
now thorough companions in every sense of the
word. Willie was perfectly happy, and would have

‘been content to remain as he was always had not

Mr. Wren suggested that he might use his superior
education in the world, and so improve his position.
He offered him a situation in his own office in
London.

“Daddie,” said Nellie one day, very sorrowfully,
“ don’t let Willie go to London.”

“Why not? Itll be the making of him. A fellow
with Azs brains oughtn’t to be here, spending his
life in things that any one can do without brains.
But come, why don’t you want him to go?”

“ Because—because—only gentlemen go into
offices like Mr. Wren’s, and if Willie is turned inte
a gentleman he'll be ashamed of us afterwards.”

“ Ashamed of us? Bless you, child, Willie’s not
the lad to forget his father, and as to you, who
knows, you might be a lady some day. Willie will
never be ashamed of you, my pet. If he were a
prince, and met you in the streets in rags, he’d stop
the coachman, and say, ‘that’s my sister Nell;’
and right proud he'd be of you. Willie’s got a
gentleman’s heart, and he ought to have a gentle-
man’s pocket to match, and I’ll never stand in the
way of his getting it. Oh no, Nell, Will will never
be ashamed of us.”

But Nellie was not at all convinced of this, and
she made herself very unhappy about it. Willie
accepted Mr. Wren’s offer, who was staying in
Hastings, and it was arranged that they should
travel together to London the following week.
Willie, of course, could not help feeling proud and
grateful to his benefactor, yet there was a weight
within him which he could not remove; it depressed
his spirits, and made him very miserable. He had
always had Nell with him, and she had become so
like a part of himself that he seemed never before
to have contemplated their separation. Could he
realise life without her sunny smiles,
without her rebukes? Her very waywardness he
loved ; and now came up before him the vision of a
solitary life, a dull void in place of his Nellie.

But, notwithstanding everything, Willie did go,
and he had to content himself with writing home.
He wrote to his father and Nellie alternately. One
morning, however, a long time afterwards, two

Cc 2

or. even -



36

The Patient Cobbler.



letters came together, one for each. Ryan did not |
take long to read his, for he was so anxious to see
the effect upon Nellie. When, however, he saw her
turn to go out of the room, he thought this looked
very ominous, and he called her to him in a very
serious tone.

“Nellie, come here, there’s a good girl; you can
tell me all about it. You know you needn’t marry
him unless you like ; perhaps you like somebody else.
At all events, you do just what you like; and I know
Willie will make the best of it, for your sake.”

She turned very red and rather raised her eye-
brows, as if in astonishment at her Dad’s remark.

“JT like anybody better than Willie! Oh Dad,
how can you say so!” said Nellie, quite determined

to despise all doubt.
* * * * * * * *



Three years later, Willie, now the editor of a
newspaper of which Mr. Wren was proprietor, came
to Hastings to claim his bride. It was a happy
marriage, indeed. Dad Ryan of course gave Nellie
away in the church, but in doing so, he thought
himself the luckiest man alive. “You know, sir,”
said he to Mr. Wren, after the ceremony was
over, “it was always a trouble to me, to think that
some day I should lose my Nellie. Of course I
thought she’d get married, but somehow I never
thought it would turn out this way. I do declare
it’s wonderful how everything goes right with me.
I feel so happy, I don’t know what to do with myself.
Was ever the great God as good to anybody, as he
is to me? Bless their hearts! I know they'll be
happy too, for they’re too good to be anything -
else.”

THE PATIENT COBBLER.

He toiled with his weary feet,
And he thought
room,
Afar from the noisy street.
The walls were narrow, the windows low,
But the shadows flickered to and fro,
For an aspen poplar stretched one bough
Across the broken pane.
No shine through other windows now!
No time for tears, or time to lose,
Mending and patching of clumsy shoes,
And much of money to gain,
By golden noon, and by fading light,
He sewed up the shoes both fast and tight,
And it cheered him through his busy day
To see how the leaves would quiver and play,
All fresh from the summer rain.
In the rustle and dance on the aspen bough
He saw a child at his play; :
Little Jim was all that was left him now,
And he dwelt so far away !
A look had come to the sweet fair face
That had cried for light, and joy, and space,
And the cobbler worked in his narrow room,
That his flower in a brighter home might bloom.

0] P creaking stairs half lost in gloom \

he was snug in his little

When the branch was bare, and the walls
were chill,

And the snow-cloud covered the sky,

And the sparrows sat-hungry on the sill,

Little Jim came home to die !

And the cobbler bowed his silvering head,

And touched not his tools or his waxéd thread,
While the sorrowful days went by ;

For ever at sight of his work, he said,
“Broken shoes! What need to mend

Now God has taken my only friend?”

Not till the leaves began to sprout,
And purple and gold were carried about
For toiling folk to buy,
Could he dry the tears that made him blind,
And gazing from his window, find
A pitiful look in the sky.
But the steadfast heart will rise again
From the chastening stroke of sorrow and pain,
And something through that window shone
That made him feel no more alone ;
And he sorted his pile of dusty shoes,
“ For strength,” said he, “was given to use,
And work is ever good and sweet,
If done in our Father’s sight.”
So he sits far up from the noisy street,
And the shoes he mends are strong and neat;
And friends he never thought to meet
Made many a sad day bright.
Something was left out of all his tears
That bade him hope beyond the years,
And taught him to see without murmur or pain
The leaves come fresh on the bough again ;

- And whilst he is waiting with faith renewed
He lifts up his heart in gratitude,
For.life that is calm with hope and prayer,
For the work that gives him his daily food
And a mite for a brother in need to spare.

be



iy

Little Cousin Bertha. 37



ah







LITTLE COUSIN BERTHA.

AKE a walk with me
through the pretty fields,
Sophie dear. I’ve been
going up and down these
straight gravelled walks
till I am tired; and I
don’t like the garden at
all; besides, you promised





the hedges.”

“ But, Bertha, I’m very
anxious to get these seeds sown before mamma
comes home.”

‘* Please leave the rest till to-morrow, and come
while the sun is shining, or let me help you to
sow.”

“No, dear, you would not know how. I’d rather
do it all myself.” : ?

“Well, may I go to the fields without you ?”

Sophie paused; she knew perfectly if her mother
were at home Bertha would not be allowed out alone.
Yet what could happen to her fora short time?

“JT suppose if you can’t content yourself here,
you’d better go to the fields,” she answered, impa-
tiently, “but don’t wander far. Ill be after you
when I’ve finished the seeds.”

Little Bertha ran out of the garden, delighted to
escape from its continement, while Sophie continued
her work undisturbed by the child’s prattle.

It was a bright day in early spring, and a shade
of green had already spread over fields and banks,
though as yet the trees and hedges had not put
forth a single leaf to tell of approaching summer.
Here and there a stray daisy raised its open petals
to greet the blue sky, and seemed to rejoice in the
sunshine.

After taking several races over the short grass,

to look for primroses in



Bertha walked slowly round the bank, searching for
wild flowers ; but not one was to be seen, A gap
led into. the next field, and passing through, she
was rewarded by finding a clump of celandine in
full blow. Having gathered some of the starry
flowers, she turned down a narrow lane, where a
few primroses and violets peeped from behind the
hedges, and crossed a stile to a green hill which
sloped gently to the water’s edge.

“Oh! the pretty river, how I love to watch it
flowing!” exclaimed Bertha; “I’H just go and sit
on the bank to wait for Sophie.”

Soon she spied a large patch of dark green leaves
and golden blossoms of the marsh marigold growing
on the damp margin of the stream, “ What lovely
May-flowers ! I must try and gather a few to- show
Sophie!” And leaning over the high bank, the
child gazed down at the dark river—swollen far
above its usual level by recent heavy rains—and
considered how she could best manage to climb
along the slippery bank, so as to reach the flowers
below.

Meanwhile, Sophie spent a longer time gar-
dening than she had intended, and being much
ifiterested in her work, was greatly surprised to
find how dusk the evening had grown.

“T must go and look for Bertha. Mamma will
soon be home, and we ought to be in to welcome
her.” Hurrying from the garden, she crossed the
first and second fields, and not seeing her little
cousin, called loudly, “ Bertha, Bertha, where are
you?” but there was no reply. Hastily passing
down the lane, and across the stile, the sound of
wheels in the distance met her ear. “It must be
mamma returning. Oh dear! how provoking, and
we shall be quite late to receive her, for I can’t go
back till I find Bertha ; why did she stray so far



e

38 Little Cousin Bertha.



without me. Oh! here’s a boy driving home the
cows, I’llask him. Will,” she called out, “do you
know where little Miss Bertha is?” :

“She crossed the stile about an hour ago, and
went down towards *
the river; I won-
dered to see her
running through
the fields alone,
and hoped no harm
would come to her,
but I had to go
about my own busi-
ness; and that’s all
I know.”

“The river!”

<< =

the water, and be carried away by the violence.
of the current. To confirm this terrible fear, a
few faded primrose and violet blossoms were
scattered on the ground, as if the child had flung
them from her hand
before attempting
her dangerous de-
scent, For a mo-
ment Sophie stood
like one paralysed,
then turned to fol-
low the course of
the stream, peering
into its dark waters
as they rolled on
towards a mill















































exclaimed Sophie,
“TI never thought
of that,” and turn-
ing from Will, with-
out another word,
she hurried down
the hill. On the brink of the river a boy was lying
gazing at the water-lilies beneath him, but when
asked by Sophie, he said he had not seen a little
girl pass that way. The shades of evening were
rapidly increasing, and there was a sound of
rushing water very unlike the usual quiet musical
murmur of the stream. “How high the river
is to-day, and how fast it runs. Oh! I think I
see Bertha at last,” and with a feeling of un-
speakable relief, she darted forward towards a
litttle stunted thorn-bush which grew half way
down the bank; but what was her horror on
coming closer, to see that it was only a piece of
Bertha’s dress caught on a branch, and waving
with every passing
breeze like a flag
of distress. The
blood rushed back
to Sophie’s heart;
trembling in every
limb she leaned
over thesteep bank, :
and gazing down, }
saw the patch of
marsh marigold. It
wasall tooeasily un-
derstood. Bertha,
in her eager desire
to reach the flowers,
would be likely to
attempt climbing SS
fown the steep = ee
Wippery bank, miss =

der footing, roll into








Ky




THE MILL BY THE STREAM.



Au
ee
“ee ct,

&
G 0 ts
WUE E26, (x te SS

“ GAZING AT THE WATER-LILIES.”

which stood at the
opposite side of the



river. Perhaps
=: some one there
mighthaveseen and

rescued Bertha. It
was agleam of hope. Quickening her pace, she was
pleased to see the miller’s wife leave her house and
hasten down to the water’s edge. It would be easy
to call out to her across the stream. But what
could Mrs. Wood be doing at that late hour stoop-
ing over the bank; yes, and drawing something to
land, too? Sophie watched her for a moment in
an agony of suspense, till she could distinguish,
through the dusk of evening, a light-coloured ob-
ject laid on the grass, over which the woman bent
tenderly ; then no longer able to refrain from
speaking, “‘ Mrs. Wood, is there life? is there any
hope?”

“Miss Sophie is that you?” said the woman,
turning round in
surprise ; ‘‘ No, in-
deed, there’s no
hope, the poor lamb
is quite dead, and
must:have fallen in
and been drowned
a long while ago.
Such a sad pity
too; a fine little
pet. But you ought
to go home, Miss
Sophie, it’s very
late for you to be -
out alone.”

Then there was
no doubt, no hope?
Go home, indeed !
No, she did not care
where she turned;




i (a

A

- &S 0 Aas

ro







Little Cousin Bertha. 39



any place, sooner than witness the sorrow she had
«caused. On, across the fields a long way, until
a clump of trees and a little grassy dell recalled
to her mind the thought that she was alone, and
a good distance from home. It had been a
favourite play-place in summer, full of wild
flowers and little mossy nooks; but all that
seemed, oh, so long ago! Seating herself on a
large stone deep down in the dell, Sophie rested
her head against the
sloping bank, and tried
to realise what had hap-
pened.

Was Bertha indeed
gone? her mother’s only
child, her pet and dar-
ding. Little Cousin
Bertha, who had been
sent to them for change
of air after an illness.
How pale and delicate
she had looked at first, 4
and how bright and rosy
she had lately grown.

Sophie was to have A
gone back -with her to
town next week, to spend
a short time with her

==
aunt, but now, oh, how Z GE

ei \ J Yi);75
changed everything \\ Key

would be! Her sorrow
and remorse seemed too
great to bear. And yet,
as Sophie sat there alone
in the dark, listening to
the mournful murmur
of the distant stream,
sounding like a low wail
over the child that had
struggled so lately with
its strong and cruel cur-
rent, one short sentence came ringing in her ear—
“The maid is not dead, but sleepeth.’” Had God
sent the thought to comfort her? It was about a
Jittle girl Jesus had said these words. He loved
and cared for little girls, then. Perhaps He was



Re yeoravion

watching over her now, in this sad hour of trouble, |

and might pity and forgive. She would ask Him.

After this, Sophie’s thoughts became calmer,
and she began to consider what was best to do.
Mother would no doubt be anxious at her long
absence : she must return and confess all.

It was very dark and dreary to walk so far alone,
‘but as she proceeded the moon rose from behind
a bank of cloud, and lighted up the way. Entering
quietly by the garden door, which stood con-

ZZ
yp

4 ig



“RESTING HER HEAD ON HER MOTHER'S KNEE” (#. 4c.)



veniently open, she gained her own room without
meeting any one. All was very silent, and Sophie
wondered if Mrs. Wood had yet arrived, or if she
herself must be the first to tell the sad tidings.
“Tt would be better to wait here a few moments,”
thought the poor girl, “and consider how to break
the news to mamma, for I know she will be terribly
shocked.”

There in the corner stood little Bertha’s bed.
Sophie glanced towards
it, her eyes for the first
timeswimming with tears.
Was it owing to the de-
ceptive twilight, or could
it really be occupied?
Sophie rushed across
the room in an agony of
expectation. A bright
moonbeam from the op-
posite window fell on
Bertha’s head, showing
her beautiful golden hair
falling in soft curls over
the pillow. The blue
eyes were tightly shut,
but a delicate pink colour
was on the cheek, and
the breath came regularly
from the half-closed lips.

~| Sophie gazed long and

=| steadily — surely she
e could not be mistaken,
“The maid is not dead,
but sleepeth.” Yet how
could it be? Had she
not seen Mrs. Wood
draw a little drowned
body from the mill-
stream? Was it all a
horrible dream? She
touched the hand which
lay on the coverlid ; it was soft and warm. Sink-
ing on her knees by the bed, she thanked God;































Ze
LIZ
Lo
Ye
Ly pp

Wy
Ly



i then running down-stairs with a lightened heart,
| found ker mother in the dining-room. “ Oh, mam-

ma!” she cried, rushing into her arms, “how did
Bertha recover?” 4

“My dear child, where have you been?” ex-
claimed her mother; “we were greatly frightened
about you.”

“Oh! nothing happened to me; do tell me of

| Bertha.”

“She was brought back a good while ago by
Farmer Rogers. He was walking along the river
path, and saw her climbing down the bank, in a
very dangerous place. She clung to a branch of



40 es Hurrah for the Snow!



thorn till he came up and carried her home tired
and frightened. We put her at once to bed. Then
your father went to look for you, and heard at the
mill that you had been speaking to Mrs. Wood
some time ago across the river, but she could not
give much information, for her attention was
engaged about a pet lamb that had just been
drowned, and she did not observe which way you
took. He returned to give me even this much
comfort, and is now gone to make further search.

What induced you to stay out so late? and why
was Bertha alone near the river?”

Then Sophie, kneeling down, and resting her
head on her mother’s knee, gave a full account of
the whole matter. “But, oh! mother dear,” she
ended, “I was sure it was Bertha, instead of the
pet lamb, that Mrs. Wood drew from the water,
and you can’t think what I suffered until I found
her in the moonlight on her own little bed, ‘ not







dead, but sleeping.”” > S. T. A. R.































































































































Dec.

HURRAH FOR

HE little birds have ceased to sing,
The flowers have drooped in sadness,
No butterfly outspreads a wing,
Warmed by a summer gladness ;
Dear Nature’s face seems worn with care,
That beamed of late with brightness,
When lo come stealing down the air
Flakes of the purest whiteness.
Hurrah, then, hurrah for the snow!

As light as eider-down it sails
Upon its earthward duty,

And branches stript by ruthless gales
Are clothed at once in beauty.

The rudest, roughest bank or ledge



THE SNOW!

Beneath its wondrous power
Grows lovely, while the ragged hedge
Becomes a fairy bower.
Hurrah, then, hurrah for the snow!

The little rogue who found delight
When springtime brought us blossom,
Now hails the landscape clad in white
With joy-inspiréd bosom. %
Forth from his task young mad-cap hies,
As if delay were treason,
And soon from ruddy fingers flies
The first ball of the season.
Hurrah, then, hurrah for the snow !
JOHN G, WATTS,





Walls with Voices.

4l



WALLS WITH VOICES: STORIES AND LEGENDS OF FAMOUS PLACES,

WARWICK CASTLE.

to journey with our readers to places
memorable in tradition or in history,
) and during our wanderings here and
there, to gather together some of the
stories and legends that cluster around the scenes
we visit ; and for our first subject we have chosen
the famous Castle of Warwick—a stately structure,
about whose embattled walls there linger not a
few strange memories.

Situated on a rocky eminence, and rising proudly
from the banks of the river Avon, this grand old
fortress forms, perhaps, one of the most interesting
memorials of ancient splendour, and of the age
when English nobles held mighty sway, to be
found in the land; and (though it has been en-
larged and altered many times since then) its origin
is traced as far back as the days of Alfred the
Great. It was in those remote days when, as
tradition asserts, the castle was possessed by the
famous Sir Guy of Warwick, that the most re-
markable events connected with it and its lords
are supposed to have taken place.

Sir Guy was, we are told, the second of the
Anglo-Saxon Earls of Warwick, and lived, as we
have intimated, at about the end of the ninth
century. According to the account which has
come down to us, he was aman of gigantic strength,
and, as the ree of countless knightly deeds of
bravery and valour, was renowned throughout the
country. Of his many feats, one of the first
we are told of is that in which he figures as the
slayer of the “cruel and wild beast,” known as the
Dun Cow of Dunsmore Heath. Concerning this
exploit, it is said, that at the time of which we are
writing, there was at a certain place in Shropshire
a cow of enormous size, and that through some
cause she one day became suddenly furious, broke
away from the enclosure in which she was kept,
and, wandering into Warwickshire, began to commit
much havoc and slaughter. Many and many at-
tempts were made to destroy the cow, but all were of
no avail; and in the meantime whole villages were
being made desolate by her, and fright and panic
reigned around. So, at last, finding that all this
destruction and terror still continued throughout
his county, and that there seemed no hope of its
being abated, Sir Guy, taking compassion on the
people, determined that he himself would become
their champion, and would go forth to do battle
with the terrible cow. Arraying himself in a strong
coat of mail, and armed with sword and bow and



N this series of sketches we propose |





battle-axe, he therefore sallied forth one day from
Warwick Castle ; and seeking out the huge brute,
he encountered her at a place called Dunsmore
Heath, and there he succeeded in completely van-
quishing her.

And thus Sir Guy freed the county from the
terror by which it had been so sorely oppressed ;
and, in return for his gallantry, not only were
special honours conferred by the king, but the
latter caused one of the ribs of the cow to be hung
up in Warwick Castle, where, together with other
interesting relics, it remains to this day.

But—passing over many other of his doings,
among which was the destruction of a wild boar

- of “passing might and strength,” and of a dragon

“black as any cole” with lion’s paws, and a hide
which no sword could penetrate—the’ most im-
portant instance of Sir Guy’s prowess was a combat _
with a Danish chieftain named Colbrand, which took
place towards the end of his life; and was indeed
the last of the kind in which he ever engaged.
Let us see how it was that this no came
about.

It is said that some time after he Hea destroyed
the dun cow, Sir Guy took his departure from
England, went to Greece and other countries to
fight against the Saracens, and that he then pro-
ceeded on a pilgrimage to the. Holy Land. In
the meanwhile there were great troubles in this
country, for the Danes, who had landed on our
coasts some time before, were now harassing the
English in every quarter; and, according to the
legend, so successful at length was their invasion
that they succeeded in not only penetrating to the
neighbourhood of Winchester, where the king and
his followers were, but, arriving at that city, were
even enabled to dictate the conditions on which
they would make peace.

These conditions were, either that the English
crown should be at once surrendered to the Danish
sovereign, or, this being refused, that the dispute
should be decided in a single combat between an
English champion and one Colbrand, a man of
gigantic size, who would act as the Danish cham-
pion—and of these alternatives it is needless. to
say that it was the latter which was chosen. Now
arose, however, the difficulty as to the warrior who
should do battle for our side ; and the English, we
are told, knowing that Sir Guy—whom they con-
sidered to be the only one of their countrymen
capable of meeting the terrible Dane—was absent
in the Holy Land, were much astonished that their



42 _ Walls with Voices.



king should have accepted such a challenge so
readily as he had done. And so for some time it
seemed doubtful whether, after all, the combat
would take place; for though the king offered the
county of Hampshire to him who should conquer
Colbrand, not one of his nobles or subjects would
volunteer to go forth.

At length, however—so the legend continues—
the king one night had a vision in which he was
directed to arise at dawn on the next morning ; to
goto acertain gate of the city; and at this spot
he would see, among those who entered, one garbed
asa pilgrim, and having upon his head a chaplet
of roses. And to this person he was to address
himself, as well as to make known the challenge
which he had accepted; for in him he would find
the champion who would be able to lay the mighty
‘Colbrand in the dust. So the king arose as he was
bidden, and waited at the city gate.

It was at about this time that Sir Guy of Warwick
returned to England from his pilgrimage, and being
told of the straits to which the king and his army
had been reduced, made his way to Winchester,
where, so says the legend, he arrived on the very
night of the king’s vision. And it happened that on
the next morning, as the king waited at the gate,
Sir Guy—attired in a pilgrim’s habit, and wearing
a chaplet of roses—entered within ; and need we
say the king at once recognised him whom he
sought. Without delay, therefore, he made him-
self known to the pilgrim ; told him concerning the
vision he had had; and entreated him to become
his champion. Sir Guy professed to be much
surprised at what the king said; complained that,
being worn and tired after his long journeyings,
he was ill-fitted for such a task as that which was
proposed ; and (for in his strange attire the latter
had failed to identify him) he inquired why one
of the country’s great warriors had not come
forward? In sadness the king replied that there
‘ was indeed one brave lord of his—he known as
Sir Guy of Warwick—who would readily have gone
forth against the Dane, but he, alas! was journey-
ing in other lands, and there was now no other
who could goin his stead. On hearing this, it is
said that Sir Guy—though still careful not to make
himself known—became very sorrowful; and at
length, begging the king to’ be of good cheer,
undertook to do as he had asked him.

And so—passing on with our story—the day came
on which, after grand preparations, the combat
was to take place; and then, mounted on the
king’s best charger, and girt in strong armour,
Sir Guy went forth to encounter his antagonist.
And soon the two champions were fighting a battle
such as must indeed have been terrible to look

upon; not until the twilight did the crashing of
their swords and lances cease; and then only
after Sir Guy had been proclaimed the victor,
and Colbrand lay lifeless on the field.

This combat over, and the English rid, it is
said, of the Danes, the mysterious pilgrim who had
thus saved his country at his own life’s peril, shrank
entirely from the honours which were now ready
to be showered upon him—indeed, resumed the
garb in which he had at first appeared at Win-
chester; and for some time he even refused to
divulge his real name to the king. At length,
however, he did after much persuasion, and on
promise of strict secrecy being given, make himself
known to the latter; and then it was that, still
refusing reward of any kind, he is said to have
gone forth immediately from the king’s presence,
and making his way to a cave—now known as
Guy’s Cliff—near his own castle at Warwick, to
have there lived a holy life as a hermit until his
death. ,

Between the period when Sir Guy is said to have
lived and the days of King Edward the Second,
though the castle itself experienced many vicissi-
tudes, nothing of sufficient interest to be spoken of
here seems to have taken place in connection with
it. It was during the reign of the latter monarch,
however, that there occurred an event, in which
the Lord of Warwick was the chief actor, that
well illustrates the tyrannical power sometimes

-exercised in those dark days by the great nobles.

In the court of King Edward there was, in the
early part of his reign, a clever, but unprincipled
favourite named Piers Gaveston. To this person,
notwithstanding that he sought in every way to
lead the young king to ruin, Edward was devotedly
attached ; and so great was the influence which
Gaveston had contrived to gain over him that
scarcely any request which he made was refused.
The result of such intimacy was that, fully aware
of the opportunity for enriching himself which he
possessed, Gaveston took base advantage of it in
every way; and so great were the favours—both
of money and titles—which he induced Edward to
grant, that many of the great barons became highly
displeased and indignant.

One of the most inveterate of those who
had become enemies of Piers was the Earl of
Warwick; and his hatred had been brought to
a climax when, on a certain occasion, Gaveston
had, in giving nicknames to two or three of the
other barons, stigmatised him as “the Black Hound
of Ardern.” It was from this moment that the
doom of Edward’s favourite was fixed, for then it
was that the earl made a vow that he would be
revenged, and that “the teeth of the black hound ”



La SRA on” Not Cate ene ete canta s, tata, me ne



CN ee ea eg ee ee



‘d

Ce ae ee ee ee ee

a

Walls with Voices. 43



should one day be felt by Piers Gaveston! And
such in truth proved to be the case. After many
conflicts with King Edward—who was reluctant to
lose his favourite, and yet dared not to quarrel
with the lords—the barons succeeded in banishing
Gaveston from the country; but he having with
great imprudence returned, was, in 1312, forcibly
seized by the Earl of Warwick, borne in triumph
to Warwick Castle, and thence, after a brief council
in the large hall, attended by several of the great
nobles, where his fate was decided, he was dragged
to a rising mound known by the name of Blacklow
Hill » nearly two miles from the town, and there was
executed in ignominy By. his velentless enemies.
About one hundred :



Yorkists not merely to be victorious, but even to
take the king prisoner and march on to London.
Arriving there, and appealing to parliament to be
now acknowledged as the lawful sovereign, the Duke
of York found, however, that his victory had been
of no avail, for the House of Lords flatly refused
his request, and a compromise—namely, that Henry
should retain his crown for life, and that then it
should go to the duke—was all they conceded;
and to this the latter at last agreed. But Henry
had now an infant son, and his wife, Queen Mar-
garet, indignant at her child being excluded from
the throne, would not accept this decision; and
so, escaping from the court, she soon after raised













an army in the north

































































and fifty years pass



















of England, and sur-











































































by; the scene once











































rounding the castle of

































































more changes; and

the Duke of York at



















we come to the days
in which the castle
attained its greatest
splendour and glory, .
and when it had for
its lord an Earl of
Warwick, who was to
earn no less exalted -
a title than that of the
Kingmaker. Of this
famous nobleman, we
are told that so
wealthy and powerful
was he that it is

Wakefield — whither
he had now returned
for the purpose of
keeping Christmas
—she challenged him
to fight ; and he went
out against her. And
this time the White
Roses werethe losers ;
and the Duke of York
was himself among
the slain ; while, later
on, the queen, on her
way to London, even



computed that there
lived every day at his

partially defeated the
Earl of Warwick at







































board in the different
manors and castles
which he possessed in various parts of the country
no fewer than thirty thousand retainers.

At the period of which we are writing, there was
great dissatisfaction throughout England, partly on
account of the country being misgoverned by the
reigning sovereign, Henry VI.; and partly because
a large section of the nobles and people consideréd
that Richard, Duke of York, who had claimed the
throne, and not Henry of Lancaster, was the
rightful king ; and after a time not only was this

discontent openly displayed, but soon the partisans |

of the two dukes were fiercely arrayed against
each other, and the great Wars of the Roses—so
called because the badge of the Yorkists was a
white rose, and that of the Lancastrians a red one—
were the result. Into this contest the Earl of
Warwick, on the side of the Duke of York, threw
the whole weight of his enormous power; and at

- one of the first great battles, he it chiefly was who,

by the aid of his many followers, enabled the



VIEW OF WARWICK CASTLE.



St. Albans. But both
her victories were
fruitless ; for soon Warwick, joined by one thirsting
for revenge in the person of Edward, the son of the
late Duke of York, compelled the royal army to
return to the north; afterwards occupied London ;
and there amid the joyful shouts of the people
caused the young representative of the White Rose
to be placed upon the throne.

After yet one more terrible battle had been
successfully fought by Warwick, Edward, having
the earl for his main support, and liberally re-
warding him with riches and honours of every
kind, found his kingdom fairly established, and the
prospect of further molestation by the Lancastrians
apparently remote. But terrible events were yet
to come, and, truth to tell, the same hand which
had made him king was even to dethrone him:
For we are told that in the third year of his reign,
after Edward had, against Warwick’s wish, married
the Lady Elizabeth Grey, much jealousy, because
of the many favours and honours which were



44

‘Walls with Voices.



bestowed upon the latter’s relatives, began to be
exhibited by the earl ;
was that the bad feeling, increasing daily, ended
at length in an open: quarrel.

well as the king’s brother, then retired to France,

where Queen Margaret was, and made common |

cause with her ; and returning to England at the
head of 60,000 followers, he actually succeedéd in
first driving Edward out of the country, and then
in releasing Henry VI. from the Tower of London,
where he had been a prisoner, and placing him
once more upon the throne of England. Again,
however, the wheel of fortune turned; for within
six months not only did Edward at the head of

a large force make his appearance, but being |

Warwick, with the |
Duke of Clarence, who was his own son-in-law as

and the end of all this |!



joined by the false Clarence and his 12,000 men
—who in one night treacherously changed to
white the colour of every red rose which they
wore—he forced on the Earl of Warwick the battle
of Barnet; and at that fatal place it was that,
fighting on foot and sharing every danger with his
men, the great Kingmaker perished.

England has gradually altered since the days of
the three earls of which we have told you, and most
of the later Lords of Warwick have lived in more
peaceful and less exciting times than their ancestors.
But the castle still stands—the echoes of the
changeful events with which its history has been
linked still cling to it, though the age of which

it is so splendid a monument is one which, happily,
can never again return.























































































































































































































































































ALNWICK CASTLE,

ATING _ its

back to the
time of the Ro-
mans, its history
bound up with
not a few stir-
ring events, Aln-
wick Castle —
home of many of
the great Percys
of the past, and
now a seat of
the present Duke
of Northumber-
land — possesses,
through the im-







portant part «hich it has played in other days,

more than ordinary interest.

Concerning this stately fortress in its earliest
form little is knowa, though it is reputed to have
been a place of sume note for many years before
the Conquest ; and it is not until about the time
when William the Norman came to this country
that anything of importance is recorded respecting

foundation |

1
1



it. . At that period—though some suppose it was of
rather a primitive kind—it is said to have been
a fortress of no mean pretensions, and to have
formed, indeed, as it did in later days, the principal
stronghold in the wild region which was then the
borderland between England and Scotland; and
its possessor was a certain baron named Gilbert
Tyson, one of the most powerful chiefs of North-
umberland. But Tyson was: destined to be a.
martyr to patriotism, and of him we do not learn
much ; for, fighting for his country at the great
battle of Hastings, he, with many other nobles, fell
there, and soon afterwards his castle camie into the
hands of one of William’s followers, called Ivo de
Vesci, to whom the Conqueror had presented it.
It was by this chieftain that the fortress was much
altered and strengthened ; and it was during the
time that it was in his possession that the first event
of any interest which is spoken of in connection with
it-is stated to have taken place. This was a memo-
rable siege which it underwent in the year 1093.

At the period of which we are writing, Scotland
was reigned over by Malcolm III.; and _ this
monarch having married the daughter and espoused
the cause of Edgar, the remaining heir of the







engl

—

Walls with Voices. | 45

Saxon race of kings, a war had been provoked
between himself and William the Conqueror, which
was carried on with varying fortune for some years.
By the time, however, when William Rufus suc-
ceeded his father, in 1087, the relations between
the two countries appear to have become peaceful,
and but for the latter there seems to be no reason
why they should have been interrupted. But
Rufus was not satisfied with the extent of his own
territory; and thinking that the acquisition of
Carlisle and other places in the north—which were
at this time considered to belong to the Scottish
king—would be of great advantage to him, pre-
pared accordingly to dispossess their owner of
them by expelling the lord of the district.

Malcolm was at this time somewhat advanced
in years, and there were besides other reasons
which made him dis-



doubtless have continued to hold out against the be-
siegers longer. Unfortunately, however, a day came
when, all hope of succour being cut off, it was only
too plain to the lord of the castle—then Eustace,
son of Ivo de Vesci—and his brave soldiers that
further resistance was useless, and that all prospect
of victory was at an end. And at that juncture
it was that deliverance came in an altogether
unexpected manner. De Vesci was just on the
point of surrendering the fortress when a private
soldier came forward and undertook to rescue it
by a daring stratagem, which he was allowed to
carry out. Arming himself completely, this man
rode forth, with the keys of Alnwick Castle dangling
from his lance ; and next, making his way to the
Scottish camp, he presented himself in a suppliant
manner before Malcolm, as if he had come to

deliver up the keys.

















inclined for war;





The king, suspect-

























































still, it can be well



ing no treachery,























understood thatsuch



















quickly advanced to















a proceeding as that



receive them, and













































































of William’s would













not be permitted by
him without vigorous
protest. In order,
therefore, to prevent
hostilities, and at the
same time to obtain
satisfaction, Mal-
colm determined to

then, we are told,
the trooper pierced
him with his lance
andslew him! And
so by this deed the
whole condition of
affairs was changed ;
for not only was
Malcolm thus slain,























payavisitto William



but his son Edward



Rufus, the latterhav-



also received a



ing intimated that
he would receive
him amicably and discuss the question with him with

‘the view to its being settled in a friendly manner. |

On his arrival at the court, however, Malcolm,

with great insolence and disdain, being even refused
admittance to his presence ; and he was further in-
formed that the matter in dispute would have to be
submitted for judgment to the peers of England.
The result of this unlooked-for behaviour was that,
feeling that he had been grievously insulted,
Malcolm hastily returned to his own kingdom in
high displeasure; and it was not long ere he
showed the effects of his resentment. For, gathering
together his army, he, with his son Edward, soon
afterwards crossed the Scottish border, and enter-
ing Northumberland, at length laid . siege to
Alnwick Castle—with what result will be seen.
Though the army of Malcolm was one of con-

‘siderable strength, the garrison of the fortress

successfully defended it for some time, and had
their supply of provisions been sufficient, would

ALNWICK CASTLE,



mortal wound ; and
a confusion arising
throughout the ranks of the Scottish army, De Vesci
and his soldiers at once seized the opportunity

( ; offered, and making a fierce attack, utterly scattered
much to his astonishment, was treated by the king |

their enemies, and then returned to the castle which
they had so gallantly saved.

It was in the following century—in the year 1174
—that yet another Scottish sovereign was defeated
near this castle. The Lord of Alnwick was now
a certain William de Vesci, and he too was
frequently involved in the quarrels which agitated
the kingdoms of England and Scotland. At the time
when this De Vesci lived, it happened that William,
the King of Scotland—called the Lion, because of
his bravery—had through various reasons (more
especially because a portion of what he considered
his territory on the borders of the two countries
hiad been taken from him) become an inveterate
enemy of the English, and at length joined the son
of Henry II., who had rebelled against his father,
and invaded Northumberland; appearing at length
before the walls of Alnwick Castle. Meanwhile,



46

Walls with Voices.



the English, on learning of the advance of the
Scots, had marched northwards, and soon arrived
at Newcastle, from which town they set out one
morning to the relief of De Vesci’s fortress.
on this particular morning a dense fog covered the
country through which the army passed, and this
caused its advance to be a matter of difficulty as
well as of danger; for though it prevented the
enemy from being made aware of the coming of
the English, it entirely concealed from the latter
the precise whereabouts of King William and his
men. It is said that just before the English soldiers
approached Alnwick, some of the number, fearful
because of the mist, wished to turn back; but one
of the commanders, Bernard de Baliol, quickly
denounced such a cowardly proposal, and cried
out, “If all return, I will go forward!” And
at that moment the sun suddenly appeared
and dispersed the fog. Before the soldiers there
rose, to their astonishment, the lofty towers of the
castle; while on one side, in a meadow, was seen
no other than the King of Scotland tilting* with
sixty of his knights. At first, we are told, William
mistook the English for some of his own party
returning to the camp, but their banner speedily
convinced him of his error; on which, nothing
daunted by the surprise, he came forward and
haughtily exclaimed, “Now let us prove, then, who
are ¢rué knights!” But his bravery was of no avail ;
for advancing to meet his opponents, his horse was
slain beneath him at the first charge, and as he fell
to the ground he was taken prisoner, while his
knights, making no further resistance, immediately
threw down their arms, and quietly followed their
sovereign as captives to Newcastle. William the
Lion was soon after this taken to London, thence
removed to Normandy, and cast into prison; and
not until he consented to acknowledge himself a
vassal, and do homage to the English king did he
regain his liberty.

We pass on to the beginning of the fourteenth
century, and we arrive at the time when Alnwick
' Castle first came into the hands of the Percy family ;
it being now acquired by Henry de Percy, a power-
ful noble, having great possessions in the north
of England, and the descendant of a favourite
chieftain of William the Conqueror, who had come



* Tilting was a kind of mock fight, which formed a favourite
amusement at the time of which we are writing. In these contests
the combatants, mounted on horses, and fully equipped with armour,
helmet, and shield, would take up their positions at certain distances
apart, and then at a given signal would gallop forward, having in
their hands lances with blunt heads, and each attempt to overthrow
the other. Those privileged to take part in tilting were called
“knights,” and the enclosure where they engaged was termed
the “lists.” Sometimes galleries were placed around the “lists,”
for the accommodation of ladies and other spectators,

But |



over to this country with that king, the name
of Percy having been derived from a place so
called in Lower Normandy. Of this _par-
ticular member of the ‘house, there is, however,
nothing to tell, except that the castle was by him
rebuilt and altered ; and it is not until we come
to the days of Earl Percy, the fourth lord of
Alnwick of that family, and of his son Henry,
surnamed Hotspur, that any notable incidents
seem to have taken place. Let us glance at one
of the many deeds with which the names of these

' two renowned nobles are so inseparably associated.

Earl Percy, like many of those chieftains who
had possessed the castle before him, was not only
extremely bitter in his hatred of the Scots, but
frequently took a very prominent part against their
encroachments on English territory ; and in these
warlike operations—which were principally confined
to the borderland amidst which Alnwick was situated
-his son Henry joined him at a very early age.
Naturally of an impulsive and fiery disposition,
such expeditions as these of his father’s were exactly
suited to the tastes of young Percy, and greatly did
he distinguish himself in the field. Ere long, indeed,
such was the dashing courage he displayed, that by-
common consent he received the name by which we
have called him, Hotspur.

It was at this period, when father and son were
thus taking a very conspicuous part against the
Scots, that a rivalry which had long existed be-
tween the English house of Percy and the Scottish
house of Douglas became more and more marked ;
so much s0, in fact, that a feeling of deepest enmity
seems to have arisen between the two families.
And the result of all this was such as could only
have been expected in those days. After a
time Earl Douglas led an expedition across the
border against Earl Percy, and the forces of the two
rivals met at length at a place called Otterburn, in
Northumberland, where they fought a terrible battle.
And in this struggle Douglas was slain; while the
gallant Hotspur, who was, of course, in the thickest
part of the fight, was taken prisoner.

Which side after all gained the victory is uncer-
tain, for each claimed it; but whatever the result,
the battle of Otterburn possesses considerable
interest to us, for upon it is believed to be to a
great extent founded one of the most famous
ballads in the English language—that called
“Chevy Chase”—which, however, gives a some-
what different account of the contest, as well as of
its origin’

According to the story which is told in this poem,
the battle came about in this way :—Earl Percy,
being very desirous to encounter Earl Douglas, vowed
one day that he would enter into the territory of









Welle ieee



the latter, and there would hunt in the woods
for three days without condescending to ask per-
mission, for he knew that by so doing he would
provoke his rival to expel him by force. Accordingly,
in spite of the warning of Douglas, who, says the
ballad—

—— ‘sent Earl Percy present word
He would prevent the sport.

The English Earl, not fearing him,
Did to the woods resort,”

and before noon a hundred fat harts were slain.
Earl Percy and his followers—fifteen hundred in
number—then dressed these, and having dined,
proceeded to rouse the deer again ; and soon—

——‘'with their cries the hills and dales
An echo shrill did make.”

Up to this time the English had not been dis-
turbed in their sport in any way, and Percy, wonder-
ing why Douglas had not appeared, was apparently
about to retire, when suddenly there was brought
word :—

“« Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come,
His men in armour bright,

Full twenty hundred Scottish spears,
All marching in our sight,

‘‘ All men of pleasant Tividale,
Fast by the river Tweed.”

And such, in truth, was the case. Douglas
and his men very soon came upon the scene;
challenge and defiance passed between the two
nobles, and then a fierce combat began. Douglas
at length called on Percy to give in; the
brave Northumbrian, however, cried, scornfully,
that he would yield to no Scot that ever yet was
born. But at that moment an arrow from an

English bow struck Douglas, and he fell. Then,
it is said, Earl Percy, forgetting all his past enmity,
“took the dead man by the hand,” declared that he
would rather have lost all his lands than that he
“should thus have died; and cried—



““my very heart doth bleed
For sorrow for thy sake! a
For sure a more renownéd knight
Mischance did never take.”

But while he was thus lamenting the loss of his
rival, a certain Scottish knight, having witnessed
his master’s death, “ran fee through the fight,”
past all the English archers, and (so says the ballad)
by him the noble Percy, too, was slain. Though
both leaders had thus fallen, however, the battle
was still continued ; when the evening bell was
rung it had scarcely ceased ; and in the end, of the
fifteen hundred Englishmen who fought, there went
home but fifty-three, and of the two thousand
Scotsmen but fifty-five—



47
‘“The rest were slain in Chevy Chase
Under the greenwood tree,”
Such is the sad story related in “Chevy

Chase,”* the incidents of which are, however, as
we have intimated, only partially in accordance
with those which occurred at the battle of Otter-
burn. For in reality not only did Earl Percy
survive this latter contest, but in after years both
he and Hotspur took part in many another brave
encounter; though it was in the battle-field that
each at last met his fate.

Our space will only permit us to speak of one
more event in the history of Alnwick Castle, and
with it the present sketch must be concluded.
This was a remarkable retreat which was made
from it during the Wars of the Roses. We are told
that this castle was one of those in the north of
England which was placed at the disposal of
Queen Margaret ‘(of whom we spoke in our ac-
count of Warwick Castle), and that she garrisoned
it with three hundred Frenchmen. In 1464, how-
ever, she suffered a most disastrous defeat at
Hexham; and then it was that Edward IV.,
having given orders that all the northern fortresses
occupied by her troops were to be retakengAlnwick
Castle, among others, was besieged. Now, Margaret
was very anxious to preserve the three hundred men
in this garrison, and so she sought the assistance of
a Scottish noble, the Earl of Angus, who gallantly
undertook to bring them away. And this was how
the apparently difficult feat was accomplished.
Making his appearance before the fortress with
ten thousand troops, as if he intended to attack the
English army which had surrounded it, we are told
that while the latter ranged themselves in line
of battle, he brought up a party of his strongest
cavalry to one of the castle gates ; that through
this the garrison passed out one by one; and that
then each soldier, mounting a horse, and seating
nimself on it behind a trooper, quietly rode away,
and was thus safely conveyed to Scotland, the
commander of the English forces being well satis-
fied. to take possession of the deserted stronghold
without needless fighting.

Though originally built in a very remote age,
and though, as we have seen, repeatedly besieged,
Alnwick Castle, having been frequently restored,
is still in excellent preservation ; and standing as
it does on a commanding elevation to the north-
west of the town from which its name is taken,
its stout walls and clustering towers form a picture
of striking grandeur which is “conspicuous to every
eye, and glitters in every sunbeam.”



* This is from a French word (chevauchée), meaning a raid over
an enemy’s border, From it comes also ‘chivy,” a name familiar ta

' every schoolboy.



-
co

|

Walls with Voices.









|















































































































































































NTH ii}
If













































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































CORFE CASTLE

as the Isle of Purbeck, in
Dorsetshire, on the summit of
a steep limestone rock, are the
noble-looking ruins of the for-
“) tress which we have chosen
for our present subject. To
Alfred the Great the erection
of the earliest portion of this
castle is ascribed, he having
raised a fortified building at
Corfe as a partial means of
protection against the Danes, who were at that
period making raids upon our shores; and it was
by another Saxon ruler—Edgar—that the main
structure was built, the latter king, indeed, so ex-
tending it, that it became for a time one of the
most magnificent strongholds in this country. Thus
the picturesque though shattered walls of Corfe
Castle which yet remain have braved the ravages of
nearly a thousand years, and linked with their
history are one or two rather notable incidents.




N the centre of what is known:



Among the earliest occupants of Corfe Castle
was Queen Elfrida, the second wife of that King
Edgar of whom we have spoken, and it was during
the time that she resided there that the first
occurrence of any importance in connection with the
fortress is supposed to have taken place. This was
the tragic death, at the instigation of Elfrida—who
was desirous that her own son Ethelred, should
reign—of her stepson Edward, then King of
England, an event which is said to have come
about in this way. The unfortunate king, being on
a hunting expedition in Dorsetshire, found himself
one day in the neighbourhood of Corfe, and remem-
bering that Elfrida and Ethelred—of both of whom
he was very fond—were then living at the castle,
he determined to pay them a visit. Accordingly,
towards evening, having by some means, purposely
or by accident, detached himself from his attendants,
he made his way on horseback to the fortress,
Now the wicked Queen Elfrida had long been
seeking to remove her stepson from the throne of
England, in order, as we have said, that Ethelred

ODM

aa





Sie ee Ue i ar

257 patentee anne









i :
j
4



hi
:
;



Walls with Voices. 49



might take his place ; when, therefore, the news of
Edward’s approach, unattended, was brought to
‘her, she quickly saw that the looked-for opportu-
nity had come. So, accompanied by her retinue,
she went out to the gate of the castle to meet
the king; and then, having pretended to give him
an affectionate welcome, she ‘invited him in a
friendly manner to alight, and partake of her
hospitality. But Edward replied that he did
not desire to stay longer, and that it was his in-
tention to return at once, telling Elfrida, however,
that before he departed, he would like, on horse-
back, to drink to her and his brother in a cup
of wine, and thus leave her. Whereupon the
‘wine being called for and presented to him, the
king drank ; but scarcely had the cup touched his

lips ere, by the hand of one of the attendants of |

the queen (some say the deed was perpetrated by
Elfrida herself) he received in the back a wound
which was too soon to proveamortal one. At first
Edward did not fall, but, though much hurt, was
able to put spurs to his horse and hastily ride
away in the hope of discovering his followers ; but
sad to relate, the wound was so deep that he could
only proceed a little way beyond the castle; and
then, fainting with exhaustion, he dropped from his
saddle, and, his foot entangled in the stirrup, was
dragged along until before many hours had passed,
he was no more. So it was that Ethelred became
the king of England, and that the name of the
** Martyr,” was received by his hapless brother.

After the Norman Conquest, Corfe Castle seems
to have been possessed by one of the great nobles
who had come over to this country with William I. ;
and in the reign of Stephen, when that king found
himself compelled, because of the encroachments of
the barons, to attack many of their strongholds, it
sustained a siege by the royal forces ; though its
great strength enabled it to bafile all the attempts
that were made to take it. Next—about fifty years
later—we find that it passed into the hands of the
‘cruel King John, by whom it was used as a royal
residence ; his regalia and treasure being deposited
within its walls, and state prisoners enduring much
‘suffering in its gloomy dungeons.

Rather more than a century after the reign of
John a notable captive, in the person of the then
dethroned king, Edward II., was brought to Corfe
Castle, and for a short period was imprisoned there.
Next we find the fortress forming for a while the
residence of the mother of Henry VII.; and then
no event of any interest seems to have taken place
there until the time of Charles I., during whose
reign it was, in 1643, that the castle was success-
fully defended against attack by a courageous lady,
about whom we intend to tell you.



At the period to which we allude, Corfe Castle
was owned by a famous lawyer, Sir John Bankes,

who was then the Attorney-General of this country.

Unfortunately, at this time serious differences
existed between the king and a certain faction in
the two Houses of Parliament, and at length
Charles found himself obliged to withdraw from
London; and soon, throughout the country, be-
tween those who were on his side, and those who
were opposed to him, a civil war was stirred up. Sir
John Bankes had always been greatly attached to
the king, for to him he owed much of the advance-
ment which he had made in his profession ; it is
not surprising to find, therefore, that now mis-
fortune attended Charles he still remained faithful
and staunch. But Sir John’s zeal was greater than
his prudence; for it happened that, in his indig-

mation against the Parliamentary party, as the re-

bellious faction was called, he on one occasion
publicly denounced some of the leaders of the
latter, and the result of this was that he was, in
1642, adjudged a traitor, his property declared
to be forfeited, and his castle ordered to be
besieged.

In the meantime Sir John’s wife, Lady Bankes,
fearful because of the troubles which she had seen
were impending on account of her husband’s
attachment to the king, had retired for protection
to Corfe; and there she and her children were
sheltered, and lived in peace until the month of May
in the following year. And then it was that the
Parliamentary forces having possessed themselves
of several other important castles in Dorsetshire,
marched towards Sir John’s fortress with the in-
tention of taking that also, though their mode
of procedure at the outset was not by open
hostility—for they were well aware of the great
strength of the place—but by attempted treachery.

In connection with the fortress there seems to
have been an ancient usage, that on the 1st of May
every year certain persons belonging to Corfe,
together with the gentlemen of the surrounding
neighbourhood, should have permission from the
lord of the castle to hunt a stag; and this custom
was always kept up with much ceremony, and
great numbers took part in it. So it was that on
the morning of the May Day in the year of
which we speak, the huntsmen gathered together
as usual, and grand preparations were made for
the day's enjoyment. Scarcely, however, had the
time arrived for the chase to begin ere most
ominous intelligence was brought; and this was
that at various points of the Isle of Purbeck bands
of soldiers were coming in; and that their object
was not to participate in the sport, but that it was

in reality first to attack the huntsmen, and then
D



‘50 Walls with Voices. on



to proceed to take the castle, was soon evident.
Carefully planned, however, as were the soldiers’
movements, they were checkmated, for the news of
their approach spread so rapidly that before they
arrived, not only had the gentlemen all dispersed,
but Lady Bankes, having also received warning,
had given hasty orders for the castle—within which
there were only herself, her children, and a few
tenants—to be securely closed against all comers.

Not a little mortified, we daresay, were the
soldiers to find that those whom they had hoped
to surprise were nowhere to be seen; they had,
however, yet another scheme in view. which they
resolved to test, and this was, if possible, to gain
access to the stronghold under a false pretence.
Accordingly, not many hours elapsed before a few
of the troopers, acting as scouts, rode up to the
gate, and in a most innocent manner actually
begged permission—it being May Day and ac-
counted a public holiday in the island—to be
shown over the castle. But Lady Bankes was
not to be so easily deceived as they imagined ;
and so, in spite of the protestations of the soldiers
that their intentions were perfectly honourable,
the request was promptly refused ; and nothing re-
mained for them, therefore, just then but to take
their departure.

It now seemed very plain to Lady Bankes that
the troopers who had visited her had come on no
friendly errand, and that there was a design upon
her castle she was quite convinced; and so not
knowing how soon she might need their services,
she determined to at once call in some of her
tenants to assist her. But by taking such a step,
though she thus secured herself at home, she
caused much suspicion to be raised abroad; and
from this time forward all her actions were
vigilantly watched, and at last exaggerated reports
having been spread as to the number of men as
well as to the quantity of food secreted in the
castle—as though she intended to thoroughly mann
and provision it—there came a demand from a-com-
mission of the Parliamentary party which was then
assembled at the neighbouring port of Poole, for
the four pieces of cannon belonging to the fortress ;
the pretended reason for this being that the islanders
were jealous because the guns were mounted on
their carriages, and were afraid lest they should
cause them harm. Lady Bankes, however, declined
to give up the pieces; though she eventually con-
sented, in order to allay the islanders’ supposed
fears, to take the guns off their carriages, on its being
agreed that they should remain in her possession.

But not many days passed before very early
one morning there appeared before the castle forty
seamen from Poole—the arrival of whom much

surprised Lady Bankes, who, having been promised
by the enemy that she should not be again molested,
was not prepared for them, and had indeed at the
time only five men in the garrison—and, knocking
at the gate, these sailors produced a warrant from

the Parliamentary commissioners calling upon her

to immediately surrender the four guns. But,
though she was so unprepared, Lady Bankes was
not one to yield to such a demand as this; and
so we find her, early as it was, going out in person.
to the gate, and then and there boldly defying the
‘men; anid, further, bidding them quit the castle
without delay. The sailors, however, seeing that
she was alone, and apparently unprotected, were
reluctant to depart; whereupon Lady Bankes
seeing that they would not move, called together
without further parley her small garrison of five,
and, assisted by the maid-servants, not only
remounted the cannon on their carriages, but
loading one, fired it so skilfully that she effectually
scared the forty sailors, who instantly ran away.
Thus far Lady Bankes had succeeded in saving
her castle and guns from capture; but, knowing
the treacherous character of the enemy, she yet had
many fears as to the future. She therefore made
up her mind to again summon help without further
loss of time for the defence of the fortress ; and so.
an alarm was given, and a guard of tenants and
friends from various parts of the island—numbering
in all about fifty—quickly came to her aid. And
now. began a series of sore troubles that were to
continue for some time. Hardly a week passed,
before many threatening letters had been received
by Lady Bankes, intimating to her, that unless she
discharged the garrison, great forces would be sent
to attack her; next, cowardly messagés were dis-
patched to the wives of the tenants who were in the
castle, telling them that if they did not induce their
husbands to return, their houses would be set on

fire; then a large quantity of gunpowder, which . ©

Lady Bankes had hoped to be able to convey into:
the fortress was intercepted; and, finally, not only
was no one permitted to pass in and out, but
proclamation was even made that no food what-
ever should be sold, under heavy penalties, to. those
within the castle. And so it was, that at length,
though not until threatened by actual starvation,
Lady Bankes was forced once more to agree to a
compromise, which was that the four cannon should

be surrendered, and that she should, in return, be |

allowed to enjoy the castle in peace.

The enemy having thus, as they imagined, re-.

duced the castle to submission, became now less.
watchful over it than hitherto, and having secured
the cannon were apparently unconcerned as to the
doings of Lady Bankes; and of this the latter, who



Be alia tal Cos Ss A oe eat Ds

ee ee



¢

: Walls with Voices.



still greatly mistrusted their promises, soon took ad-
vantage by seeking every opportunity of storing
ammunition and provisions, which, as it happened,
she was able to do without any hindrance. And
well, indeed, it was that she took such precautions ;
for only a short time elapsed before the chiefs of the
Parliamentary party having heard of the resistance
offered by the fortress, dispatched a body of 200
or 300 soldiers, who, after burning four houses at
Corfe, and disregarding the promises made to
Lady Bankes, suddenly appeared before the castle,
and summoned it to surrender. The demand being
refused, they refrained, however, from making an
immediate attack, and so left for a short time. But
they quickly returned, on this occasion in greater
numbers, consisting of nearly 600 men; with them
they brought a formidable array of cannon and
other weapons of war; and now there commenced
a siege such as Corfe Castle had never before
suffered, At every point the grand old fortress
was played upon by the enemy’s guns ; next, these
attempts failing, efforts were by some means made
to bribe the garrison—consisting at this time of
only eighty men—to surrender. But all was of no
avail. Then, after a while, the enemy, desirous of
approaching nearer to the castle walls, constructed
two rough machines—the one called a “sow,” the
other a “boar ”—made of boards, and lined with
wool to deaden the shot, and, with these for a cover
and protection against the bullets, some of the
soldiers prepared to advance. But worse results
than ever followed this ludicrous experiment ; for
when the sow, which was the first to move, went
forward, the legs of the soldiers inside were so
exposed that the musketeers on the castle ramparts
at once fired at them with such good aim that the
greater number of the men were maimed, and glad
to hasten back as quickly as they could; the boar
meanwhile, profiting by the experience of the sow,
was afraid to advance at all! And so the siege
went on day after day, and yet the capture of the
castle was as far from being accomplished as it was
at the very first.

At length, however, the enemy having received
another reinforcement, consisting of 150 seamen,
resolved to make one more vigorous effort to gain
the prize. Accordingly, they divided their forces
into two detachments, the one of which was to
attack the middle ward of the fortress, which was
defended by the main portion of the garrison, and
the other to attack the upper ward, which Lady
Bankes, her children, her maid servants, and only
five soldiers had undertaken to protect. Forward
the Parliamentary soldiers now marched, full of fury
and determination, and up the scaling-ladders they
were soon endeavouring to climb. But what a

we look upon to-day.

51



reception awaited them, and how bitter was the
humiliation in store for them! Hardly were the
castle walls gained and the ascent commenced, ere
not only was the rope of every one of their ladders
cut asunder, but, rolling and dashing down from
the hands of the gallant Lady Bankes and her
companions, there came upon them such a torrent
of rude missiles—now hot embers, now huge
stones, now even molten lead—that the luck-
less besiegers were utterly overwhelmed and driven
off; and at this juncture it was, after no less than
100 of them had been lost or wounded, that
the sound of distant music being heard, and news
being suddenly brought that no other than the
king’s forces were then advancing to the relief of
Corfe, the entire army that remained became so
filled with terror that they immediately took to their
heels, and retreated in a body from the neighbour-
hood without even carrying away their tents, arms,
or ammunition! And thus, after a continuous siege
of six weeks—for such was the duration of this
last attack—Corfe Castle, by the bravery of Lady
Bankes and her devoted band, was defended from
capture.

There came a day, however, when the stronghold
was, after all, compelled to surrender, though its
seizure was not effected by fair means. In 1646,
Sir John Bankes having some time previously died,
Corfe Castle was once more besieged by the Par-
liamentary forces. But among the garrison at this
time was an officer, one Colonel Bingham, who was
a traitor. This man, being tired of serving on the
side of the king, let the enemy know that if they
would undertake to protect him he would deliver
the fortress to them; and his shameful offer was
accepted. So Bingham proposed to the governor
of Corfe Castle that he should be permitted to
obtain too soldiers from Somersetshire, for the
avowed purpose of strengthening the garrison ;
whereupon, this suggestion being approved of, he
took his departure, and pretended to fetch the men ;
but instead of doing so, he arranged with the enemy
that that number of troops should be drawn from
theiy forces, and that these, being disguised in
the king’s uniform, should accompany him to the
castle, where having gained an entrance they should
co-operate with the Parliamentary soldiers in seizing
it. And so it was, that this plan being successfully
carried out, the defenders, finding they had been so
basely betrayed, had no choice but to give in; and,
within a short time, Corfe Castle was not only no
longer the home of Lady Bankes, but, Parliament
having ordered its walls and towers to be under-
mined with gunpowder, it ceased also to exist as a
fortress, and became only the heap of ruins which

D2



Walls with Voices.



THE TOWER OF LONDON.

EITHER in
this nor in
any other country
would it be pos-
sible to find walls
so storied with
eventful recollec-
tions as are those
of the great for-
tress which stands
on the bank of
the river Thames.
Originally built by
William the Con-
queror, added to
by his son Rufus,
and still further
enlarged by later
sovereigns of England, the Tower of London boasts
a history which spreads over eight hundred years,
and during the greater part of this period, as palace
and prison, though mainly as the latter, it has been
the scene of an almost unbroken chain of varying
incidents. Selecting for our first story that of the
earliest escape from it which is known, let us glance
at a few of the many occurrences with which this
celebrated stronghold has been associated.*

It is not a little remarkable that the first state
prisoner ever known to have been lodged in the
Tower was the man who had, by means of an
oppressive taxation, collected the very money which
was needed to build the structure itself, though the
reason of his being there is not difficult to discover.
This person, named Ralph Flambard, and some-
times called the Firebrand, was of very humble
origin, but being possessed of unusual talents, he
contrived to enter the service of the king, and soon
made himself so useful in forcing money from the
English, that he was rewarded with many high
offices in the State. But during all the time that
he was thus employed a bitter feeling was rising
against him throughout the country, and the people
began not only to grow discontented through the
heavy payments which they were compelled to make,
but to regard Flambard himself, who-was well
known to be cruel and very greedy, with peculiar
hatred. And this feeling at length displayed itself
in an unmistakable manner ; for there came a day
when Ralph’s royal patron and master having, in









THE WHITE TOWER.

* An account of the Tower, and of some of the events which have
taken place there, may be found in ‘Old and New London,” pub-
lished by Messrs. Cassell Petter & Galpin,



1100, been killed, the people, with the consent of
Henry I., who was anxious to please them, seized.
the unpopular tax-gatherer, and threw him into the
Tower, his place of confinement being that portion
of the fortress which is known as the White Tower.
While here, however, Flambard was not dealt with
in any way harshly, being permitted to have his
own attendants, and: also to supply himself with
whatever food and wine he chose ; he was, indeed,
treated rather as a guest than as a prisoner, and it
was by taking advantage of these privileges, that he
eventually contrived to escape. For it is said that
one night he not only succeeded in inducing all the
Norman soldiers whose duty it was to keep guard
over him to come to supper in his own chamber,
but entertained them so bountifully, and tempted
them to partake so freely of his wine, that ere
long every one of them was fast asleep. From
one of the wine-jars, where it had been carefully
concealed, the wily Flambard then quickly drew out
a long rope, which he attached to the window; let
himself down with it to the ground, a distance of
sixty-five feet; and ere long, in. company with
faithful servants, who had helped to carry out the
plans, was sailing with all speed across the English
Channel.

About a century later, in 1234, there came to the
White Tower another noted prisoner, in the person
of Griffin, Prince of North Wales, who had been
betrayed into the hands of the English king by
his own brother, and to this chieftain a melancholy
interest attaches. Chafing under the restraint
to which he was subjected within the narrow
walls of his prison, he too, having, like Flambard,
determined to escape, knotted a rope with table-
cloths, and sheets, and hangings. But the line
thus provided snapped asunder as by night he
lowered himself from the turret, and thus, falling
a distance of thirty feet, the unfortunate prince
perished. :

And now passing on to the latter portion of the
fourteenth century, we find the Tower, which after
the time of its erection had always formed a
palace as well as a prison, in the heyday of its
splendour and glory as a royal residence. We
see Edward III. holding his court there, and
enlivening the grim chambers of the fortress with
gorgeous entertainments; we see gay tilting-
matches attended by the flower of England’s nobility ;
and, later on, we see the little son of Edward the
Black Prince—now to succeed his grandfather as
king—coming forth from the Tower richly robed





Walls with Voices.

53



in white, and proceeding amid great ceremony to”

Westminster to receive his crown. And then all
this brightness and magnificence pass away—to
flicker in succeeding reigns only now and again—
and darker days come. For the young sovereign,
though at first he gave much promise of future
greatness, soon proved how utterly incapable he
was of governing this country; great discontent
arose because of his conduct, and the result was
that a section of the people determined that he
should be dethroned, and that his cousin Henry
Bolingbroke should take his place. So it was that
civil war—carried on by the partisans of the two
royal cousins—soon raged in England; terror
reigned all around; the Tower, in which for the
first time the scaffold was now erected, was the
scene of many a saddening tragedy; and then,
defeated by his enemies and deserted ‘by his
supporters, came the closing scene of Richard’s
sovereignty. His deposition having been solemnly
declared by Parliament, there assembled in the
great hall of the Tower all the chief men of the
realm, and it was in this chamber—the same in
which in happier days he had taken part in not a
few joyous festivities—Richard was first made
to give up his crown and sceptre to his cousin
Henry, then taken to one of the prison cells, and
afterwards removed to the Castle of Pontefract,
where it is supposed he fell a victim to foul play.







Next was placed in the White Tower one of royal
blood, Charles of Orleans, grandson of Charles V. of
France, who had been captured while wounded
at the battle of Agincourt, in 1415, and brought
‘to England until he should be ransomed for no
less a sum than 300,000 crowns. Charles was not
only a brave soldier, but was also a poet of great
repute; and we are told that during the years,
numbering twenty-five, he was in the Tower he
spent much of his time in writing verses, until at
length, his friends in France having succeeded in



getting together the ransom, he was released. In
a written copy of the prince’s poems which has





been preserved there is a quaint drawing, made
by himself, which strikingly illustrates the manner
in which he lived during his long captivity. In
one part of it he is seen at his desk writing his
poems, the Tower guards being on duty, and his
attendants waiting on him; in another he is
anxiously looking out of his window towards the
Thames ; in 4 third he is in the act of embracing
the messenger who has come with his long-looked-
for ransom; next he is shown with his welcome
companion riding away from the Tower; and finally
we see him in a barge hastening towards the craft
which is to take him back to his own country.

In the same century the Tower saw another
captive—Sir John Oldcastle, “the good Lord Cob-
ham.” This nobleman was a follower of John
Wycliffe, the translator of the Bible, whose teach-
ings he had made known to the people with such
zeal that he was thrown into the Tower; and ere
long, through refusing to change his belief, was
ordered to be burned. But Sir John had many
faithful adherents among the good citizens of Lon-
don ; and these, having heard his sentence, which
was publicly proclaimed at St. Paul’s Cross, were
greatly agitated in consequence. So on a certain
dark October night, one William Fisher, heading
a band of determined followers, went down to the
Tower, forced their way past the guards into the
place where Oldcastle was confined, released him,
and passed through the gates in safety, and forth-
with carried him back in triumph to his own house.
There Sir John remained in security for some
time; but he was compelled at length to with-
draw, and then he betook himself to Wales,
where, with the knowledge that a heavy sum had
been placed on his head, he restlessly wandered
hither and thither for four years. Sad to say,
however, he could not after.all succeed in evading



34

his enemies, for a Welshman, to whom he had
confided his secret, betrayed him in order to obtain
the reward which had been offered ; whereupon the
luckless nobleman was once more brought to the
Tower, and, in 1417, without further trial, went to





THE BELL TOWER.

the stake in front of his own house in Smithfield
—the first of the long roll of martyrs who in that
fatal spot suffered for a noble cause.

Rather more than fifty years elapse; several
notable persons, including King Henry VI., have
meanwhile endured a lingering imprisonment there ;
and then in the Tower came to an end—by his being
drowned, it is supposed, in a butt of Malmsey
wine—the existence of that Duke of Clarence who,
some years before, had so treacherously deserted
the Earl of Warwick at Barnet ; while, not long
after, in an adjoining chamber, are said to have
been cruelly smothered, by order of their uncle,
the little King Edward V. and his brother Richard,
Duke of York, the one but twelve, the other only
ten years of age.

It was at about the same
period that there was a
captive in the Tower con-
cerning whom a remark-
able tradition has come
down to us. This was Sir
Henry Wyatt, grandfather
of a rebel imprisoned ina }#
later century, who, because
his opinions were opposed
to those of the king, was |
confined for a very long
time in a cold and narrow |
cell, in which he neither 4

Wallis with Voices.

| little attendant which regularly visited him, he

would probably have died of starvation. This
attendant was no other than a cat, which, it is .
said, came down one day to his dungeon and
forthwith formed a friendship with him, he having
gladly welcomed her, placed her in his bosom to
warm him, and “ by making much of her won her
love.” The attachment to the lonely prisoner
having been thus begun, the cat used to come to
him several times each day, and when able she
would sometimes carry a pigeon to him. There
arose, however, the difficulty as to how to cook the:
birds ; but Sir Henry was soon able to surmount
this. On one occasion of his jailer visiting him
he complained of his meagre fare, and when
told, as he knew he would be, that it was im-
possible to better it, he asked, “ But supposing I
provide any, will you dress it for me?” “I may
well enough agree to do that,” replied the man,
thinking, probably, how little prospect there was of
being called upon to carry out his promise. And
so, much to his astonishment, Wyatt told him about
his little visitor; and from that time whenever a
pigeon was brought the good keeper always dressed
it for him. When at last Sir Henry was released
from the Tower, and prosperity came again, we
are told that he ever showed great affection for
cats ; and in his portraits he was penerally painted
with one by his side.

And now we come to the reign of Fency VIIL,
when the dungeons of the Tower are full to over-
flowing, and when the stream of misfortune rushes
upon the unhappy inmates with a furious swiftness
that.is scarcely credible. At this period it is that—
overlooking numbers of other notable persons—the
venerable John Fisher, a good old man, is, because
he has offended the king, thrown into a cold vault
of the Bell Tower, at the
age of eighty, and after-
wards dies a martyr ; now
also, besides the wise and
illustrious Sir Thomas
- More, Lord Cromwell (he
who had at one time been
secretary to Cardinal Wol-
sey) ends his days; and
now, too, brought there on
a frivolous charge, comes
the brave and gifted Henry
Howard, Earl of Surrey,.
f to fall a victim to King
Henry; while a few years









had enough food to eat,
clothes to warm him, nor
even a bed to lie upon; so badly treated, indeed,
was the unfortunate man that, but for a devoted





later, in 1554, a like fate

“ attends that ~ short-lived
queen, whose memory we all love, Lady Jane Grey.
Then for a short time see we in a strong



Walls with Voices.

55



chamber of the Bell Tower “a fair young girl,
with gentle face and golden hair,” who has
been placed there because of the jealousy of her
sister, Queen Mary. This was the Princess Eliza-
beth, who, on entering the fortress, was not only
compelled to suffer the indignity of passing through
the Traitor’s Gate, but while imprisoned was
treated with the greatest rigour; so hardly dealt
with, indeed, was she, that even the visits of a
little child, who had sometimes delighted to bring
flowers to the captive lady, were forbidden.

We hasten on to about the beginning of the seven-
teenth century, and now the walls of the Tower look
upon one of the most famous captives ever lodged
there, Sir Walter Raleigh. By discoveries in
the New World, and by many gallant exploits on
sea and land, Sir Walter had, during the reign of
Elizabeth, gained the favour of that queen, and
by her he had been rewarded with many posts of
distinction. But in consequence of the riches and
honours thus conferred upon him much envy and
jealousy had been excited, and there were not a
few amongst the nobles and others in England
who would gladly have welcomed his downfall.
So long as Elizabeth reigned, Raleigh was, of
course, perfectly secure; at her death, however,
the opportunity of his enemies came, and of this
they quickly took base advantage. Scarcely had
the new sovereign, James I., ascended the throne
than they concocted against Sir Walter a false
charge of high treason, to which, to his shame,
the king gave a ready ear; next, Raleigh was
stripped of all his employments; and finally,
having been arrested and tried by a commission
composed of the very persons whose feeling against
him was so bitter, he was, after but a quarter of an
hour’s pretended deliberation, condemned to die!
Now, however, there followed for a short time a
reaction in his favour: the people could not but
regard him as having been unjustly used, nor
could they forget the splendid services which
he had in early life rendered to his country ; and
so the carrying out of the sentence had to be post-
poned. Still Sir Walter was not set free, but, in-
stead, he was without delay thrust into the Tower ;
and there he remained for a very long period,
during which, to seek consolation, he employed
his great talents in a variety of pursuits. At one
time he would occupy himself with chemical
experiments, or devote the dreary hours to scientific
inquiries ; at another, he would study the art of
ship-building, or attend to the education of his
son, who, with his wife, was permitted after a
while to reside within the fortress; and now, too,

it was that he commenced to write, among other
books, his famous “ History of the World.” For
no less than twelve years Raleigh thus lived. And
then it happened that a report having been ‘spread
that he knew of the existence of a rich gold

_mine in South America, which was said to have

been discovered twenty years before, his imprison-
ment came to a temporary ending by permission—

_ though his pardon was still withheld—being granted .

to him by the king to take the command of an
expedition for the purpose of searching for this
treasure. But unfortunately the enterprise utterly
failed ; for not only could the gold mine not be
found, but Raleigh having, during the voyage,
attacked with his ship a town belonging to Spain,
much offence was given to that country, and when
he came back to England Sir Walter found him-

| self in double disgrace—first, because he had not

succeeded in his object, and next because great
complaint had been made to this country by the
Spaniards, who had indeed demanded that he
should be executed. And so it was that the king
—encouraged by Sir Walter’s enemies, and fearing
also to further offend the Spanish Government—
ordered the original sentence which had been
pronounced against him to be now put into force ;
and thus in the dismal Tower, to which he again
returned, did the hapless, though brave and high-
minded knight pass away.

Next among the notable persons. who, after
Raleigh, found themselves in the fortress, never
again to leave it, there came, for favouring the
cause of Charles I., the bold spirited Earl of
Strafford, to be soon joined by the aged Archbishop
Laud. Then, in the reign of James II., its gates
admitted that unfortunate Duke of Monmouth,
who, in a rash moment had claimed the English
throne. Next followed to a richly-deserved captivity
the cruel and notorious Judge Jeffreys ; and then,
in -1747, with the last execution which ever took
place there, that of Lord Lovat, who, with Lords
Kilmarnock and Balmerino, had plotted against
the king, the long catalogue of events which so
stain the annals of the Tower came to an end.

And from that time forward, with the exception
of occasionally receiving a few state prisoners, the
Tower—which, subsequent to the coronation of King
Charles II., had not been used as a royal residence—
ceased, as prison and palace, to play any exciting
or important part in the history of this country ;
though as an impregnable fortress it still looks
down majestically upon the busy waters below it
—still keeps faithful guard over the great city in
which it stands.



56 Walls with Voices.





















































































































































































































































ee Ae oy a =
oe i ze. : 'g

" iG
RE

u a |




















































































EDINBURGH CASTLE,

8S AOR FD

EDINBURGH CASTLE.

y AR back, in a long-past century, in
gf an age so remote as to bé unknown,
there was raised upon the noble rock
which towers above the Scottish capital
a rude fortified building ; and to this
structure itis that not only the fortress
which now stands upon the’ same spot, but also
the city of Edinburgh itself, which little by little
has sprung up around it, is supposed to trace its
origin. Passing over its earlier days, the events
of which are hidden in much obscurity, we find
that in the fifth century the castle came into the
possession of Edwin, the ruler of Northumber-
land, which then extended from the Humber to the
Frith of Forth ; and considerable interest attaches
to its occupation by this king, from the fact that it
is from his name that that of Edinburgh, or Edwin’s
Burgh, is derived. From the time of Edwin—by
whom it was rebuilt and strengthened—the castle,
having now become a place of some consequence








in Scotland, began to be the centre of many con-
flicts common to those barbaric times, and during
some centuries afterwards experienced not a few
vicissitudes of fortune. We purpose in the present
sketch to glance at three scenes in -the history of
Edinburgh Castle which are perhaps the most
striking in its annals; and the first of them is its
surprise and capture from the English by the Earl
of Moray in 1312.

About a quarter of a century before the year
mentioned, there had arisen a dispute respecting
the throne of Scotland, between Robert Bruce
and John Baliol, each of whom claimed to be
entitled to it, and Edward I. of England, who
was chosen to act as umpire in the matter, having
decided in favour of the latter, Baliol became king.
Previously, however, to giving his decision, Edward,
taking advantage of the trust reposed in him,
had himself put forward a claim to assume a
protectorate over the Kingdom of Scotland; and



Walls with Voices.



Baliol having at first yielded to this, became in |

reality, when crowned, a mere vassal of England.
But ere long the new king finding that he had to
suffer many unlooked-for indignities at the hands
of Edward, seems to have begun to repent of
having agreed to the terms on which he had
accepted the Scottish sceptre; and the result
was that, determined to assert his independence,
he revolted and took the field. Against the legions
which Edward was able to command, however,
Baliol was utterly unable to make a stand, and
so in the end, not only were the Scots defeated,
but their ruler was dethroned, and from north to
south the whole country was ravaged by the
English, But the day came when the tide of
misfortune which had thus overtaken the Scots
was to be turned, first by the great Sir William
Wallace, and next by the heroic Robert Bruce,
grandson of the rival of John Baliol; indeed, by
the year 1312 so successful had the latter become
in his enterprises against the invaders, that with
the exception of Edinburgh, every garrison in the
country had been recovered, and, as will be seen,
even this fortress was before very long doomed
to fall, and in a somewhat remarkable manner.
Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, nephew of
Robert Bruce, stirred to enthusiasm it is said by
the successes of his uncle, and more especially by
the capture in his behalf of the formidable castle of
Roxburgh, which had been gallantly effected by
Sir James Douglas, was desirous that he might
personally share in these victories ; so finding that
Edinburgh Castle still remained in the hands of
the enemy, he determined that he would himself
essay the task of reducing that stronghold.
Randolph’s resolution was no sooner made than
he prepared to carry it into immediate execution,
and accordingly within a week he had mustered
his followers together, and marched. to Edinburgh
and surrounded the castle at its base on every side.
But now began the difficulties of the undertaking,
and how great these were are apparent, when we
remember that there was not merely the almost
unattainable situation of the fortress on the summit

of the rock above to contend with, but that there -

was also a numerous and well-equipped garrison
guarding it and fully prepared to brave to the
death any attempt that might be made to take
away the one remaining stronghold in Scotland
that the English possessed. Of the danger to
which his enterprise was thus exposed, Randolph
must have been well aware, and whether he would
have succeeded by ordinary means in carrying it
out is rather doubtful. As it was, however, an
opportunity, as unlooked-for as it was welcome,
was afforded to him for accomplishing his purpose.





57



One day, we are told, as the earl was surveying
with anxious eye the castle that frowned upon his
camp below, he was accosted by one of his own
followers, a brave and faithful soldier named
William Frank, whose father had formerly been
constable of the fortress: “ Methinks, my lord,”
said he, “it is your will to devise some plan for
entering yonder castle. Know you that I can show
how with no greater aid than a twelve foot ladder
your wish may be fulfilled. In a day long past,
I lived within the fort we look upon, and oft-
times, wishful to visit the town by night, it was
my wont to lower myself from the wall with a
ladder of ropes, by a secret path to descend the
cliffs, and then before dawn drew near to return in
the same manner. Say, my lord, will you go with
meas guide, that in like fashion trial be made by us
to reach our goal?” The proposal was, it is said,
received with joy, Frank being promised ample
reward in the event of the plan proving successful,
and no time was now lost in preparing for the
undertaking, which was to be carried out by
thirty picked men, commanded by the earl in
person. It was on a dark and stormy night in
the spring of 1312 that the gallant little party,
all sheathed in armour, set out, and appearing at
the foot of the castle cliff, began, under Frank’s
conductorship, the perilous ascent along a path
which is described as being “ fitter for a cat than
a man.” Higher they went, from crag to crag,
the precipice getting steeper and steeper, the
danger becoming greater and greater every mo-
ment. A single stone dislodged or a word spoken
by them would have alarmed the guard and caused
their instant destruction; so it was necessary to
creep stealthily on with the utmost caution. At
last, when they had accomplished about half their
journey, they found a large flat spot, and there they
rested for a moment to recover breath and prepare
for the rest, and the even more difficult part, of
their task. They could now distinctly hear above
them the watchmen of the castle going their rounds,
and they were therefore obliged to keep close
together to escape observation. At this juncture
a singular incident, and one that for the moment
must have struck terror even into the heart of the
brave earl,-took place. While they were seated in
their halting-place, it so chanced that one of the
English sentinels, as a mere joke, and quite without
suspicion that an enemy was so near, took a large
stone from a heap that for defensive purposes was
kept on the rampart, and hurled it over the cliff,
crying out, as he did so, “Aha, I see you well!”
Fortunately no damage was done by the missile,
for, bounding down the precipice, it passed over
the heads of the intrepid Scots as they sat in their







58 Walls with Voices.



little nook in the rock; nor did the latter, though

it must be confessed rather affrighted, fail to stay
perfectly quiet until they should see the course
which events were likely to take. Again, save
the bleak wind that desolately howled around the
terrible rock, only the regular tramp of the guards
was audible, and again, all appearance of danger
having passed away, the earl and his companions
continued the ascent, and after a time reached the
foot of the outer rampart.in safety. Delay on their
part would now have been most dangerous, and
this the earl well knew; so quick as thought the
jladder they had brought with them was fixed
against the wall—at that point only about twice
a man’s height; one by one, led by ‘Frank, the
guide, the assailants mounted it ; and then, before
the castle troops could be fully alarmed, they,
raising their war-cry, leaped wildly into the
fortress, and ere long, in spite of the valiant
defence that was made, succeeded in destroying
the entire garrison, and possessed themselves of the
prize which they had risked so much to capture.

By order of Robert Bruce, the fortifications of the

castle were forthwith demolished, so that it might
not again be of use to a hostile power, and for
twenty-four years it remained a disinantled ruin.
At the end of that time, however, the south of
Scotland having been given up to Edward IIL., it
once more came into the possession of the English,
who restored and rendered it almost impregnable,
and five years later, in 1341, it was once more
surprised and taken by the Scots in a rather bold
-manner.

Of this, the second exploit in connection with
Edinburgh Castle to which we shall allude, the
hero was one Sir William Douglas, a famous
knight of the fourteenth century. Determined that
the citadel, strongly garrisoned though it was,
should not remain in the hands of Edward, and
yet perhaps hardly sanguine as to what might be
the issue of an open attack, Douglas resolved to
effect his object by a stratagem. Accordingly we
find him, in company with four trusty friends, and
two hundred well-trained soldiers, embarking at
Dundee in a merchant vessel laden with provisions,
and soon afterwards anchoring in the Forth, hard
by Edinburgh. Ere long, we are told, one of the
owners of the vessel, Walter Currie by name, who
had accompanied Douglas and his companions,
made his way tothe gate of the castle—having
previously taken the precaution to shave his beard
after the fashion of the Anglo-Normans—and
begged for an audience with the governor. This
being granted to him, Currie, feigning to be an
English merchant, informed the latter that on
board a ship then just arrived in the Forth, he



. adherents, Sir William Kirkaldy of Grange.

had for sale a large quantity of strong beer and
wine and biscuit, “all exquisitely spiced ;” at.
the same time producing as samples a bottle of
beer, and another of wine. Tasting and approving
of these, the governor, suspecting no ill, agreed for
the purchase of the whole cargo ; and, further, made
a special request that it might be delivered very
early on the next morning, in order, as he said,
that any risk of interruption at the hands of the
“Scottish knaves” might be avoided. At the time
appointed, Currie, attended by a dozen equipped
followers, wearing sailors’ habits over their armour,
appeared at the outer gate, and close behind them
there came up the hill a heavy vehicle, apparently
containing the governors’ stores. No sooner, how-
ever, were the fortress gates opened, and the Scots
and their carriage admitted within them, than
suddenly the latter was adroitly overturned, the gates
thereby effectually prevented from being quickly

’ closed, and then Douglas, with his men, who had

lain concealed near the castle, rushed forward and
joined the pretended mariners. On the furious
conflict that followed we need not dwell; suffice
it to say, that though the governor and his men
fought like lions, they found their resistance was
of no avail ; and in the end the defenders suffered
defeat and their castle passed again into the hands
of the Scots.

We now pass on to the sixteenth century, and in
1573—six years after the dethronement of Mary
Queen of Scots—we arrive at the period when
another memorable event associated with the
castle took place. When the Earl of Morton,
after the flight of Mary from Scotland, became
Regent for the infant James VI., he succeeded
so effectually in quelling those who had taken
up arms on the side of the queen, that by the
beginning of 1573 the whole of the country was
under his sway with the solitary exception of
the fortress of Edinburgh, which was at this
time in the hands of one of Mary’s staunchest
For
nearly three years this gallant knight and his
small but loyal garrison had baffled the efforts to
reduce his fortress, and it was on the Ist of January
in the year we have mentioned—on the expira-
tion of a truce which had been made between the
opponents—that renewed and desperate prepara- .
tions began to be made by Morton to bring Sir
William to submission. Coming to the conclusion
that his own troops were insufficient for the
purpose, and knowing the hatred of Elizabeth
for Mary, the Regent resolved to solicit aid
from the Queen of England, and in response to
his request, there soon arrived, under the command
of Sir William Drury, a force of 1,500 strong,



The Voices of the Winds.

59



together with a large train of artillery. Day by
day the earl now pushed on his operations, and
day by day the fortress began to find, in spite
of the fire which it poured down upon the troops
surrounding it below, the grip of its assailants
becoming tighter and tighter; until at length,
on the 25th of April, there came to Kirkaldy a
formal demand to surrender. But black as he
knew the prospect looming before him would be
if he refused the summons, Sir William neverthe-
less, nothing daunted, not only declined to yield,
but actually challenged Morton, by hoisting on
the great tower of the castle a red flag as a
token of defiance, to do his worst. But bitter
indeed was the fate that awaited this most faithful
adherent of the fugitive queen. Within a short
time there burst upon every point of the castle at
the hands of the combined forces of the Scots and
English a cannonade such as Edinburgh had
never before seen: piece by piece the towers
and bulwarks and guns began to be battered
down ; one by one the wells became choked or
dried up ; by scores the men of the garrison were
overtaken by sickness or death; nor until thirty-
. three days had passed did the fierce siege come to
anend. Not Kirkaldy’s will was it even then to
surrender, for, with heroism seldom’ equalled, it
was his determination to perish behind the castle
ramparts rather than give in to the enemy. But
his men, brave as they were, were not his equals
in endurance, and on the 28th of May, the sur-
viving soldiers broke out in open mutiny, and a



surrender became imperative, though to this it is
certain that Kirkaldy would still never have given
his sanction had not Sir William Drury, in the
name of Queen Elizabeth assured himmost solemnly
that’ he should be honourably treated. But the
stronghold which had occasioned so much trouble,
and the man who had for such a long time so
obstinately resisted attack, once in his possession,
the Scottish Regent was not one who was likely to
pay much heed to the promise which had been given
to Kirkaldy. And such indeed—to the shame
alike of Morton and of Queen Elizabeth, who
had it in her power to spare Sir William—proved
to be the case. For within a few days of the
capitulation of the fortress, not only was Sir
William Drury, with baseness and_ treachery
seldom shown by an English sovereign, ordered
to hand over Kirkaldy to the mercy of the Regent,
but the latter, regardless as much of the claims
of valour as of the condition on which he sur-
rendered, caused the luckless knight to be first
imprisoned, and then to be publicly executed ; and
thus closed the career of one of the bravest men.
upon whom the walls of the fortress ever looked.

_ The castle of Edinburgh has at different periods
of its history been the scene of many events—not
usually of a peaceful kind—besides those which
are here recorded, though as a fortress it has long
ceased to be of its former importance, and many
years have elapsed since last, amid the din of battle,
the clash of swords and the roar of cannon echoed
about its heights. Eas

THE VOICES OF THE WINDS.

HE North Wind’s voice is loud and bold,
As he issues forth from regions cold ;
He calls his servants, frost and snow,
And they hurry down to the plains below,
Scattering abroad at each silent tread
Morsels of ice instead of bread.
So cold and chill is his powerful breath,
That soon all Nature sleeps in death.

Hush ! hear ye not a whisper low

*Mong flowers where the wild bees come and go?
Tis the South Wind wooing these beauties rare,
To open to him their petals fair.

‘The pure white lily hangs down her head ;

The sweet rose blushes a brilliant red ;

And “the beauteous sisterhood,” one and all,
Respond to the South Wind’s gentle call.

What hollow sound is this we hear,
From shrivelled lips across the mere ?
’Tis the East Wind calling to the sea,
“ Come, rouse thyself, and together we
Will toss the ships from side to side,
And bury them low beneath the tide.”

A tearful voice comes from the West,

And dark clouds gather at its behest.

They pour their treasures on the flowers ;

The drooping leaves feel the genial showers,
And murmur their thanks to the gen’rous West,
For hers is the voice which they love best.



60

The Donkey Race.



THE DONKEY-RACE.

H! Master Willie, here we are, all four
P of us—the merriest, wisest, wittiest
party of donkey-brethren that ever
met on a sunshiny day before.”

“Oh! don’t set me down as a brother

I don’t belong to your family, I



donkey, Jem ;
know.”

The speakers were Jem West and Willie Nottage,
seated on their respective donkeys, their faces as
bright and sunny as the glorious September day, as
they met among the glowing trees and autumn glad-
ness in a lane just outside the village. Willie was
the son of Farmer Nottage, who lived in the house
just beyond, half hidden among the trees. Jem was
odd boy at the Hall—a sort of fag for all the ser-
vants, who kept him pretty well employed from
morning till night, which, however, by no means
crushed down his spirits, for he was the merriest,
most waggish lad in the village.

“Td back our Ned against your Jack, any day,”
continued Willie, giving a turn to the conversation.

“A bargain!” cried Jem, who, of course, stood
up for his own donkey’s powers, or rather, those

_ of his master’s donkey. “I say our Jack is the
swiftest-footed donkey to be found for miles.”

“And that’s just what our Ned is,” asserted
Willie.

“ That’s to be proved,” said Jem, with a knowing
wink, “Turn back with me as far as the Hall, and
we'll put ’em to the gallop and try ’em.”

“No,” was Willie’s answer ; “I must go back to
school presently, and can’t stop another minute
now.”

“ But in the evening ?” suggested Jem.

“T could then,” assented Willie.

“On the common ?”

“Ves ;” and Willie nodded.

“ At six o’clock?”

“Yes,” said Willie, with another nod.
you get the donkey?”

“Yes, I think so.” And Jem nodded this time, a
roguish smile on his dark, merry face.

“Well, good-bye till then!” cried Willie, giving
his donkey the reins.

Sunset radiance flooding the heathery common,
the sunset song of the lark filling the air with
melody, the buzz of bees which toiled and sipped till
the last. All this was going on out on the common
—one glory of heather flowers, save here and there,
on wide patches scantily covered with grass, where
the village lads played their cricket matches, and
where on this evening was to be a donkey-race.
Jem and Willie met on the way, and cantered on

© Could





to the race-course together— dark-eyed, dark-haired,
handsome Jem, and fair-faced, rosy-cheeked Willie,
with bright curly locks and laughing blue eyes.
For a wonder, they would have but one spectator,,
as it seemed, save from the window of a cottage or
two near, tenanted by old people, who were not.
likely to take any great interest in donkey racing.
The village lads had fish to fry elsewhere for.once,
and only one solitary urchin wandered there—an
untidy, black-sheep-like individual, one of those
plagues called boys.

A very bad-tempered specimen, a pickle of a boy,
was he—a butt for all the tricks and larks of the
lads in. the village. Not that they were wise in
making him their butt—let the sour and crabbed-
tempered alone, say I, save to throw a little
sweetness into their lives, be they boys or men..
On he sauntered, till he came up to the merry
donkey racers, as they were settling about their
ground, and so forth.

“Well, old vinegar-cruet!” was Jem’s salutation.
to him.

“How do you sell your vinegar?” queried
laughing Willie. Ah, Willie! that was not a wise
speech.

Old vinegar-cruet, or rather Harry Lane, scowled.
He was but nine, just Willie’s age ; frequent scowling
had marred his young face, living in a loveless.
home had blotted the sunshine from it. Poor Harry
Lane! Those happy donkey racers might have let
him pass in peace. He did not speak; the others
said no more. Harry walked on. The race began.
Hurrah for Ned! Hurrah for Jack! The bees.
buzzed and bade them good night, for they were
going home; the heather smiled at the skittish
donkeys and their mad-brain young masters. Oh!
it was fun, and no mistake !

It was over at last. Ned had won, but aly by a.
head andneck. ‘They both possessed true donkey
mettle, and their two young riders shook hands.
amicably over it, and proudly patted the humble
animals. :

“Well, I’m thirsty; let’s go to Sarah Cully’s.
for some water,” said Willie, wiping the perspiration
off his forehead, as if he had been running the race,
and not Ned. -They crossed over to one of the
cottages, threw their donkeys’ reins over the garden
paling, and craved a cooling draught at the door.

“ Aye, sure, and welcome; come in.” So said.
hospitable Sarah, and in they went.

“Now, what would you say if I- gave you an
apple or two?” she questioned, as the boys quaffed,
the water.









THE. RIVAL DONKEYS. (See d. 60).



























































































































62

The Blind Man and the Snake.



“ Why, say you were the nicest and prettiest old
lady in England,” replied Jem, the flatterer.

“Ah! lad, you always were a droll one,” said she ;
and out she brought some apples, rosy enough to
make any boy’s mouth water at the sight of them.

“Thank you, for a jolly old lady!” said Jem, as
he and Willie stowed them away in their pockets,

and went out, each testing the flavour of one.

' _ Up they sprang into their saddles ; but what was
the matter? Over their donkeys’ heads they went!
Jem sprang up again, not much hurt ; but Willie lay
as if dead—he had struck his head. Jem gave the
alarm; he and Sarah carried him in and laid him
on her bed; Jem rode for a doctor and Mr. and
Mrs. Nottage; and out on the heathery, moonlit
common lay a boy, sobbing in fear and remorse—
‘it was Harry Lane. He had put a small fir-apple
under the donkeys’ saddles, while their riders
quaffed water and flattered Sarah Cully, in revenge
for having been called vinegar-cruet and so on by
those thoughtless boys ; that is what the scowl on
his face meant. Clear-headed Jem had found the
irritating fir-apples under the saddles before he
went for the doctor ; Jem knéw, and Jem guessed
who put them there.

“Not really injured, only stunried ; must not go





home to-night.” So said the doctor, who gave poor
dizzy-headed Willie a sleeping draught, and then
went away, looking as mysterious as a doctor can
look. : :

“Well, you young viper!” So spoke Jem, bending
over Harry, sobbing on the common, after Willie
was asleep.

“Ts he dead?” questioned the unhappy boy.

“Dead ! no; nor much hurt—no thanks to you,
though!” ..

“What shall I do?
now.” i

“Do? Turn over a fresh leaf, and don’t be such
an old vinegar-cruet,” was Jem’s advice, using the
same name he had given him earlier in the evening,
but which Harry did not resent now.

And so he did turn over a fresh leaf, and in time
became such a marvel of good temper that all the
lads pronounced him to be a “ perfect sugar-stick! ””
and blue-eyed Willie Nottage loved him the best of
all. But nobody knew, save those two and God,
who watches all, how much of the sweetness of his
own happy life Willie poured into that of his less-
favoured friend. Yes; friend—for such he became
after giving him that tumble on the night of the

Everybody’ll hate me

-donkey-race.

idea)

THE BLIND MAN AND THE SNAKE.

BLIND man and another who could see
Journeyed together quite harmoniously ;
In a wild tract of country they alight,
And there agree to bivouac all night.
In the dim grey of morning they arose,
Resumed their journey after short repose ;
And so it chanced, the blind man in his haste
His hand upon a frozen serpent placed.
“What a nice whip!” thought he; “it can’t be
mine, ;
Tl take it though, it seems so soft and fine.
Perchance it is another traveller’s ; then
I still will take it—none can blame blind men.”
Mounting his horse he gallops to the side
Of his companion, and away they ride.
When the day dawned, the person who could see
Exclaimed, “ A snake! a snake! shake yourself
free ;
It is no whip you picked up from the sand, -
But poisonous reptile—fling it from your hand.”

The blind man answered, “ Comrade, you may.

wish |
To make me.think my whip a snake or fish ;
I’m not so foolish. Prithee wait awhile,
And fortune may-be on you too may smile,
Sending another whip ; but, oh, believe me,
You don’t so easily, though blind, deceive me.”
“Brother,” said his companion, “’tis as I say,
Again I urge you throw that snake away.” —
The blind man frowned, “‘ And is it your design
By any means to get this whip of mine?
Do give up the idea. I'll speak no more.
I say I won't, as I have said before.”
The air grew warm, the snake now lost its chill,
Writhed round his body, and with right good will
Bit the blind man, and killed him. So his end.
Was caused; and why? Because he’d not attend.
Deaf to all warning, his self-willed conceit
Brought its own fruit, in retribution fleet.

H. GRAMSHAW.





Aunt Susanna’s “White Lily

63



AUNT SUSANNA’S “WHITE LILY.”
By C. L.Matéaux, Author of ‘* Home Chats,” '‘ Wee Willie Winkie,” &c.

CHAPTER I—HE WOULD BE A KNIGHT.

LY GREY sat at the open lattice-
« window of their pleasant new country
home; she had a great pile of doll’s
clothes around her, and was softly
singing “ Pretty Star” as a lulla-
by to the waxen baby in her arms. There
was scented honeysuckle and monthly roses
all about, and a low buzz, buzz in the air.
Altogether, it was very pleasant to the little
town girl; pleasant to the twins, turning, tumbling,
and rolling on the grass plat outside; pleasant,
no doubt, to Aunt Susanna, who sat keeping guard
over them, knitting thick warm-looking woollen red
stockings, by way of reminder that winter and chil-
blains were to come ; and pleasant to the bobtailed
Manx cat, and the big curly-tailed dog, that
stretched his idle body, blinking and winking, in
the sunshine. Mat was lying full length on a big
rug near Lily’s feet, his untidy boots sprawling every
way, but his elbows and eyes firmly fixed on the open
pages of a large tattered volume open before him.
It was a delightful book he had but lately come
into possession of, full of quaint old pictures and
high-flown stories, such as boys love. It was rich
with tales of those fabled days when everybody was
a knight, and had adventures and fought with every
other knight about nothing in particular and every-
thing in general ; when dragons, breathing fire and
flames, were quite common objects, and in the
habit of snapping up unprotected damsels for
‘dinner; and when the said unprotected damsels
always took walks in lonely forests, and were as
invariably carried off by recreants and rescued by
princes.

“T say, Lil, stop—do, for patience sake, stop
that drone. How’s a fellow to listen to the Lady
of the Tearful Eyelids with you moaning ‘How I
wonder what you are?’” Mat cried, impatiently,
dashing aside Thomas Tibby, as it stepped gin-
gerly over his arm.



“But you don’t talk, and it’s so quiet and |
sleepy here,’ said poor Lily, yawning in very |

doleful fashion,

“Sleepy! You should read about the Knight
of Steel.”

As Mat sat up to rub his elbow, which was
cramped, he continued, still staring down at his
book, “I only wish I’d lived a thousand years
ago; talk of living now, what’s it worth, I wonder?
There’s pa goes poking every day to see a parcel
of sick old people and squealy children, and



“while he continued,

comes home and mixes powders and pills, and gets
up and goes to bed; nothing ever happens—you
know nothing ever does.”

Lily looked at him with great wondering eyes,
“In those times I should
never have had to Think of being a doctor some
day, but have been page to some noble lady,
and tuned her guitar all day, and by-and-by I
should have been dubbed a knight, and have been
clad in shining armour and worn spurs of gold.
My foes would have turned pale at the name of—
what name should I have taken? Every knight had
one expressive of his character. Sir Matthew—
let’s see. Sir Mathew de Grey, knight of ——
hum! Knight of something.”

Lily’s eyes lit up with a bright idea,
used to call you ‘ Pippin-Cheek.’
that

“Don’t talk rubbish, Lil!” her brother said, most
contemptuously ; “the worst of you girls, you’re so
stupid—all of you are, and you're the very stupidest
of all.” —

“T didn’t know,” began poor Lily.

“No, of course you didn’t; no girl ever did.
Talking as if I were a baby instead of a warrior
knight, able and willing to wield a lance and slay
all comers, mounted on a war-horse scenting the
battle-field afar, the trumpet proclaiming my ad-.
vance, while heads and limbs mark my track—
‘my track of crimson gore !’”

“Oh, don’t, how dreadful! What would the
policeman say? And, Matthew, take care, you'll
upset my cradle.”

But Mat was striding up and down the smalk
room, thoroughly warmed to his subject.

“It would have been glorious to live when, in |
some fierce encounter, I could slay some renowned.
leader who had dared to mock at my fame. With
my good battle-axe I would unarm and hurt
him to the earth, and wring from him the confes-
sion of his villany, while the pretty damsel should
look on, ready to reward me with the victors:
wreath, Men were bound to succour all oppressed.
damsels, and there were lots to be met with every-
where.”

Here Mat stopped, picked up his book, and
carelessly sweeping all Lily’s treasures off the

“The boys
How would



| deep window-sill on to the ground, ensconced

himself in their place; and when the patient

' little girl, used to his masterful ways, got off

her perch to pick them up, he filled all her
snug corner seat with his legs, and took no other



64
notice of her.mild remonstrance thar to tell her “not
to bother.” But-then, you know, some boys think
selfishness is allowable when a little girl is con-
cerned—especially a sister.

So Lily betook herself and family to the rug,
while Mat read on silently for a long time, until
he closed the book with a bang, and began to rave
again.

Aunt Susanna’s “White Lily.”

“But you said that pain was all fancy, and I
want to know if it is.”

“Of course it is, silly, but one must practise
first; once I have started being a knight I shan’t
mind anything, however bad.”

Lily made no reply, for seeing Susan pass the
window just then with some bread and milk for the
little chickens in the yard, she darted out after her.

“T can’t see’ why there shouldn’t be knights | Lily never missed seeing her little pet chicks have

now as well as all those

their dinner if she could



centuries ago; there
must be oppressed cap-
tives and ladies, just as
there were then, if we

only can find them.
Why should not the
old days of chivalry

be begun again? It
only wants some one to
begin it. I tell you
what, Lil, I shall prac-
tise to be a knight, and
Tl learn to fence, and
be a champion, like
‘Tristram-.and Anthony,
and I’ll stand no idle
taunt, and V’ll go about































































































and set wrong right.
Like Bayard, Ill be
without fear. What’s







fear? no one need feel
it; and what’s pain? all
fancy—a thing to scorn.
I wouldn’t mind any
one a

Here Mat, waving his
arm vehemently, sent
his fist crash through
one of the lozenge panes
. behind him, the hurt of
which caused him to
utter such an outcry that
Aunt Susanna flung her knitting to the winds
and came rushing, all scared, to see what was
the matter. It was not a very bad cut, con-
sidering the fuss Mat made over it, and the
amount of bandaging he considered it needed
before he settled down again to his book, still
grumbling at his misfortune, as though any one
other than himself were to blame.

“TI thought you weren’t going to mind hurts,”
said Lily, slyly, long after the storm had subsided,
and Mat sat looking ruefully at his finger.

_ “Hold your tongue! What do you know about
hurts? this is awful, I can tell you; it’s made my
head ache ever so.”









FEEDING LILY'S



help it.

The next few days
Mat stuck to his book
and filled his mind with
romance. He was a
very dull companion for
Lily, who could not very
well sympathise with
his high-flown ideas;
but when he changed his
mood for a more active
one, she was quite ready
to play at being a cap-
tive princess, shut up in
the tool-house. She even
submitted to be tied to
a post till the gay Sir
Matthew should come
to the rescue and de-
stroy the fiery dragon,
represented by Sam, the
big Newfoundland house
dog; but when Mat ad-
vanced to the charge,
armed withalong clothes
prop by way of a lance.
“Sam, not understanding
his own new dignity,
flew at him, barking so
hoarsely that Mat was
fain to run away, sooth-
him with “poor dog!
Lily laughed so that Mat got quite









































































































































































































PET CHICKS,

poor fellow !”

angry.

“T tell you what, Lil,” he said next afternoon,
“lve got a fine ce When we go out fishing in
the ponds you shall be my page, and do everything
I tell you. We'll seek for adventures in the wood,
and we won’t let anybody know.”

“ All right, Mat,” said Lily, clapping her hands.

He added, loftily: “Of course I shouldn’t want
you if there was another boy here (Lily guessed
that, but thought he need not have said so); but
[ll make you do, as it is. Mind, you must call
me Sir Matthew, and [ll call you Lillio ; and vel
shall carry my lance and things.” :





Aunt Susanna’s “White Lily.” 65



“Oh! have you got one? What fun!”

“No, goose, I mean my fishing-rod; and I'll
fang my horn round my neck, so as to be able to
summon my train if needed ; and whatever happens
you need never be frightened—pages never were,
you know.”

“Weren't they?” said Lily. “Oh! then I won't
be ; besides, you will be with me, only please don’t
scold if I’m not quite a good page, because I’m not
clever like you, dear,”

slips and primroses in spring, and on the other side
of which lay the banks and steep hill-side, where
Lily had spent many a long summer day, gathering
grasses and ferns for her collection.

Half-mile Lane was very narrow, and had deep
muddy ruts where the few waggons had lumbered
along, so the pair had to walk on the bank, which
was sloping and steep, Mat some distance ahead,
for that tiresome rod would catch in the brambles
overhead.



him, but he pushed her
off.

and she tried to kiss 1 i

CHAPTER II.—‘*ONLY A
GIRL.”

THAT afternoon the pair
slipped quietly out of the
back gate and started
for Ryant’s Wood. Sir
Matthew had the huge
horn slung behind his
shoulders and an old
fencing-foil hung round
his waist ; but that soon
proved an encumbrance,
as it was long and would
get between his legs and
almost topple him over
at every step.

Lillio followed at some
distance, carrying his
long rod strung up ac-
cording to direction, and
wondering what was
going to happen, and!
what her aunt would say
ifshe saw them. They
walked some distance





“Why, look, Mat!”
called Lily, “I declare
there’s Widow White’s
tiny mite of a blind
child playing all alone
in the mud. She zs
making her frock in a
mess. Whatashame!”

“Oh! I dare say some
of the other children
are somewhere; I sup-
pose so, but I don’t see
them; never mind, come
on Lillio, I say.”

Mat strode off along
the slippery bank as
best he could, but Lily
stopped to look back
with pitying eyes at the
little child.

“Come on, Lil, do;
you girls are such lag-
gards, you never——”

Just then he saw
something that made
him spring back, clutch-
ing at the hazel bushes,
and shouting hoarsely—
“Keep back, Lil, keep
back, or you'll be run





and never met a soul;
then she called out, “I
say, Mat—Sir Matthew,
I mean—when are the adventures coming? will
they be anything dreadful ?”

“ Silence, page Lillio ; we shall meet with adven-
tures presently, and then you shall see what I will
do. ‘Nothing’s dreadful that’s honour and glory.’”

He marched along with great martial strides, and
Lillio trotted merrily after him, thinking she should
like to get rid of the long rod, or lance, but not pre-
suming to say so, for she stood in some awe of her
brother in his present mood.

Across the green by the old church railings, then
up Half-mile Lane, which led into Ryant’s Wood—
that charming playground where the blackberries
and nuts grew as thickly in the autumn as the cow-

GATHERING GRASSES.



over !”
/ Up the narrow lane
tore a madly startled horse, and at his heels
bumped and thumped the shafts of a broken
chaise. Mat saw at a glance that Lil was safe ; he
saw, too, that little black mass right in the road,
and shrieked with horror, for as thud, thud, came
the hoofs, it never stirred out of the way. He
turned and hid his pale face, with a shudder, as
Lily screamed—‘ Oh, Mat, the poor blind baby!”
Then thud, thud, the horse tore past, so close
that he almost felt its breath, and was all splashed
with mud as he stood crouching ; then thud, thud,
far off; at any rate, he and Lil were safe, but
With a sick shudder he looked back to where
that little black bundle had been ; it was lying by



E



66

Aunt Susanna’s “White Lily.”



the bank now, not alone, but clutched fast in the
arms of Lil, dear brave-hearted Lil, who had bounded
from her own high perch to drag from the very
path of destruction that smiling, helpless thing—
Widow White’s blind baby. He, the would-be
knight, had thought only of their own safety.
Yet Lily in a general way would not have faced any
animal bigger than a dog ; she was terrified even at
. the quiet cows, and had been known to run from a
noisy turkey. Mat had often teased her and called
her cowardly, but then she was “only a girl;” and
now she lay quite still and white, unconscious that
the arm with which she clutched the child was
bruised and bleeding where the shaft had touched
it.

Mat knelt by her side in a passion of terror ; he
thought she was dead, and wrung his hands and
cried— Oh, Lil ! oh, my poor little sister Lil! oh,
what shall I do?”

It happened most fortunately that Dr. Grey,
returning from his rounds, was coming up the lane
just as the runaway turned. Hewas able to stop him,
and lead him back meek and breathless, expecting
to meet some one to claim the horse. What was
his surprise to come upon the little group, and find
it was Mat whose cries had made him hasten his
step, and that it was his own dear Lily lying there
white and still and hurt.

“Qh! she’s dead, she’s killed, papa!” moaned
Mat, running up to him. _

“No, she’s not much hurt, I hope and _ trust,”
said her father, kissing her fondly as she opened
her blue eyes and stared wildly round.

“Ts all right, darling, you’re safe with papa;

can you stand, love? See, I have wrapped up
your arm, don’t be frightened. I'll carry you
home soon.”
- “But where’s the poor blind baby? Oh, that
dreadful horse!. did he touch it?” she asked,
anxiously, forgetting her own state in anxiety for
that other child sobbing near. -

Papa lifted up the little pink lips to hers. “I’m
glad, I’m so glad!” but the effort had been too



‘ONE, TWO, THREE, AND——=



much. She lay back and cried as though her
heart were broken, and papa let her cry. I am not
sure there were not tears in his own eyes. I know
there were in Mat’s, as she sobbed, with a little.
smile, “I can’t help it, papa; you know I’m only
a girl, not brave, like knights and people Mat
knows about.” m :

Papa sent Matthew home with the blind child,
and wanted to carry Lily all the way back, but she
was so afraid of frightening Aunt Susanna that she
declared she would rather walk. She was sick,
and frightened, and faint, but fortunately not really
hurt, though her pretty arm was all black and blue
next day. ‘You know, auntie, if it saved the little
child’s head I ought to be pleased, and not
grumble; think how glad poor Widow White is.

“ But, child, what spirit possessed you to rush in
front of that great galloping horse, you that are
afraid of everything on four legs? It might have
kicked you to death, dear; I shudder to think
of it.” i

“Oh ! I didn’t go because I wanted to, but I said,
“the poor little child” and I asked, ‘ Please, God,
help Lily save baby” So He did, you know,”

“Lily, yowre a brick, and [ll never call you a
girl again, or think much of myself. Tl certainly
be a doctor and not a knight. I really am sorry I
called you a girl—I really am, old girl,” said Mat,
giving her a great hug.

“Vou might call her something worse, and that’s.
a ‘rough, thoughtless boy,’” observed their aunt;
“but don’t talk about it-any more now, for I can
only call her one thing at present, and that is a

very white lily—Aunt Susanna’s ‘ White Lily.’”

“T don’t want to be a ‘ White Lily’ long, auntie,
hey?” laughed the little maid from the sofa, “ What
shall I be then?”

“Why, Aunt Susanna’s sweet Lily, always and
ever. Will that do, little one?”

“Ves,” said the child, presently; “Jesus loved.
the lilies, didn’t he? so they’d always be sweet and
good. I’m so glad that I have even their naine;

perhaps He will love me better for it.”

Away}



Indian Famines.

67



























































































































































































































































































































































































































INDIAN FAMINES.






I doubt

not, been
hearing a
' great deal
lately about
the recent
terrible fa-
mine in
India, so
perhaps a
short
=: planation of
the cause
sof these
- calamities,
and the
manner in
which the
poor starv-
ing people
: are relieved
by the Government ‘of the Empire may not be
uninteresting to you. '

Though during the present century no less than
twelve serious famines have occurred in India, each
attended with great suffering and much loss of life,
the most recent has also been the most severe and
far-reaching which has yet fallen on that portion of
our Empire. The area over which the dearth has
been felt is more than double the extent of the
British Isles, while a population of some sixty
millions have been affected by it.

And now let us inquire, What causes a famine?
It is generally the result of an insufficient supply of
rain, though it may also happen from storms destroy-
ing the crops, frost nipping them in the bud, or, in
very exceptional instances, an excess of rain.

I daresay you know that from November to
March, north-east “monsoon” winds blow over















= UES
a
=

\W7 OU have, :

ex--



India, while from April to October the south-west
monsoons prevail. The former are the ordinary
currents of air on their way from the north pole to
the equator. The latter are caused by the warm
heated atmosphere which arises during the summer
from the heated plains of Central Asia, Tartary,
Thibet, Mongolia, &c., and turns aside the north-
east current, converting it into a south-wester.
With the south-west monsoons comes the rain,
formed by evaporation in the tropical seas, bearing
with it life and fertility to our Indian Empire.

But when, owing to some unknown law of nature,
the south-west monsoon fails to bring the accus-
tomed showers, then, indeed, the lot of the un-
fortunate Hindoos is terrible beyond description.
Fortunately, the calamity is generally confined to
one particular district, and those parts which have
experienced a favourable season, can send help to
the relief of the sufferers. It has also been found
by experience that a dearth does not visit the
same place twice over. When, however, the area
affected is so vast as in the last instance, then it
taxes the utmost resources of the Government and
the country to afford the assistance necessary to
keep hundreds of thousands of persons from
perishing.

Day after day the sun burns and scorches, and
not a drop of rain appears. The people watch the
crops withering before their eyes. The rice dies, the
grass disappears, their little store of rice is gradually
lessening, and at length, after wasting away on
scanty food for some length of time, they are
brought face to face with that most terrible foe—
starvation. Yet they complain not, regarding it as
fate, and submit to their fate with resignation.

In times of famine the price of rice rises rapidly,
until at length, instead of being a halfpenny a pound,
which is the usual charge, it is five, or ten, or even
twenty times that amount, and quite beyond the
means of the ording.y tiller of the soil.

E2



68

Indian Famines.



But a watchful eye is ever on our Indian
provinces, and the viceroy reports to our home
Government immediately he sees signs of the famine
appearing in any district, and the matter is then
carefully taken in hand, relief-works are provided
by the Government, centres of relief established ;
and to their organised assistance is often added large
sums raised by: public subscription in England.

The immense amount required to relieve the

our young folks, you will have to reduce this allow-
ance by one-third, as that is the system adopted in
dealing with children.

It is not, however, merely expending enormous
sums of money on rice that is needed to successfully
cope with a famine. The grain has to be trans-
ported to the invaded locality; and as many
thousands of tons of rice are required to meet
the distress, it is no easy matter to find means of















































































































































TRAVELLING IN INDIA.

distress is, however, truly stupendous. In 1874
about £6,000,000 was expended by the Indian
Government in feeding the starving population,
and in employing them in executing public works.
Large as the amount seems, the poor Hindoos
are not over-fed at such times. A calculation is
made of the amount of food actually necessary for
the bare sustenance of life, and this is all they
receive, If you want to try the fare provided for
them, take 1lb. of rice and lb. of pulse daily,
nothing more, and endeavour to realise from prac-
tical experience what that living death is which
many a hundred thousand pass through before the
distress is at an end. Though if you belong to

transport. Of course, if railways, or even canals,
covered the country, the difficulty would be solved;
but this is not the case, and probably the grain
will have to be conveyed hundreds of miles in
native carts along a cross country, or along rough
or soft sandy roads, rendered almost impassable by
the immense traffic over them.

We will suppose the rice has safely reached the
distressed centre, and that a depét has been formed
from which it can be conveyed to the surrounding
villages. Much still remains to be accomplished. At
the outset, probably, the natives will be instructed
to come for relief, and around the store will be
gathered a company of the most unearthly-looking



Indian Famines.

69

eee

creatures imaginable. But other means have to
be adopted if the population are to be saved, for
many become eventually so weak and emaciated
that they are unable to totter to the depét, and then
visits have to be made from house to house, and a
specified quantity of rice and pulse left for them, to
last till the date of the next visit. No easy work,
this, for the relieving officer—driving about from
morning till night under the burning rays of the
tropical sun.. It is, however, a case of life and
death, and he persists in his task with unwearied
zeal. :

The relief-works for those who are able to work
consist of the formation of tanks for the storage of
water, road-making and canal-cutting. Here are
assembled all the able-bodied men who are willing
to work for their support during the continuance of
the dearth, while for the women is provided spin-
ning and other suitable employment, and in the
performance of their labour they often set the
men an example by the energetic way in which
they do it.

You would hardly believe it possible, but the-

requirements of caste are often such that a man is
not allowed to accept the assistance freely rendered
by the Government ; and unless he is willing to
be made an outcast, he must starve. Happily,
however, although some even prefer the latter



alternative, the people are often prepared to break
through these fetters.

But I will dwell no longer on this picture of
misery, but will pass on to the time when the clouds,
after a long and grievous absence, again gather
in the sky, and rain begins to fall. With what
rapture does the Hindoo behold the precious drops
descending, and listen to the steady downpour !
The change in the country and people is simply
incredible. The haggard, downcast look, and
despairing demeanour of the people vanish, and their
place is taken by a bright, happy, joyous aspect.
Sowing the seed commences in real earnest ; the
country erewhile so parched and sterile, becomes
green and fruitful as if by magic, and the recollec-
tion of those who have perished from disease or
starvation fades away in the joy of returning
prosperity.

Canals and tanks for storing water are the great
want of our Indian Empire ; and though much has
been done in providing them, and millions of acres
have been irrigated, vast labour must still be ex-
pended before we shall have done our utmost to
spare our fellow-subjects the horrors to which they
are exposed by famine. Man cannot, indeed, control
the winds, nor bring down the rain from the skies, but
he can make the most of what nature provides to
mitigate the severities of future Indian famines.





7O



An Adventure on Midsummer Eve.

AN ADVENTURE ON MIDSUMMER EVE.7’
A. TALE OF THE NORTH.

CHAPTER I.
AWW so ee eT was the
oe) ‘ an b22nd of
eS “a Sy June, not
many years
ago, and
the seaport
town of
— Nuborg, in
. : 4 the north
Sa Mies; of Finland,
s looked its
as : ANN gayest and
a? us best. Sum-
mer, glad season of beauty and brightness, really
had come at last!

The dancing waves of the Gulf of Bothnia shone
and glittered in the sunlight as they were blown
along by a fresh wind, the birch-trees on the little
islands waved their graceful branches, and well-
freighted canoes darted across the water so lately
ice-bound and covered with snow.

The many-coloured wooden houses of the town,
on their stone foundations, stretched away in each
direction from the top of a high mound or fortifi-
cation, now laid out as a pleasant garden for! the
recreation of the towns-folk ; and to the left rose
the massive yellow church, with its high tower,
from whence could be seen miles and miles of
gloomy pine and fir forests, glistening water, and
straggling villages nestling in the midst of fields
of waving corn.

Down the hill from the town, on that bright
June evening, ran two merry laughing children.
They were Oulu and Annia, son and daughter
of the Herr Handelsman Huovenen, one of the
richest merchants of Nuborg. Oulu, a tall boy
of ten, held his little sister tightly by the hand,
as they raced along towards the yellow sand at
the foot of the gardens; for poor eight-year-old
Annia found some difficulty in keeping up with
her brother’s long strides.

Arrived at the brick pump on the shore, which
was the favourite meeting-place of half the children
round about, Oulu and Annia seated themselves
on the stone trough, and were soon joined by four
of Oulu’s chosen companions, who immediately
entered into the most mysterious and interesting
conversation with him. Presently, Settu, a boy of
ten, ascended the trough and addressed his friends.

“My honoured companions, to-morrow is Mid-

















summer Eve; we must do something. You ~'l
know that on that day everyone sits up till past
twelve. We must do so, and bind up the corn
to tell our fortunes, like the peasants do. Ack!
what a good time we will have!” continued
Settu, relapsing from his grandmanner. “ We will
go out all together in my father’s canoe, and fly over
the water to old Nikkan’s farm in the forest, where
we will have coffee and sweet cakes [this was
taking a mean advantage of the weakness of his
audience]; then we will not exactly ze// any one,
but we will slip away. Hurrah! hurrah!”

Every one was by this time in a state of great

-excitement, and as to Oulu, he was hopping about on

one leg like a maniac ; but suddenly he paused, for
a voice seemed to whisper the rhyme which old
Nikkan himself was so fond of repeating :
*" The black crow sits on the old pear tree,
And sings a beautiful song ;

Those who obey not father and mother,
Shall be whipped both hard and long.”

Unluckily for himself, Oulu paid no heed to this”

‘warning voice, but grasping Annia by the hand,

and saying mysteriously, “ To-morrow at eight, by
the Papa Heuket’s warehouse,” he walked away,
leaving his companions with beaming countenances,

Oulu and Annia arrived at their one-storeyed
yellow house just in time for their supper of boiled
grain and sour milk; after which they retired to
Oulu’s sanctum, a room made at the end of the
attic, from which, if you put your body half out of
the window, and craned your neck to the left, you
had a fine view of the best part of the straggling
town, This room had all Oulu’s treasures ar-
ranged round it, and a fresh pine-tree standing
in one corner “for the health’s sake,” said the Fru
mamma.

The two children seated themselves in the broad
window-sill, which they called their Debating Club,
and began to discuss their plans for the morrow.
The Herr and Fru Huovenen were going. to the
Governor’s soirée in the evening ; it would be easy
to slip out when they had started. Phia the cook
had a holiday, so there would only be Nanni the
housemaid, who would be too busy with her own
affairs to take any notice of the children.

So Oulu and Annia chatted on, and presently
the watchman in the church tower was heard
‘blowing his horn nine times. Annia began to
feel very drowsy, and Phia came marching up-stairs
to put her to bed.





ne Ge Se aS RE tee: ha ae ee RR oe Fs oe

An Adventure on Midsummer Eve. | 71



That night Oulu tossed about on his bed in the
attic unable to get a wink of sleep. Twelve, and
‘one, were sounded fom the iron horn. How
brightly the sunlight glanced through the blinds!
Yes, even at one o'clock, for Nuborg was the
nearest town but one to the Arctic circle. How the
birds twittered in the trees, wondering, I daresay,
why the darkness was so long in coming. Then
how drowsily the saw-mill hummed, as it cut the
‘trees into planks to be shipped away to all parts of
the world ; and the mosguctoes—but the mosquitoes
were really Zoo unkind, and blew their little trumpets
‘ceaselessly, till Oulu felt half-mad.

I wonder what made the black crow’s rhyme keep
sounding in his ears till all .he words got confused
and Oulu fell asleep.

CHAPTER II,

MIDSUMMER Day was as fine and bright as could
have been wished, and punctually at eight o’clock in
the evening, a group of five boys assembled on the
strand by Herr Heuket’s old warehouse. There
were Settu Antmann, Icky Skule, and the two
little brothers, Jonni and Tutu Hegg; all talking
eagerly.

Drawn up on the shore was a large canoe, such
as is used by the “tar-men,” to bring down the
great barrels of tar from far up the river Ottu,
which empties itself into the gulf, by the town of
Nuborg.

Just as the boys were about to step into the
boat—for they were well hidden from the road
by a nest of old warehouses—Oulu and Annia came
creeping up, and hastily joined them, while Oulu
exclaimed, “Oh, we had the greatest difficulty in
getting here! Crowds of holiday folk are about,
and I was very nearly caught b that old Fru oe

- who was about to rush upon us, when we hid

ourselves behind a wall.”
The party being now complete, and Oulu having

“ carefully stowed away a supply of sockerbréd (sweet

cakes) that he had brought with him, Annia was
lifted into the canoe, Settu seized the paddle to
steer with, the rest rushed off, and jumping in
they were really off at last.

Over the blue waters flew the long black tar-
boat. Oulu and Settu kept up a lively conversation,
but one might have observed that they almost

whispered, and that Settu steered as far away as he

could from the holiday folks on the shore, till they
‘came to a.creek which led up into a little bay, half
‘surrounded by the gloomy forest. Into this bay
the boys guided the boat, and landed safely on
the yellow sand. They fastened the canoe securely,
and set off on the road to Nikkan’s farm, laughing
and shouting as they ran down the forest path.

“He! my good companions, only two versts
to the farm. Come along !” shouted Settu.

Little Annia felt rather frightened. It was the
great black forest that Phia told her about, where
the little trolls in the story-books lived. How
solemnly the old trees wagged their lichen beards,
and how crisply the fir-cones crackled under the
children’s feet !

But then, to be sure, it was nice to see all the
flowers—which would turn into berries when the
autumn came—peeping out from the thick soft -
mosses. There were the pink “ oker berry” flowers,
which became bright red fruit like raspberries, the
waxy bells of the cranberry, and the dark bushes of
the juniper, and “psy berries, which make you feel
both giddy and sleepy, if you eat too many of them,
as Annia very well knew. Then—loveliest of all—
the delicate little “linnze,” creeping luxuriantly
over the mossy ground, with tiny pale pink dowers,
threadlike stem, and small green leaves.

They had proceeded for some time in a very
irregular manner, when Oulu, who had become
hungry, turned to Settu and demanded the socker-

| bréd which he had been carrying. Now as it

happened, Settu had felt hungry long before Oulu,
and I am sorry. to say he had devoured all the
fine sugar-cakes, and left only the hard rusks for the
others.

“You are a pig—you!” cried the infuriated
Oulu, and pouncing upon Settu, he proceeded
to beat him soundly, é

The boys would certainly have had a regular |

fight, if Annia had not, with great presence of mind,

clung on to her brother’s legs, and so brought both
the combatants to the ground. She then suc-
ceeded in making peace. .Settu apologised, and
Oulu instantly shook hands, and handed round the

despised rusks,

This episode cast a gloom upon the little party,
which they did not shake off till at a turn of the
path they encountered Nikkan’s son, a boy of
fifteen, whose duty it was to take care of his
father’s cows. Yorri had a cow-horn, made
of a strip of bark rolled round and round till it
terminated in a point, and about a yard long,
with which he was making curious long-drawn
mournful notes of recall to his animals. He was
heartily greeted by the boys, with whom he was
an old friend, and after some conversation he
offered to take them to a fine field fr tying up
the corn. It was distant about two versts, but
the way was so difficult to find that they would

' be certain to lose themselves if they went alone.

The offer was eagerly accepted, and the children
soon found themselves outside the field, when
Yorri sauntered slowly away to look after his cows,



72

An Adventure on Midsummer Eve.



The boys and little Annia scrambled hastily

over the wall that surrounded the field, and found.

themselves in the midst of the waving rye.

Each child chose a spot near the wall, where
they fastened a label with their name on it. they
then cut off the heads of five stalks of rye, and
tied up the stems with the ends of coloured wool
they had brought for the purpose. One with red
for ove, one with white for joy, the next with blue
for hope, and so on.

“Now, my brave boys,” said Oulu, when every



to ask Yorri the way, and idiot as I am, I have
not the slightest idea in which direction we ought
to go.”

A dead silence ensued, and each boy looked
anxiously at his neighbour, for they knew how
difficult it was to find the way in that thick
and almost pathless forest. Little Annia, who
felt cold.and miserable, she knew not why, crept
up to her brother, and laying her head on his
arm, began to sob bitterly. “I feel so lonely,”
she cried; “it is so bad of us to be out like this,







fae? eet a ee moti

one had decorated their five pieces of rye, “in
three days we shall visit this place again, and
whichever one of our stalks has grown the most,
the colour fastened to it will show what our fortune
is to be during the coming year. We must then
cut our rye and sleepupon it, and the same night
we ought to dream of the person we are to marry—
at least, this is what the peasants do.”

“T hope my joy will grow longest,” observed
Settu. “And now perhaps you will tell us what
road we are to take to get to Nikkan’s farm.”

“Voi! Voi!” cried Oulu, suddenly. “ We forgot



PL PAE tea

‘“(HEY FASTENED THE CANOE SECURELY” (fg. 71.)





















































































































































































































































































The wind makes such a sad noise in the great
trees, and I Avow that something dreadful will
happen.”

“Hush! hush! lilla Nia,” said Oulu, sooth-
ingly; “all will yet be well. Sit you down on
this stone, and I and the others will go different
ways to find the farm. Then we will fetch you,
and have hot coffee and happiness at Nikkan’s
farm.” So saying, Oulu wrapped up his sister
in his woollen scarf; for though the sun was.
shining brightly there was a sharp pricking in
the air.



—————

Li

SSS

An Adventure on Midsummer Eve. 73



The boys then had a short consultation together,
and it was agreed that they should divide into
three exploring parties, and re-assemble in the
field in an hour’s time.

Now, to tell the truth, all the children began to
feel very uneasy. They had intended to be home

|

tried for some time to feel cheerful, but by degrees
she became more and more miserable ; and when
what seemed to her several hours had passed, she
could bear up no longer, and began to cry: “Oh,
I wish Oulu would come, I am so frightened! It
is so. lonely! Ack! JI wish I were home again !”





“SHE FELL ASLEEP THROUGH SHEER EXHAUSTION,”

before their parents returned from the Governor’s

‘entertainment, but that was now impossible, as

it was already past eleven ; and unpleasant visions
of future punishment began to float before them.
However, there was no time to be lost, so they
scrambled over the wall and were soon lost to sight
among the dark trunks of the pine-trees.

After her companions had left her, little Annia

And the poor little thing sank down by the stone
wall, and sobbed dismaily, till she fell asleep through
sheer exhaustion.

Oulu and Settu had chosen the way which
they thought led to the farmhouse, but after
walking for some versts they began to think that
it did zoz, and to feel the uncomfortable conviction
that they had lost themselves. They then tried



74 An Adventure on Midsummer Eve.



to find their way back, but having forgotten to
leave any marks by which to guide themselves,
they only strayed deeper and deeper into the
forest; and at last, being thoroughly tired out,
they sat down on @ bank, and in a few minutes
were fast asleep.

Settu was the first to wake, and wonder where
he was, and how he got there; but when he
looked at his sleeping companion he remembered
everything, and shaking his friend roughly by
the arm, he cried, excitedly, “Wake, Oulu! Wake!
Remember we were to have gone back to poor
little Annia in an hour, and now by my watch it
is five in the morning ! ”

Oulu started up with a real look of fear and
anxiety. “Ack, Settu!” he cried;
and cold she will be all alone in the rye-field.
Let us make haste to find her!” And the two
boys began to run as fast as their feet would carry
them in the direction from which they thought
they must have come.

“Make haste !” shouted Settu. “ This does not
look like the way we came, but perhaps it is all
right ; only take care where you go, for there are
little lakes in this forest, with steep banks half
hidden by trees and bushes.”

“T cannot stop to think of anything now,”
returned Oulu, as he plunged along in front,
breaking off, and fighting through the bushes.
But suddenly Settu, who was quite out of breath,
and had dropped a little behind, heard a loud
ringing cry, which echoed through the forest, and
seemed to make his heart stand still. The cry
was. followed “by a dull splash! splash! which
sounded somewhere far below; and then all was
quiet again.



CHAPTER III.

WHEN Settu heard that dreadful call for help,
he immediately recognised Oulu’s voice, and
guessing what had happened, he ran cautiously
forward in the direction from which it had pro-
ceeded, till he came to a thick mass of bushes,
which appeared to slope slightly downwards.
Settu warily made his way through this barrier,
and taking tirm hold of a pine-tree with one hand,
while he held back the branches with the other,
he looked dowz to a small gloomy lake completely
surrounded by a dark tangle of trees and bushes.
The boy looked in vain for any sign of his friend,
but presently his eye fell on a fisherman in a little
canoe, who was paddling rapidly across the dark
water to the place where Settu stood.

“He is there! I heard him go! Ack! For
the love of Heaven get him out !” shouted Settu,
frantically.

“how frightened



The peasant nodded, and taking a long stick ©
with an iron hook at the end, he poised it in one
hand, and waited. Ina momenta head appeared
near the boat, and Settu, clinging to the tree in
a dreadful state of anxiety, saw the man make
two ineffectual attempts to fix the hook in the
drowning boy’s clothes, finally succeed, and drag
him into the canoe. :

Settu waited no longer, but skirting the lake

as quickly as he could, he slid down the bank at
a spot where he saw a few rough steps leading to
the water’s edge, and waited impatiently while the
man rowed towards him, and tied his canoe to a’
stake by the steps.
. “Oh, is he dead?” cried the boy, anxiously,
bending over his friend. “Ack! do tell me if
he will live! He lies so still—so still—and does
not even breathe.”

The peasant looked at the quiet figure in the
bottom of the boat, and shook his head gravely,
“The good Lord alone knows,” he replied; “we
must do all we can.” Then with Settu’s assistance
he dragged off Oulu’s soaking clothes, wrapped
the boy in his own coat, and proceeded to chafe his
hands and feet vigorously.

“Go you to my canoe,” said the fisherman, after
some minutes had elapsed, and his exertions had
failed to produce any good effect; “bring me
quickly the branvin (a kind of whisky) ; we will try
that.”

After they had forced a little down Oulu’s throat,
Settu, to his great joy, saw him open his eyes, and
look round in a startled manner.

“Where am I ?” he exclaimed, feebly.

“Why, near Pettiyenki Lake, and a little while
ago you were nearer still,” replied the peasant.
“But come, I shall carry you to my farm close by
to warm you after your cold bath.” So saying,
he lifted the boy up like a baby, and followed by
Settu, climbed with long strides up the bank:
Following a-beaten track, they soon came upon
a group of log huts, the largest of which the man
entered. How delightfully warm the room felt
to the two boys after their night spent in the damp
forest. Oulu was too giddy to do more than drink
a little milk and lie back on a coat on the floor;
but Settu, who had to some extent recovered his
tongue and his appetite, began heartily to devour.
the black bread and salmon which the farmer’s
wife set before them, Meanwhile he found time
to tell their story to:their host and hostess, who
looked very grave when they heard. of Annia left
all night alone, and the other boys EE
about they knew not whither.

“ And now,” said Oulu, “ we must go at once to
find lilla Annia.”



2 An Adventure on

Midsummer Eve. 75



The farmer, whose name they found was Telli,
told them that the Tarki rye-field was only a verst
distant, and Nikkan’s farm close by, so he advised
them to go at once to Nikkan and ask him to
search for the other children, while Settu and he
went to see after Annia.

Poor Oulu felt so weak that he had to submit to
being carried to his old friend’s house, and left
there, while Telli, Yorri, Nikkan, and Settu, set off
to look for the rest of the party.

I could not tell you a quarter of the sad thoughts
that passed through Oulu’s head as he lay in the
little parlour of the log farm. How bitterly he
repented of the whole expedition, and especially of
having brought Nia. One thing he resolved—if she
were spared, he would at least be a better brother to
her in the future ; but woz/d she be spared? That
dreadful thought kept coming back to him again
and again during the weary two hours that elapsed
before he heard steps and voices enter the yard
and approach the house. He ran to the window,
and there saw a most mournful procession. First
came Telli, carrying a little brown bundle with
golden curls hanging limply over his arm, then
Settu, leading Jonni and Tutu, who were crying
dismally; and last Icky Skule, carried by Nikkan,
with his leg tied up in a white handkerchief.

Oulu rushed out, and seizing his sister’s little cold
hand, he burst into a passion of tears, sobbing out,
“Voi, lilla Nia! Annia darling! Wake up! Do
not say I have killed you! Oh, what shall I do?
what sha// J do?”

‘Little Annia was zof dead, though she had fainted
from cold and hunger, and it was a long time before
she regained consciousness. Poor Oulu was nearly
frantic with grief till his sister opened her eyes, and
gazed dreamily round; and as to the rest of the
party, they sat huddled up in one corner of the
room, as miserable and penitent a set of boys as

could be found anywhere.

Old Nikkan had come upon them all asleep,
some miles from the place from which they had
Started, and had immediately awakened them and
started them off to his farm, himself carrying Icky,
who had sprained his foot on a loose stone, and
was therefore unable to move without help.

It would take too long to tell you of the sad journey
home to Nuborg in the old tar boat, when the ©
children crouched in the bottom without speaking,
the farmer’s wife carried little Annia in her arms,
and Nikkan and Telli rowed with long strokes
across the clear Sound, sparkling in the morning
light, and up to the little landing-place from which
they had started—though they could hardly believe
it—only a few hours before.

I could not describe the state in which Oulu
found the yellow house, when he entered the yard.
Phia and Nanni were nowhere to be seen. The Fru
mamma stood in the verandah, in the dress in
which she had been to the soirée, with a large ban-
danna handkerchief on her head; issuing directions
to the Herr papa, who was in the act of mounting
a camel-like horse with the aid of a kitchen chair.

What a scene there was when the children
appeared! Oulu, white as a ghost, dressed in some
odd clothes of Yorri’s, and Nia warmly wrapped up
in shawls, carried by the kind-hearted peasant
woman.

Poor little Annia did not escape so easily as some
of the others, from the effects of the exposure to the ©
night air in the damp forest. For weeks she lay on
her little bed, knowing no one, and only moaning to
herself, and crying out now and then about the
“dark, dark wood!” and being “so lonely! so
lonely!” However, one bright day in July, Oulu was
told that his sister was better, and asking for him,
and from that day she slowly recovered.

I wish you could have seen a certain little tea-
party which took place at the end of July in Oulu’s
sanctum. Little Annia, looking fragile and pale,
had the place of honour, namely, a comfortable
arm-chair with cushions ; while Oulu, Settu, Icky,
Jonni, and Tutu, waited upon her assiduously, and
devoured the sockerbréd in an amazingly short
space of time.

“T am not sorry for that expedition, after all,”
observed the Fru mamma to Herr Huovenen, after a
peep in at the happy party in the atticroom. “ Oulu
has been obedient and meek as a lamb since then,
Annia is nearly well, and I do not think any of the
party are likely to forget how they went to bind up
the corn on Midsummer Eve !”





76

Harold Ruthven’s Victory.



HAROLD RUTHVEN’S VICTORY.

T was a winter’s
afternoon, and the
mistress of Deep-
wood Priory was
reclining on a sofa
in its quaint old
drawing-room.

Twilight was creep-
ing on, and the
delicate needle-

work upon which
she had been en-
gaged had fallen
from her hands,
and her thoughts
wandered _—_ back
from the cares of
; the present to the

time when her life
had been very full of joy and happiness. Five years
ago she had been a loving wife and joyful mother ;
now, save for her one son, Harold, she was well-nigh
alone in the world; for her husband, Colonel Ruth-
ven, as well as one of her brothers, had perished
on the battle-field, two of her children had died in
their infancy, and Harold only was left, and he—
bright, loving boy though he was (now between
eleven and twelve years of age)—had become a
source of some anxiety to her, so fully was his mind
imbued with the idea that there could be no possible







he would say, proudly, “a soldier’s death also.”
Frequent were the conversations on the subject held
between Mrs. Ruthven and Honour Ashton, a young
and much-loved cousin, who had resided with her
since Colonel Ruthven’s death. The mother would
fain at once have forbidden the boy to indulge in
hepes to which she could never yield a cordial
assent, even if she were compelled to give way and
allow him to take the course he had so early deter-
mined on; but Honour believed that, in trying to
combat his inclination too persistently, it would only
strengthen his desires, and, while she had not the
heart to be unsympathetic in the visions he so dearly
loved to create, she in her turn would seek to interest
him in the lives of many who, though they had never
buckled on sword or armour, had performed deeds
fullyas noble and courageous as those of his favourite
heroes. This afternoon, however, they had had a
more serious conversation, and Honour, having
just parted from him, came quietly into the drawing-
room, and, stirring the fire, which soon sent forth
bright, cheering gleams, illuminating the room suffi-



ciently, at all events, for conversational purposes,
she seated herself on a low footstool by her cousin’s
sofa, and, taking her hand within her own soft,
loving clasp, said gently —for she saw Mrs. Ruthven’s
eyes were already filled with tears—“I have been
spending half an hour in the old study this after-
noon, dear Mary.”

“In the study, Honour!” she answered ; “and
why there?”

“ Harold tempted me in,” Honour answered ; “I
had just returned from my walk when he waylaid
me, and drew me into his dearly loved retreat.”

“Tt was the old story, I suppose?” said Mrs,
Ruthven; “a dissertation upon the armour there,
and his longing for the time. to come when he may
buckle on that sword which he, like his mother,
prizes more than any other earthly possession ; but
oh, Honour, my darling! I beseech you, use your
influence with my:boy! Must I lose husband and
brother, and perhaps, by-and-by, my son too, with-
out making even an effort.to keep him near me?”

“Harold is so young, dear Mary,” answered
Honour ; “and we have already been speaking so
seriously on the matter that I am sure it would be
unwise just now to make his. future profession a
subject of further discussion. This afternoon it
was certainly in his mind, and the loving reverence
with which he handled his father’s sword was very
touching to see. ‘Oh, Honour,’ he said, ‘why do
not the months and years fly faster? Sometimes I
feel as if the time would never come when I shall
fight for my country as my father did.’ ‘And per-
haps die for it,’ I interrupted, ‘ and leave the mother’s
heart altogether, utterly lonely. No, dear Harold,’
I continued ‘ you must wait patiently the course of
events, and the kind of battle you will have to fight
will be made clear to you. If you see that, for the
sake of that mother whose heart has been left, save
for you, almost without joy or interest in the world,
your first battle must needs be with self and against
inclinations, which, though perfectly right in them-
selves, may, if indulged in, become a source of
bitter grief and sorrow to her, God will give you
strength and make your life as noble—aye, and
more so—than if it were spent in the midst of war-
like achievements and military glory.’

“‘T have never thought of this,’ he answered,
slowly, as, his eyes filling with tears, he replaced
the sword reverently in its scabbard. ‘ Of course,
my mother comes first,’ and giving mé one loving,
lingering kiss he left the room hurriedly, for he
had no power to say more.

“ Mary, believe me, whatever that boy sees to be





Harold Ruthven’s Victory. 77



his duty, he will do it, even to relinquishing his
dearest hopes; but you must let matters rest, and
not seek to bind him by a promise which would
now be as gall and wormwood to him.”

















































































stunned with the new and utterly unexpected line
of duty which Honour had suggested might possibly
lie before him, and the then necessary abandonment
of hopes which he had cherished from his earliest



HAROLD WITH HIS FATHER'S SWORD (See Dp. 76.)

Joyfully and most thankfully Mrs. Ruthven gave
her word that for the present the matter should be
left entirely to himself, and cheered with the thought
of her boy’s love and consideration for her, she
felt more happy and at rest than she had done for
months. :

But Harold—how fared it with him? Almost

remembrance, he sought refuge in the room
which had once been his nursery, but which,
though now disused for that purpose, was still
regarded as his sanctum, for here he worked at
his lessons, read, and pursued his varied boyish
amusements uninterruptedly. Locking the door,
he threw himself into a chair, and wept with such



738 Harold Ruthven’s Victory.



uncontrollable anguish that it was long before he
could compose himself to think, or even exactly
comprehend the blow that had. fallen upon him.
Gradually, however, the storm ceased, and, though
he felt too bewildered and stupefied to be a very
cheerful companion, he went down as the tea-bell
sent forth a second summons, and, save that his
face was pale and his manner more quiet and
gentle than usual, no one would have remarked
anything uncommon in his appearance. Days,
even weeks, passed before the conflict was over ;
but gradually his grief subsided, the clouds dis-
persed, and.sunshine and happiness again reigned
within his heart. Then, too, came the longing
desire to be to that mother who had borne so
much, the comfort and solace he felt he ought to
be. Once only he spoke to her on the subject,
for he felt he could scarcely trust himself to
many words, and then he simply bade her grieve
mo more—his first desire was to be her stay and
comfort.

Now my young readers must not think I want to
make my hero faultless, for I can assure them he
was very far from being so. He was-very often
impetuous and hot-tempered; still it was soon over,
and he so genuinely repentant for hasty words and
thoughtless actions, that he was a universal favourite.

In his school-life he was admired and loved
by all whose approval was worth having; the
protector and defender of the younger boys, and
encourager of the weak and timid. His university
career was also a very successful one, if not
actually brilliant. The question of his future
profession appeared to be tacitly understood, and
in due time he took holy orders, to his mother’s
entire satisfaction and great joy. Some time before
this, Honour Ashton had married, and left that part
of the country. And now a trial was in store -for
Mrs. Ruthven ; if she decided to remain with her
son, she must quit her home and life of retirement,
as he had been ordained to a curacy in one of the
most densely-populated parishes in the east of



London. He had for his mother’s sake hesitated
for some time before deciding to accept it; but
she was ready and willing to go with him wherever
his lot was cast, and her hearty assent, together
with the feeling that youth, strength, and energy
were needed, and that such a sphere would be a
valuable preparation for a life of which the very best
must be given’to his Master, settled the question.
They removed from Deepwood Priory, and for five
years Harold worked unceasingly and devotedly,
under the guidance of a vicar as large-hearted
and earnest-minded as himself; but at the end
of that time his mother’s health failed so entirely,
that for her sake he felt he must seek another
sphere of labour, and after laying aside work for
some months that he might be constantly by her
side—for at first grave fears were entertained of
her.recovery—he at length accepted the living of
Mailsham, which, though a large and hitherto very
inefficiently-worked parish, was yet most healthily
situated ; and he was the last to regret that there
was an abundance of work to do.

In the fresh country air Mrs, Ruthven gradually
recovered, and continued to be an earnest helper in
her son’s parish, as, indeed, she had been while he
was curate in London, until her health gave way.
And she lives still—the very picture of a delicate,
refined old English lady. Her hair is quite silver
now, and her eyesight not equal to the delicate
needlework upon which we first saw her engaged ;
but her heart has not grown old, as very many in the
parish can testify, as well as her children and her
children’s children —for Harold has now been
married more than ten years, and I am saying
a good deal when I tell you his wife is in every
respect worthy of him; indeed, I almost believe
Mailsham rectory is about the happiest home I
ever entered—I am sure it is the busiest, and the
children the merriest and most obedient. The.

grandfather’s sword still hangs in Mrs. Ruthven’s
room, as it has done for many years, and little
lisping tongues often ask for tales of the battles in
which dear grandpapa fought. -

Eels





The Self-willed Princess.

79



THE SELF-WILLED PRINCESS.

A STORY







T was
told by
a blue dog
—a China
blue dog—
in a shin-
ing golden
collar, as it
lay on the
white pil-
low of a
schoolboy’s
bed in a
nice large
room near
Gravesend,
Captain
4/-Reed had
only that
“ day come
E 2 back from
a long visit to the flowery. land of China, from which
he had brought home a great many odd things;
and. as this queer little dog had taken his son’s
fancy, he had presented him with it.

Rob pronounced it a “first-rater,” showed it to
every one in the house, and finally placed it on
the pillow when he went to bed, and presently lay
staring at it as it sat shining in the bright moonlight;
for Rob, who wanted to finish a story he was
reading had not drawn the blind down. The big
golden eyes seemed to be staring back at him

' with a strangely knowing look; it almost seemed
as though they were blinking in his face, like those
of a real dog, making him feel quite uncomfortable
at last. ;

“Well,” said Rob, with a tremendous yawn, as
he poked his book under the pillow, “I—yah—I
wish you could talk to a fellow like——

“Well, and how do you know that I cannot?”
interrupted a.tiny, cracked voice, that seemed to
come from close to his head. 5

“Who are you?” Rob asked, vaguely trying to
get out of bed and turn on the gas; but somehow
he could not stir; besides, he. knew very well it was
the blue dog speaking, and Rob, who was fond of
strange things, felt very delighted, ‘as well as a little
awed, at this answer to his thought.

“Tm a little blue dog, of course, silly.”

“Yes; but where do*you come from ?”

“ Do you white children of the barbarians care for







wild tales, as do the nut-skinned youths of China, |



OF CHINA.

my own fair home? Would you like to hear a very
touching history, the like of which has never been
unfolded to mortal ears ?” ;

“T should think I would just,” said Rob, trying
to sit up in his eagerness; but somehow he could
not move, so of course he kept still, and waited
and waited, till, thinking that his strange visitor
had forgotten him or gone to sleep, he cried, “ Go
on! do go on! What are you waiting for, little
blue dog? I’m ready.”

Presently the weak voice began; and, oddly
enough, it sounded now like the purr, purr of Tibby,
that often slept on his pillow, only he Zxew it was
not she to-night. .

“T was born thousands of years ago, when the
earth was small, and most of it was China. My
mother was Fan of the One Eye, and I must have
been very beautiful, for often she caressed my
chubby limbs, and called me her, pearl, her lotus
flower, her white snow flake.”

“Why did she call you that if you were blue?”
asked Rob, in a voice like a snore.

“Young mortal, I was not blue then, but white
as any of the fair things to which she compared
me. Now silence, and interrupt me by no vain
questions if thou would hear but the simple truth
concerning the Blue Dog of China. We lived
happily in the hut of my master, the tailor, Lin-sey.
Myself and eight brothers were fed upon the milk.
of kindness and the bones of love; for he had a
good and gentle daughter, who suffered not the
helpless to whine nor the young to overwhelm
the old. In all the city of Pekin was none like
her, and the passers-by would look at the neat
habitation, where her father sat singing, and the
clean kennel beyond, where we raised our voices
joyously, and say, “Oh, dutiful Bu-tea! Oh, fortunate
Lin-sey !

“We were happy until the sad morning when
we saw Me-row of the Long Tail—mouse-catcher
to the great mandarin Bo-bins—she that had left
our house in her early youth, and still looked in
now and then to be petted by Bu-tea. To-day, in-
stead of a pleasant salute, Me-row sat on the wall,
and gazed so sadly that my mother asked what was
wrong with her.

“¢ Nothing as concerns myself, friend, much to
trouble thee and thine, for know that Fan-cea, the
Emperor’s only child, has wished for a blue dog,
therefore happy is the mother of a blue pup! She
shall sit in the shadow of an imperial umbrella, and
her food shall be roses.’



A re

eg

j

rh Nag

"

!

fo
UAT)
a

r

, Z SS
LOA













THE WONDERFUL STORY OF THE BLUE DOG OF PEKIN,







(See p. 8x.)







The Self-willed Princess. 81

** But, Me-row, my dear,’ said my mother, ‘there
is no such thing as a blue dog. There are plenty
of black, white, and grey; she.must be content
with one of these. It is alight thing, and need not
frouble-us; the fancies of youth are as passing
clouds, and will pass as a shadow that leaves no
trace.

“¢ Tight, callest thou it! but dost thou know
that as yet the Princess has never wished for a
thing in vain; her fond and indulgent parents
have ever given way to all her wildest fancies ;
and now though they cannot get her a blue dog, they
have offered her a choice of any other kind in the
world, but she will not be pacified. She storms at
the governesses, of which there are two hundred
and three constantly in waiting, in case she should
at any time graciously wish to take a lesson. She
tears her serving-damsel’s hair, and, worse than
all, threatens to grow old and ugly, and to let her
feet grow large, unless a blue dog be obtained.’

“Next day our kind Me-row stopped on her
way with a mouse she was carrying home to her
kitty, to inform us that dreadful news had that
morning been proclaimed in the streets of Pekin,
to the effect that the Princess was suffering from
an attack of a malady which the Court physician,
having closely watched the symptoms, pronounced
to be chronic tan-ter-ums, and beyond his power to
cure, especially as he was only allowed to give sweet
medicines to this impatient patient, who would not
consent to swallow bitter.

“ mother.

“¢ Well, I don’t think it’s a kind of thing that
ever troubles us animals; and I heard a poor
labourer say that if his children had it badly, he
‘would soon cure them by the application of a small
bamboo, as that never failed in its operation, if
properly wielded. But let me continue, old friend,
for now comes the part concerning thee and thine,
as the proclamation went on to say that unless a
blue dog was found and brought to the palace
within the next twelve-and-twenty hours, every dog
in the royal city should be drowned, and every
owner of a dog should receive ten strokes on the
bare feet! For thee, Fan, I mourn, added Me-

~tow; ‘and I tremble, also, for myself, lest the

young lady’s next fancy may be for a green cat;
for those that are foolish are foolish ever, and stop
at nothing to satisfy a whim.’

“Great was the consternation in our house when
the bellman marched past with his loud ‘ Oh yes!’
Bu-tea came and shed tears over our soft heads,
saying, ‘Poor little things! to. think they must
die !’ :

“We, innocent pups! did not trouble much about

:

it; but Fan of the One Eye did, and lay in our
midst, with her poor heart beating at the thought
of what was to come. All night long she lay with
that one eye gleaming like a Chinese lantern: then,
with the earliest dawn she rose, and, giving me a
stir, bade me follow her silently out of the house.
I obeyed.

“¢ But, mother, is it to-day or to-morrow?’ I
asked, as we stood in the garden.

“To-day is the servant of to-morrow, so come
on, and silence; a bark might ruin all! I have
an idea, a little one only, that may yet save the
treasures of Pekin,’

“Mother took me across many gardens, until
we-arrived at an open cellar, in which were several
tubs full of something liquid and shining.

“She ran from tub to tub, sniffing here and there.
Suddenly she called me to her, and told me to get
up on her back and look at what was inside. Of
course I did so, but, to my horror, suddenly found
myself pitched head-forward into some dark horrid
mixture, in which I almost choked.

“ Of course I kicked and struggled. I need not
have been so frightened, because our kind do not
easily drown, but mother seemed in no hurry to
help me out; indeed, she ran round and kept me
in, calling me tender names all the time, though
she must have seen how I was spoiling my white
coat, while crying with passion and distress at my
strange position.

“When I did step out at last, I ran away into the
middle of the place to get a good shake, and then,
to my horror, I found myself blue!—blue as the
sky !—blue as Bu-tea’s dress !—blue as any toy dog
that was ever painted on a fan !—blue as you see
me now, in fact !

“Oh, how I howled and snorted with distress; but
mother was very tender and patient, telling me that
I would be the darling of a Princess, and had saved
all the dogs in Pekin from a terrible death. She
led me back secretly and silently to our home, and
there I hid myself and lay unobserved—unnoticed
by my brothers and sisters—while my mother sat
by and tried to comfort me.

“Soon Bu-tea, ever an early riser, came, bringing
us a dish of bones. She felt about, and I crept all
frightened into her warm fingers. She lifted me
up, and was about kissing my fine flat nose, when

she saw my strange colour, and dropped me with

a thump back again on the straw. I cried so
that she picked me up and wrapped mé in her
skirt, raving all the time, and crying joyfully,
‘Father, father! dear father! see, 1 have found a
blue dog!—a real blue dog! Oh, father, father!
your poor heels are safe. Oh, I am so glad!
Come here, father, come here and look!’
F



82

The Self-willed Princess.



“Out came her astonished parent, who was just
plaiting his pigtail before a glass, and when he
saw me he jumped about his own height from the
ground, shouting so joyfully, that all the neighbours
ran to see what was the matter; and all, especially
those who owned dogs, shouted also, ‘Hey, hey,

for the blue dog of Pekin!’ and all patted and

praised me, until—must I own it?—I felt very
proud and elated, quite forgetting poor mother, that
was watching the scene from our kennel door.

Bu-tea quietly made a red velvet cushion, on
which she placed me, with her own gold bracelet
round my neck, throwing her white veil over all.
Then she filled a basket with flowers, and proceeded
to the palace gate alone. She found the outer door
open, and presently made her way to the terrace,
where the Princess sometimes passed on her way
tothe bath. There she waited until the royal party
should pass,and she should get a chance of speaking.

“But it was not until the evening was coming
on, and a thousand lamps were lighted, that a young
lady came striding along. Her dress, all shining
with gold and diamonds, quite dazzled Bu-tea, who
shrunk back timidly, and almost dropped me in
her fright on to the royal lady’s toes!

“¢Who are you? What do you want here?’ said
the Princess, stopping and staring at her from head
to foot, most rudely.

“ Bu-tea suddenly forgot her fright, and flinging
off the veil that covered the cushion, held it before
the Princess and the Emperor.

“Oh, how pleased he was! Even Fan-cea forgot
her temper as, delighted to get her own way, she
patted me, and called me a darling; then she took
_ me in her arms and walked off with me, never even
saying ‘Thank you’ to poor Bu-tea. Luckily the





Emperor, who, except for his foolish love for his only
daughter, was a just man, did not forget to send
her the thousand pieces of silver, which she at once
presented to her father, with almost as many kisses.”

There was silence—the blue dog spoke no more.

“And you?” Rob Reed asked.

“Me! oh, ] was the playmate for a whole day;
I was taught to jump through a hoop; I was made
to beg; I was patted, fed, caressed; then the young
lady began to tire of me; she pulled my tail, and
set her black cat to scratch my ears, teased me
almost out of my senses, and at last-

“Well, at last I could stand it no longer; the
tan-ter-ums came on again, and she flung me at her ©
poor maid’s head; so, not knowing how else to show
my displeasure at such cruelty, I bit her severely.”

“What! the maid? what a shame!” :

“Oh, dear, no! the Princess—I bit her nose
and ran away before she had time to scream. I
hid myself for two days in one of the imperiak
outhouses, and then got safe back toBu-tea, where
as I was never inquired for, I lived very happily.
Long after, Me-row told mother that the Emperor
and Empress were said to regret nothing so much
as that they had spoiled and indulged their daugh-
ter to such an extent that she made hewelf hated
by all their subjects, and grew most bitter and dis-
agreeable to them, saying it was all their fault for
spoiling her whilst a little child, and indulging _
every idle whim, as otherwise she never would have
wished for such a thing as a blue dog, and then she
never would have spoiled her nose, and then she
ne— ver—” F

Rob heard no more ; but next morning he found
his book had tumbled off the bed and smashed the
blue dog to pieces.









“Not all Fun.”



83





























































































































































































“NOT ALL FUN”

CHAPTER I.









T is quite true,

I and it oc-

curred in a
small country
place in France
some years ago,
before the disas-
trous Franco-
Sz Prussian war*
3" had devastated
-and marred its
pristine heey. and a prettier spot it would have
been difficult to discover.

Bordered by a beautiful forest on the one side,
and by the rippling waters of the Seine on the other,
it formed a charming summer residence for the
English family who had taken up their abode
in the primitive village of E——, and who caused
_no small amount of curiosity among its inhabitants.
Probably they had never seen any foreigners
before ; but however that may be, they treated
the new comers with respect almost amounting
to veneration, and it was amusing to see how they
vied with each other in performing little acts of
courtesy for the English lady and her daughters.

Mrs. Langton was a widow, and was staying,
with her three little girls, at her sister’s house.

Madame Renier had married a French gentle-
man, and from many years’ residence in France
was regarded as one of themselves by the natives.
She had two sons and one daughter, all several
years older than the young Langtons, and conse-
quently they were held in considerable awe by the
latter for some time. I say for a time, for after
the first restraint wore off, and the little girls found
their cousins could not only speak very good English,
but could play and romp with them better than
“big English people” could have done, their awe







* 1870-71.



vanished, and they began to look upon them as huge
ployihines: designed for their especial benefit and
use, and they treated them imperiously accordingly.

Edouard, Pierre, and Eugénie were the names
of the young Reniers, and Maude, Flora, and
Elsie those of the Langtons; and great fun the
young people had together that glorious summer-
time. Sometimes it was hide-and-seek, in the cool
of the evening, in the large garden, so admirably
suited, with its trees and shrubberies, for such an
exciting game. Sometimes it was a walk to the
forest to gather the lovely wild flowers growing
there—lilies-of-the-valley, hyacinths, anemones,
blue-bells, &c. But best of all was when they
took their bathing-dresses, books, and lunch, ae
went for the whole day on the “ islands.”

Now there were three beautiful little islands
situated in the middle of the Seine, so shaded by
trees, shrubs, and long grasses, that even on the
hottest day they formed a cool and inviting spot
for a pic-nic, and many a day had they spent on
these islands, bathing, fishing, and amusing them-
selves as young people know how.

These islands communicated by means of
bridges, about three feet wide, made of stones—
barrages they call them in France—and it was on
the last of these islands that our little friends
always encamped—first, because it was the prettiest ;
and secondly, because a little baby island ran
alongside of it, which was splendidly adapted
for bathing purposes. The long thick grass
served for capital little tiring-rooms, and the
water was shallow and clear, with a sandy soil, so
they not hurt their feet, and here it was that
Eugénie and her cousins bathed and swam about
like young fishes. They could all swim except
Maude, and somehow, although she was the eldest
of the young Langtons, she never took to the water
like her sisters, and nothing would ever induce her
to try to swim. Indeed, sometimes she frightened
the others sadly by getting cramp in the water,

f F 2



84

“Not all Fun.”

Se

so perhaps it was just as well that she did not try
to swim, as it is a most dangerous thing to be
attacked by cramp even in shallow water, and
many sad accidents have resulted therefrom.

The young people were very often accompanied
by their respective mammas on these excursions,
and after bathing, they would join Edouard and
Pierre on the “mother” island, and all would par-
take of the luscious grapes and delicious French
bread, that never tasted nicer than in the open air.
Then the two young men would go off fishing, and
when they could get permission, Flora and Elsie
went with them, in the hopes of being allowed to
hold the lines sometimes; while the others read
and worked till six v’clock, when they all returned
home to dinner.

But it is of one special bathing expedition I would
speak, and perhaps I had better relate its story
in another chapter.



CHAPTER II.

“Wuat a lovely day !” exclaimed Elsie, one bright
September morning, as they were all seated at
breakfast in the large summer-house, so thickly
- covered with grape-vines that the rays of the sun
were baffled in their endeavours to penetrate them.
“I suppose we may go to bathe to-day?” she
‘continued, as no one seemed inclined to follow
up her panegyric on the weather.

“What do you think about it, auntie?” asked
mamma, appealing to her sister.

“Well, I should think you might if the water is
sufficiently low, but the tides have been rising so
much lately I should not be surprised if you found
the water over the darrages, and in that case, of
course, you won’t attempt to cross,” returned auntie.

“Oh no,” said Eugénie, and “Oh no!” echoed
the three small voices, as they scampered off
to do their lessons before going out.

At twelve o’clock they set forth, with their bathing-
dresses over their arms, and lunch snugly stowed
away in a little round basket.

The four girls were alone this time, for the boys
had gone to Paris on business, and both mammas
had duties to keep them at home. However, they
had no misgivings about intrusting the three
children to Eugénie’s care, and with a good-bye
kiss had dismissed them for the afternoon.

“I shall be sorry if we can’t, bathe to-day,” said
Flora.

“Yes, so shall I,” assented Elsie, who always
said and thought exactly what her sister did. The
two were inseparable, and you had only to scold
Flora to punish Elsie doubly and trebly. They
were now walking hand-in-hand down the hilly





lane that led to the river, while Eugénie and Maude
came on more soberly behind.

‘‘- We haven’t been to bathe for three days,” went
on Flora. “ Yesterday was wet, the day before
was Sunday, and the day before that we went
to Corbeil to buy our hats.”

‘“‘ There’s Mére Poisson coming,” said Elsie, in
an awe-stricken whisper, as a wizened old woman,
nearly bent double, came towards them, helping
herself along by means of a stout stick.

“ Bon jour, Mére Poisson,” said both the children
as she hobbled past them, muttering indistinct
blessings on their youthful heads.

“Isn’t she like a witch?” remarked Elsie, under
her breath. “Fancy being called Mother Fish! I
wonder whether you and I will ever be like her,
Flo?”

“Nonsense, of course not,” said Flora, laughing.
“ Why, we don’t carry great burdens on our backs,
like Mére Poisson, and we don’t work in the fields
all day.”

“No, I did not think of that,” replied Elsie,
heaving a sigh of relief. “ Doesn’t it seem strange
that the women should work so hard here? Louise
told me the other day they do more out-door labour
than the men.”

“ Then I am glad I am not a French peasant,”
said Flora; “in fact, I am very glad I am a lady,
aren't you, Elsie? I don’t fancy dirty work.”

“ Come, chicks,” called out Cousin Eugénie, “run
down to the river and see whether we can get on
to the islands.” $

The “chicks” needed no second bidding, and
speedily arrived at the water's edge.

“Tt’s all right !” they shouted out, as there, white
and sparkling in the sun-light, lay the stone darrages.
And here I will remind my readers that these
barrages were built low in the water, while the
islands towered above them at least five feet ; so
that in the very highest tide they were never
immersed in water, while these bridges that con-
nected them were not unfrequently covered. Such
had evidently been the case now, for the water was
still sparkling in some of the grooves and holes
where the stones had fallen out, and although the
bridges were now quite out of the water, the tide
was unusually high. '

“T never saw it so high before,” said Elsie. —

“Oh! it’s all right;” returned Flora, decidedly,
“ besides, we can swim, so we couldn’t be drowned.”

Cousin Eugénie thought it was “all right” too.
“ The tide is evidently going down,” she said ; and
they proceeded gaily on to the islands, and soon
reached their bathing-place. Flora and Elsie
began to make frantic efforts to get undressed, but
Maude stood looking at the water irresolutely.



“Not all Fun.”

85



“T don’t think I shall bathe,” she said, at length,
turning away with a shudder ; “the water looks so
deep.”

“Perhaps you had better not,” said Eugénie,

“as you can’t swim ; and you might get cramp.”

So it was decided, and Maude, nothing loth,
sat down to watch the others.

Splash, dash! in went Flora first; and timid
Maude gave a little shriek as she saw the water
close over her sister’s head. She was reassured a
moment after, when Flora’s merry face reappeared,
with a shout to Elsie to make haste, as it was
delicious. Asshestood thewatercame up to her neck.

“Look,” she cried, “it is deep! Usually the
water is only up to my knees here. What fun!
I like swimming out of my depth.”

“Let's have a race,” suggested Elsie, emerging
from her grass enclosure and jumping into the
water.

“Mind what you are about, girls,” cried Eugénie,
warningly ;
to you.”

The two children made a little grimace, but did
as their cousin desired them, and were soon re-
warded by having a good swim with her until they
were tired. They dived, they floated, they swam
all manner of ways, and enjoyed themselves
amazingly.

“How much longer are you going to remain in
the water?” cried Maude, impatiently. “You have
been in three-quarters of an hour.”

“Oh! we can’t have!” protested Flora. “It is
so jolly, Maude. Don’t you wish you could swim ?”

“ No, I don’t care about it,” Maude returned,
laughing. “I am not such a fish as you are.
And you fave been three-quarters of an hour.
Look, here is Eugénie’s watch.” And, with some
pride, Maude held up her cousin’s little Geneva
watch, which she had allowed her to wear.

“ Half-past one !” cried Elsie. “Time for lunch ;
let us have it in the water. We can fancy ourselves
mermaids. Can we, Eugénie?”

“Yes, if you like,” said Eugénie. “I suppose
we are quite safe. The tide must be going down,
for it had evidently been over the darrages this
morning, and this grass is still quite damp at
the roots.”

“ Give us some lunch, Maude, I am so hungry,”
said Flora; and perched upon a projecting bit of
land, with their feet dangling in the water, they
ate their lunch amidst much talk and merriment.

“There go my grapes!” cried Elsie, dolefully,
as she let the remainder of her grapes slip through
her fingers into the water. “Well, I only hope
the fishes will enjoy them as much as I should
have done.”

“and keep near shore till I come



“You are a goose, Elsie!” laughed Eugénie.
“Give her what is left in the basket, Maude ;
and I should like a piece more cake if you have
any left.”

“The boys would have liked the river to-day,”
said Elsie, quaintly.

“Fancy a chit of a thing like you calling those
young men ‘boys !’” laughed Flora. “ You'll be
calling Eugénie ‘child’ next!” And Eugénie
smiled too, in all the conscious dignity of her
eighteen years.

“What would our English friends think of us
now, I wonder?” went on Elsie, not to be repressed.
“What fun it would be if the Courtenays were
here, or Minnie Seymour. I don’t think they would

“recognise us, Flo, if they were to come upon us

unexpectedly. We look like water-witches—at
least you do, for your hair is so long, and hangs
round your face like so many snakes.”

Flora laughed and shook her hair all over her
face, until all her features were hidden but one eye,
and made a sudden jump upon Elsie, who flew
up in pretended terror, and took refuge in her
“ dressing-room.”

“ Children, I am sure the water is rising!” said
Cousin Eugénie. “You must make as much haste
as you can dressing, and we will get home.”

“What fun!” said Flora to Elsie. “I like an
adventure now and then. And, if Maude weren’t
here, I should like to be obliged to swim to shore ;
but, as it is, I suppose we had better make haste.”

In ten minutes they were ready to start home-
wards; but great was Eugénie’s dismay to find
that the long, narrow path of the baby-island,
which it was necessary to traverse in order to get
on to the big island, was quite covered with water
in many places, and they would be obliged to take
off their boots and stockings, unless they wanted

them to get soaked.

CHAPTER III.

IT was with different feelings the four girls pro-
ceeded to divest themselves of their boots and
stockings. Eugénie was vexed she had not observed
the tide was rising sooner, and wished they had
not come to bathe at all; Maude was half frightened,
half inclined to laugh at their novel situation, while
Flora and Elsie were of opinion it was grand fun !

Making a bundle of their boots and stockings,
they held them in one hand, while they held back
the projecting branches in the other. For the path
was bordered on one side by overhanging trees,
and now the branches of many of them were quite
in the water and obstructed the way.

One by one they proceeded safely for a few



86 “Not all Fun.”



moments, when a sudden cry caused Flora and || They then marched down the island in some
Elsie, who were in front, to stop and look behind, | trepidation as to what might await them. There
was no help for it, the boots had to come off
again, for the water was considerably over the
barrage; and Eugénie sighed, as she remem-.
bered they had three such bridges to cross,
before they could get on shore.

The two first were safely accomplished, but
the stones hurt and lacerated their feet in a.
manner that made Elsie, and even Flora, begin
to doubt the entire “fun” of the expedition,
and look forward to being able to put on their
boots again. But they would not give vent
to their treasonable thoughts, and laughed and
jested merrily as they waded along.

“ Now for the tug of war!” exclaimed Flora,
as they toiled up to the last and longest
barrages. “Don’t fall into the water again,
Maude, whatever you do.”

But whether the caution made Maude
nervous, or whether she turned giddy again,
I cannot say, but certain it is, that scarcely
were the words out of her sister’s mouth, than
she slipped o-f the Jarrage, and fell right into
the river, uttering a loud scream.

Flora echoed the cry as she saw her sister
disappear under the water. Eugénie and Elsie

“There’s Maude right in the water!” cried | were some way on in front, but they heard it,
Flora, It was true; poor Maude, naturally timid, | and turning round to see what fresh disaster had
had turned giddy at an unlucky moment,
and had neatly walked right into the water.
The cry had proceeded from Eugénie ; but
beyond getting her clothes very wet there
was no harm done; and having regained her
equilibrium, Maude managed to get on to
the big island without any further mishap.

“Well, this is tiresome!” said Eugénie,
ruefully surveying her drenched condition.
“ How did you manage it?”

“JT don’t know !” said poor Maude, shiver-
ing. “I turned giddy at seeing so much
water round me, I suppose.”

“ It is a mercy you did not drop your boots
and stockings in the water too. I only hope

. the barrages are not covered as well.”

“T should like to put on my boots,” said
Flora, “this short stubbly grass hurts may feet
dreadfully.”

“Very well; it is a good way to walk to
the darrage,” returned Eugénie, beginning to
put on her own. “If we find the water is over

it, we shall have to take them off again, that
is all.” ‘(THE BOOTS HAD TO COME OFF AGAIN.”









‘““MAUDE, NOTHING LOTH, SAT DOWN TO WATCH” (4. 85),





Maude’s boots were soaking, but she
managed to pull them on, and wisely refrained
from saying anything about them.

occurred, beheld, to their dismay, Maude floating
with the current down the river.





“Not all Fun.”

87



In dire consternation, Elsie began to run towards
land, as fast as the sharp uneven stones would
allow her, shrieking “Au secours! au secours !”
(help ! help !).

Eugénie’s first impulse was to throw herself into
the river and swim after her cousin,-but second
thoughts convinced her that it would be certain
death to herself as well as Maude to attempt
to rescue her, For Maude was a big girl of
thirteen or fourteen, and she felt her strength
would be quite unequal to the task of swimming
with her any distance, so she ran quickly after
Elsie, trusting fervently that help might be at hand.



pursuing its onward course towards the village
of Evry,

Flying along over the stones, and, in their
intense relief, never feeling the many pricks and
cuts they endured, they arrived at Flora’s side,
crying and laughing hysterically.

“Whatever zs.the matter with you both?” said
Flora, failing to comprehend the cause of their
emotion. “Maude might be drowned, to see your
faces!” 7

* So we thought she was—we thought she was |*
sobbed Elsie, bursting out afresh. “It was her
hat we saw, and we thought Maude was with it.”







CROSSING THE ‘‘' BARRAGE,”

Elsie was sobbing bitterly, as visions of her
sister lying stiff and cold in the cruel river, passed
rapidly through her mind; and Eugénie, even in
that one brief moment, wondered how she should
ever muster up courage enough to tell the sad news
to the bereaved mother. :

But a call from Flora arrested their steps once
more.

“Eugénie and Elsie, what are you doing !” she
cried, impatiently. “Come quickly, come and help
me to save Maude!”

And looking’ back, what was their surprise and
thankfulness to see Maude, in the river it is tre,
but clinging with both hands to the darrage; while
what they had in their excitement taken for her,
was simply her pretty white straw hat, still merrily





(See p. 86.)

And as she pointed to the truant. hat, Flora under
stood their recent alarm at a glance.

Meanwhile they were doing their best to extricate
poor Maude from her unpleasant position. She
was up to her neck in the water; and fortunate it
was her fall had happened where it did; as a little
further on she would have found no footing, and it
might have been a real case of drowning. Her
difficulty now, was to get on to the darrage again.
Built up from the ground, the sides were smooth
and even slippery from the mosses and lichens
time had accumulated there; and nowhere could
she find a place where she could put her foot.
Every effort she made to get up only sent her with
a splash back into the water—and Flora had vainly
tendered her assistance; Maude had wisely felt



88

A Little Schoolgirl.

s j

that if she clung to her younger sister, she would
probably only bring her to grief as well, and
refused her proffered hand, saying, “Call Eugénie,”
And now Eugénie’s and Flora’s united efforts were
at length effectual, and she scrambled on to the
barrage, not much the worse for her ducking ; but
minus her hat, and decidedly frightened.

Elsie raised a triumphant “hooray!” as she
saw her sister safely landed, and now all danger
was over they could afford a good laugh at the
mishap.

It was not deemed expedient Maude should be
trusted by herself the remainder of the way, so
Eugénie held her hand tightly, as they went on
to land with thankful hearts.

“Well, of all the unfortunate beings, you are the
worst, Maude,” said Eugénie, when they stopped to
put on their boots. “It is very fortunate I was
carrying your boots for you !”

“Yes, it was,” assented Maude, readily, feeling
that even wet boots were better than none to walk
home in.

“ However will you get home?” went on Eugénie,
“We must walk—there is no help for it. There
are no cabs or even carts to be had here. We had
better walk as fast as we can, and perhaps that
will prevent your taking cold.”

Stockings and boots were now put on, and they
set forth homewards with rapid steps.

“What a pitiable procession we make!” said
Flora. “It is to be hoped we shall not meet any
one, unless it be a stray cart, and then we might



ask them to give you a lift, Maude. Fancy your
riding home in state in a are: cart! Goodness.
me! there’s Madame ——! Oh no, it is only an
old market-woman, fortunately.”

“T hope she won’t see us,” said poor Maude, who
felt, and certainly looked, the most forlorn of the
four. Her hat was gone; her muslin dress, that
had looked so fresh and pretty when she left home,
now hung like a limp rag about her equally wet
petticoats ; and her boots, she knew, were perfectly
spoilt.

“Whatever will mamma and aunty say?”
whispered Elsie to Flora. “I hope they won’t
be angry.”

“No, of course not, ” replied Flora, stoically,

“Tt was not our fault after all, you know.”

But mamma and auntie were disposed to be
angry when they saw the state Maude was in, unti$
they had heard a full account of the afternoon’s
proceedings ; even then the little girls were
cautioned that they should not be allowed to
bathe again while the high tides lasted.

Maude’s dripping garments were quickly changed,
and by the time the dinner-hour arrived, all traces
of their adventure had been removed. Maude did
not take cold from her unwelcome bath, and ever
after it has been a standing joke against her. But,
as Elsie remarked to Flora, a little while ago, when
they were recalling scenes of their happy child-
hood—“ It was not all fun.”

I will only add that the writer was one of those
three little girls, Can the reader guess which?

=== —

A LITTLE SCHOOLGIRL. |

HE stood at the gate—father, mother beside
a her—
Warm lay the sunlight on vine and on tree;
With tasks, long and careful, her parents had
plied her,
And laden with song-book and basket was she.

“Now bring all the praise for the lessons best
learned, :
And the prize for the songs sung sweetest,” they
said,
* So joys shall await you at even, well earned,
‘And blessings undreamt of be heaped on your
head.”

She passed down the street where the deep
shadows lay,
And they turned to the garden behind the old
grange ;



Their hope gave new voice to the light wind all
day,
And the fruit-covered walls had a glow that was
strange.

She came when late flowers were folding to
slumber,
And she said, “ Many triumphed, but I triumphed
not ;
I sang out of time—false notes without number—
And the tasks, that you taught me so fondly,
forgot.”

Then their arms they outstretched one who wept
to enfold,
And they said, while she thought that the loss
they bewailed,
“Oh, child! if you won, of reward rich we told,
But we said not a word of our love if you failed.”



Mischievous Brownie.

89



MISCHIEVOUS BROWNIE,

ae
‘q @ ITTLE Miss Margery, open the door,
oe My feet in the brambles are torn ;
@-” The fairies are out where the May dew lies,
They revel and dance to the starlit skies ;
But they chase me away where their feet have
trod, :
I know why itis : I am ugly and odd,
I’m an outcast and very forlorn.”

Poor Brownie !
asleep,
If I once let you in, very still you must keep ;

There’s grandmother calmly

weary and sorely

The pathway is lost, and the forest is dead ;
It is dark, dark everywhere !”

“Nay, Brownie, I thought you were resting alone,

And you went straight away, where the harvest
moon shone ;

You went to the field, and you spoilt all the
sheaves,

You went to the fruit, and left nothing but leaves ;

If you feel for a moment the warmth and the glow,

You must quickly be gone in the frost and the
snow.”

“Little Miss Margery,
open the door,



distressed,

Yet for love of. the
\

I will open the door, | ||!\Nf
T will give you Wt +}
rest.” \ |
Little Miss Margery, Noid

open the door,
I dare not stay out

£4
Po
Tn

till the morn ; NY
The harvest _moon vi
shines with a nN
broad yellow | WS
glare ; NS

Oh!. where shall I
hide on a night
so fair?

I’m an outcast and
very forlorn.”

Nay, Brownie; when
blossoms were





The March wind
sighs on the
hill ;

Worse than the frost,
though it seemed
like death,

Of the cold east wind

=<









is the pitiless
breath ;

I will sit by the fire
so still!”

“ Nay, Brownie, when
snow lay deep on
the path,

And I left you to rest
by our friendly



hearth,
You piled up the
wood, set the

chimney alight,



thick on the tree
I gave you both
shelter and food
I gave you a chestnut, creamy and sweet,
And a cushion of moss for your poor tired feet,
And I cannot say you were good !
For I left you to rest, as I thought, by the hearth,
And you quickly stole out down the long meadow
path ;
You went to the shed, and you opened the door,
And our favourite cow strayed away to the moor.
If I try you once more, you must sit very still
Till the harvest moon falls in the wood on the
hill.”

MARGERY AND THE BROWNIE,

“Little Miss Margery, open the door,
For horribly keen is the air ;
The snow rattles down on my aching head,



And the flames rose
up in the winter
night.

In barn and in croft the timbers cracked,

And the flames swallowed up all the hay that was
stacked.

So now they have put a great bar to the door,

And Brownie, they say, shall come in never
more.

Were my heart brimming over with pitiful love,

That bar with my hands I could never remove,

So now you must keep out afar.”

And Brownie went on, over moor and hill ;
The rain rushed down, and the wind blew chill,
But the clouds parted once and showed a star,
As Brownie went out afar, afar,

As Brownie went out afar. H. P.



90 A Brush with the Pirates.







HE Ariadne corvette, of eighteen
guns, lay at Spithead, with
sailing orders for the Cape
of Good Hope station. I
belonged to her as master’s
mate—so sub-lieutenants were

called in those days. My watch

was just over when a shore-boat
came alongside, and a note was
handed to me. It was an invitation
to visit Mr. and Mrs. Duncombe,
friends of my father, who were
staying at Ryde. I asked and
obtained leave from the first lieu-
tenant. “You must be off again
before night, Barton,” he answered ;

“ take care not to be left behind.”
Reaching the shore, I made my

way up to my friends’ house. Mrs.

Duncombe soon afterwards appeared, followed

by her husband and daughters. They were evi-

dently very glad to see me. “We want you to
take charge, Mr. Barton, of our Charlie,’ said

Mr. Duncombe; “he has not been to sea before,

and requires looking after, being somewhat in-

clined to run wild, I suspect.” In a short time,

Charlie, who had been paying some farewell visits,

came in. He was very like his sisters, a remarkably

nice-looking young fellow, and I willingly under-

took the charge confided to me. I never spent a

pleasanter afternoon in my life. 5
The time for our leaving came all too soon.

Mr. Duncombe, being an invalid, was unable to

leave the house, but the rest of the party ac-

companied Charlie and me down to the pier,
where the wherry which had brought me ashore
was waiting to take us off.

Charlie’s traps were quickly lowered into her.
The last farewells were said. . He had held out
bravely till then, but as he received the embraces
of his mother and sisters he fairly gave way. I
liked him all the better for it. “You will watch
over him, Mr. Barton; he is our only boy, but
would go to sea,” said Mrs. Duncombe, as she
shook my hand. We shoved off, and were soon on
board, -

The next morning, at daybreak, standing down
the Solent, we ran out through the Needle passage,
“Our Charlie”—so we always called him—soon
became a great favourite on board. He was up to
all sorts of fun, yet very attentive to his duty, and
was as much liked by the captain and gun-room



, A BRUSH WITH THE PIRATES OF THE PERSIAN GULF.

BY W. H. G. KINGSTON.

eS

officers as by us. We had a quick run until we
reached the tropics. We here lay becalmed, The
heat was excessive, and some midshipmen and
several of the crew got leave to bathe. A sail was
rigged for the purpose, it being understood they
were not to quit it. Before long, however, several
took it into their heads to swim away from the
ship. I had just come on deck, and was looking
over the taffrail, when I caught sight of a triangular
fin above the surface, and on looking out I saw
several of the swimmers some distance from the
side, Charlie among them. I shouted out to them
to return, Charlie was further off than the rest,
who were making rapid way to the sail, guessing
the cause of my shouts. I fortunately had on
some dark trousers. I saw Charlie struggling, as
if seized with cramp.

Grasping a long sheath-knife from one of the
men, I plunged overboard, and made towards my
young friend, shouting as I did so, telling him to
cry out and beat the water with his feet. His
danger was seen by the officer of the watch, and a
boat was being lowered. I had hopes of saving
him, and preserving my own life. He was almost
exhausted when I reached him. Keeping my legs
rapidly moving, and making as much noise as pos-
sible, I kept him afloat until the boat reached us.

Scarcely had we been hoisted on board, when a
pair of huge jaws rose to the surface. But “Jack
Shark” was disappointed of his prey.

“They will thank you at home—I know they
will,” said Charlie, as he endeavoured to express
his gratitude for the service I had rendered him.

“Do not do it again, Charlie,” I returned ; “ you
have been mercifully preserved, no doubt about
that.”

After touching at the Cape we were ordered
round to the east coast to look after the Arab
dhows which run with black slaves up the Red
Sea and the Persian Gulf. Our duty was to
overhaul all we could meet with, and to capture
those with slaves on board. This was no easy
matter. Curiously built as these vessels are, they
sail very fast, and the Arab captains play all sorts
of tricks; even dressing up slaves to pass as
passengers—honest traders with their families.

As we were some time without an interpreter we
were easily deceived. A bright look-out was kept

aloft, of course, at all hours, from dawn to dark. »

We each took our turn at this duty. Our Charlie
had now become as active and intelligent as any
midshipman on board.

Societe ee



A Brush with the Pirates.

OI



“T intend to sight a dhow full of slaves, and I
hope we shall take her,” he said, as he was going
aloft one morning.

I can picture him now as I saw him seated on
the fore-topmast cross-trees—in spite of the hot sun
and the rolling of the ship, as perfectly at home
and fearless as the old squire his father could have
been in his arm-chair. He had not been there
long, when he shouted out,. “A sail on the lee
bow ;” and shortly afterwards, “ There is another,
and another, and another!” Every stitch of
carivas the corvette could carry was set, and we
Stood on in chase of the strangers. Some of them
appeared to be slower craft than usual, so that
before long we got the sternmost within range of
our guns. .

A single shot made her lower her sails. Heaving-
to for an instant, a canoe we had captured some
time before was lowered, and I with four hands
was sent to take possession of the prize—Charlie
obtaining leave to accompany me. I had orders
to keep after the corvette, which made sail in chase
of the rest of the dhows. :

The Arab master and crew were, in appearance,
a “cut-throat” set of villains. They had a large
number of passengers, but whether they were really
so, or slaves dressed up, I found it difficult to
determine. I ordered my men to re-hoist the sail.
None of the Arabs would help. It was some time
before we got it up, when I found that the corvette
was far ahead of us.

I kept a bright look-out on the crew of the
dhow, telling Charlie and my men to do the same,
and to be ready for any emergency. The corvette
was by this time a long way ahead, and I saw that
she had captured another dhow, and was standing
after the other two. Just then our sail came down
by the run. The halliards had been cut through.
As I was obliged to keep my men together aft, we
could not see what the Arabs were about forward.
The same thing again occurred just as night was
coming on. Charlie, with our four men, ran
forward to re-hoist the sail. It took some time to
splice the halliards. I was unable to see what they
were about, and was peering through the darkness,
when I felt a blow on my head, and the next
instant was struggling in the water.

Happily our canoe was towing astern, and I
managed to scramble into her, and lay flat down,
intending to climb on board, when either the tow-
rope gave way, or was cut, and I was soon left far
astern. I thought little about myself, but trembled
for the fate of our Charlie and the men. Still, I
hoped that by keeping together they might resist
any attempt made upon them. Finding two
paddles left in the canoe, I seized :v-m, and pulled

away with all my strength in the direction of the
vessel. My head was bleeding, but I did not feel it.
All night long I worked at the paddles, and when
I looked out in the morning, I fancied that I could
see the corvette in the distance to the northward.
This inspired me with fresh courage. The sun getting
up I was parched with thirst, and, after some hours’

‘exertion, I sank down totally exhausted. When I

recovered I found myself on board the corvette.

My first inquiry was for Charlie. The captured
dhow had not been seen, and the corvette was
looking for her. *

The sorrow on board was universal, for it was
fully believed that Charlie and the men must have
been killed. “But we will avenge them,” was the
remark. Poor consolation for his parents, I thought.
The promise of a reward induced one of the Arab
captains, just captured, to afford his assistance in
discovering the missing dhow. She was not a fast
sailer, and could not be far off.

The anxiety about our Charlie increased. The
fever produced by the blow on my head, and the
fatigue I had gone through, produced uncon-
sciousness; and when, after several days had
passed in this state, 1 at length opened my eyes,
there I saw Charlie standing watching me. At
first I thought I was deceived by my senses, but
his voice reassured me.

“We had a hard fight for it,” he said, “but we
kept the fellows at bay, and succeeded in driving
not a few of them overboard. The rest knocked
under. We were pretty nearly done for, however,
when the corvette found us.”

This was one of many adventures we went
through during our cruise. I cannot stop to
describe the terrible sights which some of the
dhows, crowded with slaves, presented when we
captured them. For every slave carried into cap-
tivity, ten are said to lose their lives, either during
the raid made upon their native villages, or when
being driven to the coast by the savage Arabs, or
on the voyage.

One of the happiest days of my life was when
the cruise was over, and I got leave to accompany
our Charlie on shore, and hand him safe over to
the loving embraces of his mother and sisters.





92 Margery’s Voyage.



MARGERY’S VOYAGE.

CHAPTER I,
H ! I’ve found such a big bit.”
“No; have you, though? Show it to
“me. Let me have it for a moment.”

.




ff
He aA
iH i tH ne

ah
i i

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an

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=

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i a a ie i

i tH i i L i a i Fi

tat ni Wi o
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Hi a it

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TTS KH
eat

ti ru Hi AH
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i i i i if

a a



had been searching all the week, and had only
found little valueless bits, and now Bob’s industry
was rewarded at last.

It was very rough winter weather, and their

“STARING INTO THE BRIGHT BLAZE” (. 94),

“You must give it me back again directly.”

“How big a bit will it make, d’ye think?”

So spoke two ruddy children, Bob and Margery
Allen.

They were searching for amber at Sandybeach,

noses were blue and their hands stiff with the cold.
“We'll go home now, and show it to mother,”
said Margery.
So they climbed the cliff, munching their bread as
they went.

!







Margery’s Voyage.

93°

Pe a NE a ee EE a ee
“ T hope we'll be able to sell it soon ; father badly

wants new boots,” said Bob.

“Mother wants a warm petticoat oe cried
Margery.

“ They all want everything mostly,” Bened Bob
again.

And what Bob said was true.

It is but a bare and scanty living that the sea
can give at the best of times, and now, in the bleak
winter, they were very, very poor ; and Margery and
Bob often knew what it was to-be hungry.

Mother was standing at the door looking for
them ; she was anxious, for the sea was getting
high and the wind blew hard.

“T'm right glad to see you, children, for there'll
be a storm to-night,” was her greeting.

“Oh, mother! Bob’s found szch a big bit of
amber, and when it’s cut, it will be a big bit still ;
and I think he'll get a shilling for it, maybe two.”

Mrs. Allen took the rough stone from Bob’s hand,
mechanically rubbed it on her hand and smelt it (for
you know that amber has a smell of its own by
which it may be known), and tried to rejoice with
the children; but her heart was far from it, and
she showed in her face how sad she was at the
thought of the coming storm. Margery saw the
far-away look, and knew where mother’s heart was.

“ Will father go for the pots?” she asked.

“T fear he must, child.”

Margery meant the lobster and crab pots which
the fishermen lower into the water with their bait
in the day, and have to go and fetch in the early
morning.

They had their tea and tried to settle down.
Mrs. Allen took her basket of coarse stockings and
strove to mend them; Bob sat down with the
carving work, which formed his little help towards
the family income ; and Margery tried to help her
mother, and to hush the baby girl, who slumbered,
unmindful of storms, in the corner; but it was
heart-aching work, and they all went restlessly to
the door from time to time, the children looking out
from behind mother, as she stood there watching
for father Ben, who had been to the next village
with a message for one of the neighbouring gentry.

Presently his cheerful voice was heard. outside,
and they all sprang up to meet him.

“Well, wife ; well, Bob ; well, Margery, lass ; and
how’s the little one?”

“ She’s sleeping. Father, sws¢ you go for the
pots?” asked Margery.

Ben looked down at the little girl, and stroked
her soft hair. “

‘“‘Where’s bread to come from, lass? Our’s
. is out there, and if I don’t go and fetch it it won’t
come to us, you know.” :





“ But there’s going to be a storm—mother says
so; and—and—Bob’s found a big bit of amber,”
said Margery, suddenly remembering Bob’s good
luck, and making the most of it.

“ Bob must have found a rare big bit to buy us all
food for the next two days, and he hasn’t sold it
yet, child.”

Margery’s face fell.

“ Besides,” proceeded Ben, “the storm isn’t much
yet, though it’s blowing up fresh, to be sure; and
seems blowing up fresher,” he added, as a tremen-
dous gust of wind shook the frail wooden cottage,
and threatened to turn it over.

Mrs. Allen saw in her. husband’s face that he
thought it more than “fresh;” but the folks of
Sandybeach, nearly all fishermen, were used to
make the best of things. That they lived hard
lives enough, without making them harder by com-
plaints, was a maxim they early learnt and prac-
tised ; so they were always cheerful and contented,
helping one another out of their little means, and
making the most of everything.



CHAPTER II,

THE hours had gone on, and the storm had in-
creased fearfully ; no fisherman or wife had gone
to bed in the village. Mrs. Allen had felt almost
relieved that all possibility of Ben's going to sea
was gone, although the bread was there, as he had
said.

Never will the simple folks of Sandybeach forget
that storm; never will Margery forget it, although
she is a woman now. The men and women were >
all out at their doors ; here and there a little cluster
would be gathered who could hardly hear each
other speak; the tempest howled and shrieked,
and the waves were mountains high. “God help
those at sea to-night,” they thought and prayed.

* We'll lose our boats,” said one man, “ unless
we do something soon to save them.”

Then spoke Ben Allen.

“Wecan haul them up on the cliff.” And so they
formed themselves into little bands of workers, and
with great labour hauled up as many as possible
of the little fishing smacks and pleasure yachts.

Scarcely had they got the last boat up when
cries rang out from their midst.

“ A light at sea!”

“Not far off, neither !”

“Tt’s a rocket !”

“ There’s another !”

And then several went up together, and all doubt
as to what it was was over. A vessel in distress!

They tried to throw rockets from the beach over
the vessel, but not one would reach her ; the force



94

-Margery’s Voyage.

ee

of the hurricane drove them back again, and there
seemed nothing to be done. Then came the order
which always comes last and when everything else
has failed.

“Man the life-boat!” cried out Will Kirby, its
captain.

All this time Margery had stayed in-doors, too
restless and excited to go to bed. She took her
little chair and sat by the fire, staring into the
bright blaze which cast a lurid light on her pale
and frightened face. She had tried to continue her
work, but now her basket of stockings lay unheeded
at her feet; her thoughts were with the stranded
vessel.

When she heard the order given to man the life-
boat, she started up and ran to the door.

“ Where are you going, child ?” cried her mother.

“Willfather go?”

“Why, yes, I suppose. Father’s always first,
you know, when there’s good to be done.”

Margery hesitated one moment, and then turned
back into the room, reached her cloak from its
hook, caught up her mother’s shawl, and rushed
from. the house.

If Mrs. Allen had known what she had it in her
mind to do, her dismay would have been great
indeed. ‘

The life-boat was kept in a little house built
for it opening to the sea. It was raised on a high
platform with wheels, and when used, the whole
thing was rolled down to the sea, and the boat
launched fully equipped from the platform.

Margery ran down to the boat-house, and looking
in, saw her father already in his place. In two
minutes he would be out on those mountains of water,
perhaps never to return.

She went round the boat ; the men who recognised
her made way as she passed, thinking, perhaps, that
she had brought something for Ben. Ben himself
did not see her, and the others, engrossed imme-
diately in their hurried preparations, forgot the little
hooded figure.

The last man had climbed into his place, and
those who were to wheel it down stood ready
in theirs, and the word was given, “ Let go!”

The boat was already on the move when
Margery’s white face appeared at the top of the
ladder, and she dropped into the boat, too late to

be saved from the peril she had resolved to face |

with her father. ,
In an instant the boat was riding on the awful
waves towards the wreck, whose timbers were



being snapped and broken like twigs in a high
wind. Margery huddled herself together at the
bottom of the boat and strove to be brave, but
thoughts of mother and Bob, and the little baby
sister, came like flashes through her mind, and the
time when she was séarching for amber on the
beach with Bob seemed back in the far past.

They got as near to the wreck as was possible.
Many exhausted men and women were already in
the water, unable to hold on any longer even to
the frail chance of life which the spars of the
wreck afforded. These they picked up, and some
few soon revived. One poor mother clasped her
baby tightly to her breast, but she was cold and
stiff. They gently took the infant from her em-
brace, and Margery mutely held out her arms for it,
wrapped it in her mether’s shawl, and mechanically
rocked it in her arms, as she rocked her own baby
sister.



CHAPTER III,

THE baby lived; strange that the little life
should have been spared, while all that it ‘de-
pended on was taken! They laid its mother in
the quiet churchyard, and for days they thought
that another little grave would be added to the
many fresh ones that the wreck had made there.
But the little spark of life which Margery’s timely
care had rescued from a watery grave flickered and
waned ; but finally mounted to a clear and steady
flame. Then what joy there was, and how proud
was Margery!

It was nothing to Ben that another mouth to feed
was added to his home cares. “God, who had
brought her out of the sea, would show him how
to win bread for her,” he said ; and, indeed, Ben
was not allowed to do it all himself: one and
another helped, and all were pleased to do their
share.

They did not know what to name her, until the
clergyman helped them. “Call her Brina,” he
said, almost in joke, one day ; and Brina she was

‘called.

Margery was quite a heroine for many a long
day. She wonders sometimes with the neighbours
what made her think of taking that voyage in the
life-boat with father; but as she looks at little
Brina, and the child, putting her hand in hers,
smiles lovingly back, she forgets the problem in
that joy, and Brina never forgets, and never will
be allowed to forget, that she owes her life to
Margery. ' KH.

nt ea



- A Tale of Old-Time Wreckers.

95





































































































































































































JEMMY’S DARING: A TALE OF

OLD-TIME WRECKERS.

By the Author of ‘' Fem, the Worst Boy in the Village,” &°c.

N the lawless times not so very remote,
but seeming far back indeed to the
young folk of the present generation,
when might was right, and the weak
came to grief in good: earnest, the
sun was setting in a glory of radiance, with a few
dark clouds looming and rising near, lending it a
sort of awful beauty, the beauty of a coming storm.
Ruddy-tinted lights streaked the old ocean, where
the waves were leaping, curling, and tossing, like
wild white-maned horses, running never-ceasing
races. The towering rocks were bright with the
prophetic glory, and, sloping away behind the bold
rocks, the heathery waste kindled and glowed, one
far-stretching sweep of loveliness. Here the hum
of the bees could still be heard, and the sweet low
chiming of thousands of flower-bells, stirred by the
passing wind, made peaceful music, although the
sea tossed, roared, and was tumultuous so near.
Nestling far away among the heather were a cottage
or two, and high up among the rocks were a few
weird-looking dwellings, blots in nature’s loveliness,
if all that folk whispered of their inhabitants was
true. There was not a doubt but that they sub-
sisted on the wreck and ruin of those who did
business on the great waters; and the finger of
scorr. and loathing was not pointed at such things
then as now; but there was one dark sullen-
browed old man among them, grown grey-headed
in the way he had chosen, who, it was darkly
hinted by the humane—only darkly hinted, for they
feared to do more, such was the terror the man
inspired—well, who kindled what -was called the
Witch’s Candle on stormy nights, when the waters



seethed and boiled like a cauldron over sunken
rocks not far from the shore, thus luring to their
doom vessels making for the harbour farther up the
coast. It was a wild eyrie of a place, where the

| Witch’s Candle burnt and glowed, casting out its

lurid light around. Nobody cared to mount up to
it even by daylight. Smugglers’ haunts and holds
abounded among the frowning rocks, and there
was asteep winding path, twisting and twining, now
here, now there, which could be mounted by the
bold and hardy ; but honest timid people shunned
the rocks, and left them to the witch with her
candle and those who did not fear her.

The sweet evening stole down upon the heather,
but only a boy and a little girl revelled in the
peace, coolness, and fragrance rife there. These
were Jemmy and Nancy Hardman, orphans, living
with their grandmother. Granny knew all about
the Witch’s Candle and who kindled it; granny’s
husband had gone down into the Witch’s cauldron
one stormy night years ago, lured on by the
treacherous light, when sullen-browed Bill Jones’s
hair was black as a raven’s wing, and granny and
her husband were young and hopeful. Those on
the ill-fated vessel ought to have known better than
to have been deceived by the Witch’s Candle; but
it was pitchy dark, they lost their reckoning, and
were wrecked on their own coast. Small gain
drifted in to Bill Jones and his vulture-like friends
from the wreck of the poor little vessel, but it
brought great woe to granny. Her eyes grew dim
with tears yet, as she told all to Jemmy on stormy
nights, and to Jemmy she also told Bill Jones’s part
in that and the many, many wrecks she had known





yy



96 A Tale of Old-

Time Wreckers.



—only to Jemmy, not to nine-years-old Nancy
with her ready tongue. And Jemmy’s fresh young
heart would throb, and his pulses stir and bound
‘on with indignation, ay, even hatred, against the
fellow, at each recital, and a great resolve slowly
took hold upon him—he so strong, so true, so reso-
lute. His employment at the harbour, in the town
three miles away, among the seafaring men, pick-
ing up his living with odds and ends of work,
whenever he could lend a hand, taught him to be
stout, bold, and daring ; ay, there was no shrinking
from danger about Jemmy Hardman. As Nancy



i
WES A
SON
AD )

VA WES ee

Jemmy’s cheek paled, but he held his head erect,
and the light in his eyes was steady and bright, as
he perceived themen. “I'll give the old witch light
enough to peep into her kettle to-night ””—the last
words were muttered low, with a wicked chuckle ;
and then his eyes fell on Jemmy and Nancy. His
iron grip was laid on Jemmy’s arm. “ You young
eaves-dropper, what have you heard?”

“J heard you say there would be fish ashore
to-night,” said Jemmy, with upturned, undaunted
face. ©

“ And what did I mean?” hissed the other.

ae

yi

m

ip

yy em
GI !

“NANCY . . . . TRYING TO CATCH A BUTTERFLY,”

was timid as a hare among the heather, so was
Jemmy fearless as a lion in the forest.

“Tis going to be a nasty night, and the wind is
just right for the Witch’s Candle,” observed weather-
wise Jemmy to Nancy, who lay among the flowers,
trying to catch a butterfly that fluttered idly
around her.

“What, right to blow it out?” queried Nancy,
innocently.

“No; just right for it to burn and flare, silly,”
rejoined Jemmy.

“Oh, I’m sorry for the poor ships!” sighed
Nancy, childlike.

But while they talked, two men came upon the
scene from somewhere, and, as they drew near,
they also were conversing, the one couple not
heeding the other till all four were together.

“ Ay, there'll be plenty of fish ashore to-night,”
said one, who—oh, horror!—was Bill Jones.



“ That there would be wrecks to-night ; I should
be a stupid sort of chap not to know that.”

“ And what more did I say ?”

“Something about the Witch’s Candle; you
must speak louder next time, master, and then I’ll
tell you all,” replied Jemmy, without wincing.

“Come along, Bill,” said the other man, “the
boy knows nothing, and if he does, wrecks are lawful
gains—you know that don’t you, youngster ?”

Jemmy nodded; Bill bestowed a scowl, dark
almost as his black soul, on the open-browed boy,
with dark, fearless eyes; then the two went on
through the heath together. Jem looked after them
with his hands clenched; that resolution of months’
forming was complete ; his young face glowed with
a strange beauty. i

“Go home now, Nancy,” he said, “and tell
granny I shan’t be in till late, perhaps, as I want to
watch the sea ;” and Nancy went, wishing she were





A Tale of Old-Time Wreckers. 97



a boy working at the harbour in town, free to go
and come and watch the sea when she liked.
When she was gone, Jem left the peace, quiet, and
fragrance of the heather; on, on, and on he went,
till he was among the rocks, in that zigzag path
where so few people loved to walk—even those who
said not nay to ashare ina wreckage—the darkness
fast falling, the waves clamouring and raging far
down below. Now he paused, now he mounted,
now he stumbled, now he was within sight of the
Witch’s Candle. On, on to the Witch’s Candle to
put it out, the great glorious thought urging him
on like an inspiration. How many lives may he
not save by his noble deed ; how many vessels may
not ride safely into harbour, if he shrank not nor
wavered! The witches seemed to sweep and whirl

. around him, their garments to fan his cheeks ; now

he was at the very spot, that sheltered recess, where
a huge wood fire blazed and flared in the darkness,
Hold on, brave boy, hold on, or the witches ‘or the
wind will toss you into the cauldron, and you will be
lost! And he did hold on. More—one by one the
fiery brands were hurled down by him into the
deep—stick by stick, log by log; it was a mighty
work for so young a boy, but it was done.

A great horror of loneliness and darkness was
about him ; those unearthly sounds seemed to wrap
him round; he turned to flee. Once more he was

‘on the zigzag path, when a huge dark figure barred

his way.

“Who are you?” Bill Jones’s terrible hand was
laid upon him, his voice roared the words.

“Jemmy Hardman.”

“What is your business here ?”

“T came up to put out the Witch’s Candle.” Just
then there was a lull in the wind; the words rang
out sweet and low.

A volley of bad words came from the man’s lips ;
the winds swept them hither and thither, and
Jemmy shuddered, though still undismayed.

“How dare you do such a thing?” The iron |

hand gripped the lad’s shoulder fiercely.
“T dared to put it out because you dared to light

it; and Pll do it again!” Rash boy! and yet we |



can but admire the courageous spirit prompting the
answer.

“You shall never live to make good your threat,
you young fire-eater. See, here is how I deal with
them that meddle with the Witch’s Candle.”
He caught the mite of a lad in his brawny arm;
What was the bold courageous spirit of darins
within that little trembling figure in the clutches
of such a monster?

Down, down, down ; those wild shrieks, howls,
and even shouts as of applause, echo over him,
and then he lies, bruised and senseless, among tl.z
shelving rocks. The hungry sea clamoured all the
night beneath him, the rain beat upon him, but there
he lay, poor mangled Jemmy, heeding nothing,
conscious of nothing—not even of his great danger.

The Witch’s Candle did not streak the ocean
that night, however, thanks to the child yielding up
his life, perhaps, for the safety of one, two, three
vessels, which rode into harbour in the darkness,
notwithstanding the gale.

And in the morning, he who walked and talked
with Bill Jones among the heather the night before
found the child, and rescued him. He brought him
home to granny, and asked her to say nothing of the
cause of the accident, nor who had rescued him. And
many a night, when granny and even the doctor
thought the poor boy would die, would the same
rough man steal into the cottage among the heather,
and watch by his side till daybreak.

At last Jemmy was patched, mended, and dosed
into pretty good health again; and as Bill Jones’s
eyes always scowled at the cottage, when he
glanced that way, granny took her two grand-
children and went inland with them, away from
the sea, the Witch’s Candle, Bill Jones, and wrecks
and ruin, And, would you believe it? Jem’s rescuer
went with them, turned over a new leaf, and be-
came a God-fearing man. So Jemmy’s daring
brought forth fruit ina way the boy little dreamt
of. Thus is it often, when we throw a little seed of
kindness, duty, or noble unselfish daring broadcast
into the world, the fruit is even more than our eager
hearts hoped for.





98

Too much of a Good Thing.



TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.

GRANDPAPA’S CHRISTMAS STORY.

Â¥]0, children, because it is Christmas Eve
you think grandpa ought to tell you a
story, do you? Well, well, gather
| round the fire, and I’ll see if I can’t
~ amuse you for half an hour. I shall
call my little story—* Too much of a good thing.”
Joe Luck was a greedy boy; I am sorry to have
to say it, but there is no doubt about it—he was a
very greedy boy. He cared for nothing but eating,
and lived from meal'to meal. A story is told of
him, that when he was a little fellow, and cried for
a third slice of plum-pudding, and his nurse said





below laughing, shouting, and romping, till the old
walls shake and casements rattle as if they, too,
were joining in the Christmas game. Presently the
laughing and romping cease, and there is only a
pleasant murmur of talk. After a while, he hears
the doors open ; Joe starts up and listens with both
his ears, They are all coming out of the room, and are
moving through the hall into the dining-room. He
can hear the rustling of the ladies’ dresses as they
pass. “They are going to supper !”” says poor Joe ;
and two big tears run down his cheeks as he thinks
of all the good things he may nottaste. “Oh dear,

“ No, no, Joey, that is too much,” he said, “I like too | they will eat everything up, and there won't be a

much.” He never spoke ,
a truer word—he did like
too much.

It was Christmas-time
now, and he had been





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single mince-pie left! It’s.
a shame! I won’t stand
it,” says Joe, his sorrow
{|| turning to anger; “I wilh
i have my supper to-night,
K| I don’t care who says I
#| shan’t.? And with that
â„¢ he makes up his mind to
go to the pantry, and see
what he can find there. So.
down-stairs he steals, like
a thief, listening at every
step. He meets no one;
they are all at supper—
| the companyin the dining-








SSR
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place where I could eat. “(HE REACHES THE PANTRY. DOOR.”

and eat for ever.”

Of course, the best way to punish this greedy boy |

was to make him go without a dinner. And on

this Christmas Eve he had been so impertinent ‘

to his mother, and so teasing to his little sister,
that, at last, his father took him by the collar, and
turned him into his bed-room, ordering him to

undress and get into bed, there to stay till he had

learnt how to behave himself.

“M—m-—mayn’t I have some supper?” says
Joe, trembling, and obeying.

“Nothing but bread-and-water, sir,” said his
father, going out of the room.

No supper! dry bread! had he heard aright?
Joe was dumb. If he had been sent to prison, and
might have had as many good things as he wished,
the damp walls and grim gaoler would have been
nothing to him. Yes, and Joe finds lying in a nice,
clean white bed, with no supper but dry bread, far
worse than any prison with plenty to eat and
drink.

How quiet it is up here! It is anything but
quiet down-stairs, and he can hear the merry party

i

|



room and the servants in
the kitchen. He reaches.
the pantry-door, lifts the latch, and walks in. The
light outside gleams through a small window in
the wall, so that Joe can see all the goodly array for
the next day’s dinner. He begins his raid on the
provisions, and in this manner—a slice from that
cold turkey, some stuffing from that fowl, a few
pickles from the bottle, some three or four jellies
and custards, a mince-pie or so, and last, but not
least, one of a pair of plum-puddings, which are
av “" Side by side,

Like brothers tried,”

on a dish near the door. This booty collected, Joe
bolts up-stairs with it, and in the silence of the night,
and alone in his chamber, this greedy boy devours
his ill-gotten goods. How long he goes on munching
like a rat in the darkness, I do not know ; but, as
all things have an end, so had Joe’s supper, and,
tired out with the hard work of eating, he lays his
head on his pillow, and tries to sleep. But if he is
to be believed, he never did sleep that night. For
my part, I think he did sleep, and dream too, and







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(See 2. 98.)

GRANDPAPA’S CHRISTMAS STORY.

'





100 Too much of a Good Thing.



I’m pretty sure you will agree with me by the time
you have read this story. Anyhow, in a little while
he found himself at the pantry-door again, and was
just going in, when he stopped short, for he heard
the sound of voices—very funny voices too.

“Tt makes me quite hot to think of it,” said a
sharp, thin voice.

Joe peeped round the door; he sawno one, It
must have been that pickle-bottle in the corner.
Joe could almost believe it gave itself a little tilt as
he looked at it.

“What’s the matter?” said a sleepy Spanish
onion. :

“Oh, you are always asleep; we might all be
carried away before you would know,” said the
pickle-bottle, with a jerk which nearly threw her off
the shelf.

“ How cruel to run off with your sister into the
cold, dark night !” quivered out a sentimental jelly.

“Yes, and before we were ready,” said a soft,
rich voice, “ and——”

“Cheer up!” said a loud, hearty voice, “ cheer
up, madam ; we’ll make matters right. If I only
had the two horns I once had, that boy should be
brought to his senses. But look you,-my boys,
we’ll have our r—r—r—revenge !” and the big sir-
loin gave such a bounce as he said this, that the
shelves shook, and the jellies and custards trembled
in their glasses,

“T’d soon settle him if I had my broad bill,” said
a plucked goose in a corner.

“ And I,” said a boiled fowl.

“T’m afraid my nature is too soft for revenge,”
said the pudding.

“ Nonsense !” said the sirloin, “ pluck up a spirit;
I thought you had more of my nature in you.”

Joe had edged himself into the pantry, and was
listening stupidly to all this talk, hardly knowing
what was meant.

“There he is!” shrieked a little tart that had
been on the look-out. ,

Then followed a great commotion; all the pro-
visions leaped from the shelves, and precipitated
themselves on Joe, who took to his heels and ran,
and ran, till he found himself in the open air, with
his bare feet on the snow. Was it snow? No, it
felt sticky. It was sugar, and stuck to his feet, as
Ilive! “Sugar may be all very well to eat, but it’s
horrid stuff to walk on,” said Joe, as he went on in
the darkness. ;

It was a queer country he found himself in—a
wide plain, which stretched as far as the eye could
reach ; no trees, nothing broke up the sandy—no,
‘the sugary—expanse, except a few dark-brown
lumps, which were scattered here and there, like
rocks on the sea-shore.

Joe trudged on, getting stickier and stickier, and
fell to wondering whether there were any people in
this strange country. This thought had just passed
through his mind when he heard the sound of
voices, and looking ahead he saw some dozen crea-
tures wallowing in the sugar; their heads were
bent down, and they were eating so greedily, and
making such ugly noises all the time, that Joe
thought they were pigs.

“ Hallo !” said one of them, looking up, and Joe
saw that he was a boy, but as much like a pig as a
boy can be. His cheeks were so overgrown that
he could hardly see out of his eyes. “ Hallo,” said
this boy-pig, or pig-boy, “ what do you want?”

“TJ want a drink,” said Joe.

“A drink; so do I. Come along, and I’ll show
you some first-rate tipple.”

Joe followed him, and soon they were standing
beside a broad dark stream, which flowed through
rocky banks.

The fat boy threw himself on the ground and put
his mouth in the stream, and drew it up at great
gulps. Joe then threw himself on the ground
beside him and began to drink too; but at the
second mouthful he got up. “Why it’s wine,”
said he. ‘I want some water.” :

“Water,” said the other, “ what’s that?”

Joe felt nonplussed. “ Why, it’s just water ; it

- runs along like this, you know, only it’s white.”

“White! Oh, come along, and I ‘ll show you a
tremendous lake, all white, only it aint half up to
this, I can tell you.”

So the two went on till they came to a wide lake,
where a thick, white, greasy-looking substance,
neither solid nor liquid, was moving slowly in
heavy waves. Joe had no need to try this, he saw
what it was made of. “Why, it’s melted butter, I
declare !” said he, turning away with a disgusted
face; “water isn’t white like this; you can see
through it. Haven’t you anything nice, and clean,
and fresh, which you can drink and drink till you
are as cool as—oh, as cool as ice?” said Joe.

“What a bother you are!” said the fat boy,
testily ; “why don’t you begin to enjoy yourself?
Here you are, set in the very middle of all the
good things, where you may help and help yourself,
and eat and eat for ever!” ;

“What do you call this country?” said Joe,
trying to change the subject.

“J don’t think it has a name; call it Grubland,
if you like. It’s a jolly place, though, aint it?”
said the fat boy, rubbing his hands and. smacking
his lips. Joe felt anything but jolly, for, somehow,
ever since he had come into this country he had
felt as if he could never touch a morsel of food
again.

ee



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describe
'3159' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMN' 'sip-files00003thm.jpg'
a9edf03d0787af15dc6c78c20d5042bb
e765cc8cef8dcb3eaabf9c95f2ee93f1a476e539
describe
'734296' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMO' 'sip-files00004.jp2'
d87a6ff0cba7e67d22c37d0e0c177b58
641ec59223acf5ba3673c453704c269aa55b417d
'2011-12-13T06:55:04-05:00'
describe
'176281' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMP' 'sip-files00004.jpg'
9732ddf10501223170939c4f005e2126
9e89319e47f7731309136d90d354a50d2ac9db4b
describe
'40572' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMQ' 'sip-files00004.QC.jpg'
e168c15e9bc6061b3f651e7458192c8f
d9db215d225e0aa9027f036c2a00970bf837f7ef
describe
'5898400' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMR' 'sip-files00004.tif'
d17282247005efd0fa9ad886fdffb4c4
598a2238c8b87a6c4bf4f8e927725816e01af023
'2011-12-13T06:53:59-05:00'
describe
'9413' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMS' 'sip-files00004thm.jpg'
6b8ad653ff5ad52df988b3470c9c6386
ac625b6dd81e07fb26b0508579d722e0a999ef7c
'2011-12-13T06:56:57-05:00'
describe
'702624' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMT' 'sip-files00005.jp2'
cd64f25d7aa48130e819f40be38a316e
4be1de5755cd973697b8ca1427fae3d2895d6b8b
'2011-12-13T06:55:36-05:00'
describe
'76589' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMU' 'sip-files00005.jpg'
7ee3a45c88467a5d16b1f78da47e94a2
adbba42a120501c92b1e7b5c88e560bfc1469518
'2011-12-13T06:53:55-05:00'
describe
'3020' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMV' 'sip-files00005.pro'
e97ae2364c1617180ee2cb5a6369bf0c
03d1c66c32598627eb88617b0bd8baf0b76ddf81
describe
'19329' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMW' 'sip-files00005.QC.jpg'
fbf6b5e7474d44d4e05fac55583f19f9
80ecdd5de99e83a30699081d3c4609427407b3c0
'2011-12-13T06:57:05-05:00'
describe
'5642756' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMX' 'sip-files00005.tif'
3b62731bd6343761a74c76d997c5efa1
1cfdddf1a77dc9012028da6e7eebe5c51f6b11e4
'2011-12-13T06:54:33-05:00'
describe
'136' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMY' 'sip-files00005.txt'
04ad59d4f27eea81cc5d7c2501c0b45d
91d0874551c74f321ab9a773a5ccb8da131a2149
'2011-12-13T06:54:43-05:00'
describe
'5207' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKMZ' 'sip-files00005thm.jpg'
08488be53d6190cc406b4e2108eed40a
526d7102405f0a406eddc515f67b48b8ce38a813
'2011-12-13T06:57:31-05:00'
describe
'720473' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNA' 'sip-files00006.jp2'
0987c9f9996d074a5511274f5c836140
10a9124eb527285f587542dd46ff9686ebbea487
describe
'57250' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNB' 'sip-files00006.jpg'
2bf0b81a512cd3c7500c70a9648cf94c
8d8edd6fe7b171800c2169138d5850cb2feecf82
'2011-12-13T06:54:03-05:00'
describe
'3516' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNC' 'sip-files00006.pro'
5c1c04174aa9f7e7eed6faa33002ec6c
cd978c7f449900deba37a88a94b62e1280b4b57f
'2011-12-13T06:55:51-05:00'
describe
'13795' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKND' 'sip-files00006.QC.jpg'
028acc40930b4554c111ae3e0402a7d5
2c6958fd00f7a2a73120b7d99ecf68f4a8d06612
'2011-12-13T06:53:50-05:00'
describe
'5783748' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNE' 'sip-files00006.tif'
dc96aa4c0e6ed949219dea71cf883c7d
17c6b7624574823b432e53546104757cf71a6c23
'2011-12-13T06:55:47-05:00'
describe
'168' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNF' 'sip-files00006.txt'
3ecd671d26078247acb483bb2db90570
72bbc044e5848a7f9f533f35f09cb35120030458
'2011-12-13T06:56:19-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'3574' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNG' 'sip-files00006thm.jpg'
749d6d03e44e6ea7b44cb92b02066be9
e5318ddb5e2f52ca49c4a891c30a1356cb724966
'2011-12-13T06:56:56-05:00'
describe
'700626' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNH' 'sip-files00007.jp2'
30f399f06a47bbe8749e1d8494ccdea8
066e0ae5dfb8e247065873d3875c17160138f11d
'2011-12-13T06:57:03-05:00'
describe
'124594' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNI' 'sip-files00007.jpg'
252c771f6f25b6ac7fb6c6c7dbdbc4ba
d4563426df2e1877485c7558c47b8d1657f92e11
'2011-12-13T06:56:17-05:00'
describe
'58630' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNJ' 'sip-files00007.pro'
e632606ef4e12adc024746264608e5c3
338015bb56c9579d7b59847cde94491564230b20
'2011-12-13T06:56:38-05:00'
describe
'30335' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNK' 'sip-files00007.QC.jpg'
2f6147bc87f5593f7054f297c6ea09f4
71b5476de4fe4ebe1f067824fba185b988db1cb5
'2011-12-13T06:55:52-05:00'
describe
'5628232' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNL' 'sip-files00007.tif'
b9a8ace2c4883c9c537470e7ccc21629
ec3f496bc73261f7b56ffb2da0887c1dcc8dbbb9
'2011-12-13T06:54:48-05:00'
describe
'2628' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNM' 'sip-files00007.txt'
594a4d791a12cff1cfd3f92b1272b51d
731e19cf19717eb25d268c0c2d02f35fa4bd6688
'2011-12-13T06:56:30-05:00'
describe
'7388' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNN' 'sip-files00007thm.jpg'
83dc19d3c7f52a53dcba052adf9594f8
3addd2b5ccb2292ca7d73af40ee35d4cf2c9adf5
'2011-12-13T06:54:45-05:00'
describe
'720443' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNO' 'sip-files00008.jp2'
a9366110d91475ca2b9ef8a16834ba9d
a2b7d141b1b78122fdf0739899a3f59086d86d9b
'2011-12-13T06:57:35-05:00'
describe
'168445' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNP' 'sip-files00008.jpg'
aa2d691ae1b2fa8243e0dc487186de49
5d1b770c84d56b5d818968818754b4e5781f4088
'2011-12-13T06:56:28-05:00'
describe
'127546' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNQ' 'sip-files00008.pro'
e2f97615f7a76c37ff92a2c8ee080253
f71d8f1d27d9c190c2ecd87de939d4a81bf9c55b
'2011-12-13T06:55:27-05:00'
describe
'40406' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNR' 'sip-files00008.QC.jpg'
a5200895962abd8b6ebc4a6b5798d082
20e03f84cdf238acb1009a841943e21b94b1cb1f
describe
'5787888' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNS' 'sip-files00008.tif'
515d4aa2a90feea5d3a7b5f295b0bf6f
e9aa36cabbd85a31563decbdc689948c5af6e072
'2011-12-13T06:54:46-05:00'
describe
'5265' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNT' 'sip-files00008.txt'
0cdad5373ddf56ae78abd5d7238bf9b1
59ffb896394171dad7cc0882c4b6bccffdfe98a6
'2011-12-13T06:54:07-05:00'
describe
'8869' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNU' 'sip-files00008thm.jpg'
42426d4c2c67d1d5f1e9fcebdf09982b
70b2c01c3eeb62653d80d66a7abee4642d4790fb
'2011-12-13T06:54:02-05:00'
describe
'700599' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNV' 'sip-files00009.jp2'
9c836591bf3d16835023a2e646ca2063
11ecd0422721a711dc0e830aa267cbab1f2b93de
'2011-12-13T06:54:01-05:00'
describe
'150777' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNW' 'sip-files00009.jpg'
09e8d427eff4a419cb12c04ff33f0a4b
70c30953e35ffb2f35f31cfad89c817b6cb185df
'2011-12-13T06:56:04-05:00'
describe
'73239' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNX' 'sip-files00009.pro'
675814387759721a965607286fb31503
4c78f9f7f4ce7f1d770b52b3e5de5b041d169f70
'2011-12-13T06:56:36-05:00'
describe
'35798' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNY' 'sip-files00009.QC.jpg'
06745d8776e670b496829bcdcbc4b682
acf12f175f4c87f3ed4df57059b1d45dd4505db1
'2011-12-13T06:55:21-05:00'
describe
'5627728' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKNZ' 'sip-files00009.tif'
4f0861be687a2e17ac6211ab6ae3148e
88829f835bf31cd669914eeca327ff9a812d3a35
'2011-12-13T06:55:29-05:00'
describe
'2998' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOA' 'sip-files00009.txt'
7ff02de03ec10372b7c10cae8aaf9efe
a43e414c750459141c235bce9bfebf9600b70ce2
describe
'8297' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOB' 'sip-files00009thm.jpg'
5c6ae6f01d6a9a5b1474a614b12175e6
9fc598635ea34922cd3b1bc61f082e3697174ccf
'2011-12-13T06:54:12-05:00'
describe
'720484' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOC' 'sip-files00010.jp2'
a10ce3ac0c4180d8831331b771cf8a7c
f7a8a6e1e1b3553b0e00c46d1aa292a7780780da
'2011-12-13T06:54:36-05:00'
describe
'163723' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOD' 'sip-files00010.jpg'
41aa65f9e6506fd8d877436d728cac64
ec3f191e91c6e3321b6c52d8a849ef81ae87429f
'2011-12-13T06:55:38-05:00'
describe
'114611' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOE' 'sip-files00010.pro'
b92b3e0269a70d24ccf3401cafe2d3b3
8ca3044c32c2b589078a91bc3ab662819676b9cd
'2011-12-13T06:54:52-05:00'
describe
'39139' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOF' 'sip-files00010.QC.jpg'
dc9ab626be1a15367a257b37127c5fe2
b36d2f7ac289e3f4a9ba811d53a68109b0dd0be0
'2011-12-13T06:54:59-05:00'
describe
'5788128' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOG' 'sip-files00010.tif'
3cf09c9ec13c654ec3eac002574b5c27
9826a31f1286e795fe8fd552c277403d3a3d770a
'2011-12-13T06:56:14-05:00'
describe
'5037' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOH' 'sip-files00010.txt'
4af344a78ad121df8b1f7f09c44b9a9b
a49c592022e7cce7a2c1b3eb015179c8fe3a73b0
'2011-12-13T06:56:27-05:00'
describe
'8833' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOI' 'sip-files00010thm.jpg'
7a8d241d2b98adffd1b1fb47005cba9d
a84619635750bf022cd12b1429afcc54341baaf0
'2011-12-13T06:54:38-05:00'
describe
'706422' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOJ' 'sip-files00011.jp2'
55dfdc974508260e7ddfa5b5d3e5cd30
47efe8c3bce0a26aa529855112fa8038d6be9655
'2011-12-13T06:57:13-05:00'
describe
'169354' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOK' 'sip-files00011.jpg'
607fa9ac1d951e96c87675154e104d85
1716f5bcda63af07f09292d935f4a45f7e07af14
describe
'73561' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOL' 'sip-files00011.pro'
0f8fdd3288e37ffc0f339a04de5abcc3
00ed09a3e02243dcbcace518c78fbe815eaaa6b3
'2011-12-13T06:56:02-05:00'
describe
'40992' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOM' 'sip-files00011.QC.jpg'
099e85af3a40dc65c2a4a6aa2c360309
139bc8dde38140d91c75925ad32ddef1c1007d64
'2011-12-13T06:56:15-05:00'
describe
'5677084' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKON' 'sip-files00011.tif'
9963a13f80294ff3c4ccc2dc572470cb
4d7eed0e2aa3b5b414d176a3cc6574a045e80864
'2011-12-13T06:54:09-05:00'
describe
'3042' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOO' 'sip-files00011.txt'
129b95e7e9ed500de620773fb9e93e82
b12f2eafa9efb59a5c698c58b9943083bd777e67
'2011-12-13T06:55:06-05:00'
describe
'9322' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOP' 'sip-files00011thm.jpg'
0bd8e1112eae967e12f3dda8b15dc785
6dc90bec0f1dea20ed2b43909344d6e4a009bf80
'2011-12-13T06:54:51-05:00'
describe
'730061' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOQ' 'sip-files00012.jp2'
9f8515229c8fc2e6ab822e953ba145b4
ac6a99872ba9c48047966c86e8ff8d9953e6d318
describe
'161730' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOR' 'sip-files00012.jpg'
05536b0c8b7dfce4c6373af445cec763
2c208a771bea2a3058963434110489008d1fce71
describe
'68419' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOS' 'sip-files00012.pro'
0adf6ee1660d7642f1f3c20a9c38e195
3778c41f40a3a3155cdb52f43be8d6101f85c813
'2011-12-13T06:55:57-05:00'
describe
'38858' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOT' 'sip-files00012.QC.jpg'
2bbdd243f7056fe3a906028678085e07
3094f48d55845f0615b9fed3be1d4fcd8c0c283b
'2011-12-13T06:56:25-05:00'
describe
'5866388' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOU' 'sip-files00012.tif'
bae905ff46d6cd0ffad03a6c62a1876a
20e53350b1a456e5b73fffcf4da92e79e6c417d6
'2011-12-13T06:54:16-05:00'
describe
'2801' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOV' 'sip-files00012.txt'
82c087a32fbd1f46f8ad2267c4f387ae
758f0b0fcf141af1288a4cd1eaae863191151b34
describe
'8654' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOW' 'sip-files00012thm.jpg'
5a2aa173ea301b058033b33564c85a2f
7a98cf65a81b67329899758414dbc746f098e903
describe
'700576' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOX' 'sip-files00013.jp2'
f84bf05fbb745d73866ba3f646d94bc1
5a38ba836601d0af2d7c8499eddc5fc7c8baa479
'2011-12-13T06:57:40-05:00'
describe
'177105' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOY' 'sip-files00013.jpg'
87102e3c6efcbaf383636c811d694942
20ba17a23e0236d0daf089fd5ccf40e7544e5bd4
'2011-12-13T06:55:08-05:00'
describe
'129313' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKOZ' 'sip-files00013.pro'
08bba91bc5c2701f74c7dc507949ad5f
4588e4574743e013f0b4c1b59418d584059ad3b2
describe
'43364' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPA' 'sip-files00013.QC.jpg'
2a5f65927df97c7f61a0cbf12abd4218
71e9e09aec25b4160e066252933c0060d1e73cac
describe
'5629260' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPB' 'sip-files00013.tif'
c8cef4bce8093273e8cbf4ce111f96eb
76b1f11bc27ae60d4a9d36938f1b17a70fe7f84f
'2011-12-13T06:54:13-05:00'
describe
'5354' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPC' 'sip-files00013.txt'
6e1b96655d648690c532e434aa642453
a8b66e7fd81d74469aba0f917ce6ca2d943b90e9
'2011-12-13T06:54:04-05:00'
describe
'9358' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPD' 'sip-files00013thm.jpg'
6c3e301deb1e731e24a9c5593001256c
7007ba1a2ad7cefdbd0d97f4f8169ec2680ee1b3
'2011-12-13T06:54:49-05:00'
describe
'698717' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPE' 'sip-files00014.jp2'
88466bf163c2ebb971c1157f4a261d50
77feafc173d49da27be0ae6292ee29ed96d97c26
'2011-12-13T06:56:11-05:00'
describe
'175440' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPF' 'sip-files00014.jpg'
a804879f35e680e769f3b4c143c9143f
9f87327837bef013c7eb5cdd30488111914da001
describe
'124706' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPG' 'sip-files00014.pro'
a8630be8ae27e596c1fdf1fde67f1fc1
5a5ecb78be854d0bcabf95bf848c601be975cb82
'2011-12-13T06:56:47-05:00'
describe
'43224' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPH' 'sip-files00014.QC.jpg'
4031bf0b42ededd69ee54e31ead288d9
75d532a0df65081628087b11c037a22ec4595abe
'2011-12-13T06:56:33-05:00'
describe
'5614004' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPI' 'sip-files00014.tif'
7aa34e99fb74fc7e6a0da7bb7168faf0
6e2e19231ed4fc598bd25a8e05b48ebd3d220d6a
'2011-12-13T06:55:39-05:00'
describe
'5119' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPJ' 'sip-files00014.txt'
a1c8f61ab90425ec29901626b701d8b0
a06988ecc91849c549fb42f4b20d2760d2d2c773
'2011-12-13T06:56:01-05:00'
describe
'9418' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPK' 'sip-files00014thm.jpg'
8ea78eafb991c4da7bca47c639b334b3
f6dacc3eda2d0861c5cdc021f1d140446c33d14d
'2011-12-13T06:55:14-05:00'
describe
'720893' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPL' 'sip-files00015.jp2'
cb18b39744b23ac0cb4d599bf0a80d4e
f9a3aa1024c78549aec6425861b43bcc7af194e9
'2011-12-13T06:55:07-05:00'
describe
'172353' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPM' 'sip-files00015.jpg'
e7cfa1cccb1b058cafe76940abf02945
21f23a1ce86e2f5828164b2c700a5b1c99d92c56
'2011-12-13T06:56:52-05:00'
describe
'103004' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPN' 'sip-files00015.pro'
b96fb74f4449fc765c1ef3add1eb67ee
0ec640da32c3b83dcbc6b8cce1d2119e27a5afe3
'2011-12-13T06:54:35-05:00'
describe
'43053' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPO' 'sip-files00015.QC.jpg'
2df2c1ef52c123aed2f8648747c2a35f
abb789a0d1a4cca90c7fe12cdcef9a42abbc5efb
describe
'5791628' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPP' 'sip-files00015.tif'
51e1016d8da9f15f02a5383bb707b430
03a432de1fa122eac94cf7d6f1908d547a130c32
'2011-12-13T06:55:34-05:00'
describe
'4780' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPQ' 'sip-files00015.txt'
62d98d17a89c5eaea26022da4ef07eea
62d484f81fa25bb07bff0d5b357311c4f180c115
'2011-12-13T06:57:15-05:00'
describe
'9988' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPR' 'sip-files00015thm.jpg'
7e0639a419efb095b0253826bfe93e55
7eb45ba4766f194c291b23826084c871d636c0b7
'2011-12-13T06:55:20-05:00'
describe
'710438' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPS' 'sip-files00016.jp2'
291272ee8991698187d7a5848f2a0fe3
41b94f9b804e90cec8f6d8bb25af3077659fa308
describe
'174165' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPT' 'sip-files00016.jpg'
42001b4d67454009bbf1848ae8b799be
d86a7646aff896366670e1ac9d3cf8085dc402fb
'2011-12-13T06:56:35-05:00'
describe
'98460' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPU' 'sip-files00016.pro'
8367682c0cee650d24a93e6958bc0e3d
2e9904d46f45b8b41d8105a8e5256fa9fa462123
'2011-12-13T06:55:25-05:00'
describe
'42236' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPV' 'sip-files00016.QC.jpg'
5ddba7cb968df3d20eb5692a141b838d
270261ee15596b139ff0e38310a7483a3cff251d
describe
'5708732' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPW' 'sip-files00016.tif'
e24e9f085cf0e42f1178918c988c9f03
e23c9c23c76e19335946a3577212576855eca9de
'2011-12-13T06:55:56-05:00'
describe
'4828' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPX' 'sip-files00016.txt'
f8c9d798db414488beec8569f908cc66
975d499dfcd89d286a7c22bc8a776d06206bb80c
'2011-12-13T06:54:19-05:00'
describe
'9370' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPY' 'sip-files00016thm.jpg'
e45a9118a9ade933b1528fa7cea4b79a
27b08e2c8599a96cd54ba908665f8bb2bde28020
describe
'700634' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKPZ' 'sip-files00017.jp2'
855eadfe06fde576232d38caf229b5a0
73dd810b877383bba80a49e5bc9f38c9de7d7c6e
describe
'164596' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQA' 'sip-files00017.jpg'
20961da48ed359925f3d24756e9626e4
e908464fe3c6a1b54ca4fb6ac671b5c95ab27da3
describe
'56730' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQB' 'sip-files00017.pro'
f7b2f7c73c23c611466b14a061183033
afd8b4c3bff18621a74e96e94bec0b0011950f8a
'2011-12-13T06:56:06-05:00'
describe
'39385' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQC' 'sip-files00017.QC.jpg'
82d8e4f22c2e3de6f5398fb58a90f0ff
a56815c8200e48967e401ae4669f4fc46d78d0f4
'2011-12-13T06:54:17-05:00'
describe
'5629020' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQD' 'sip-files00017.tif'
76ffff67e3fdc1515f3191b406f3587e
ba93aad80c8e1b96f7467574f8d5e56173906803
'2011-12-13T06:57:36-05:00'
describe
'3045' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQE' 'sip-files00017.txt'
d3b56a71393e231a446d98ac5f0e5617
0b24247ecf0d0813e4d023517d8c068ec6bb5175
describe
'9256' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQF' 'sip-files00017thm.jpg'
0d8b9741291f5cf6b60c5abc0e1b2157
07fabee4d3ec5f7f3636ee3b9bf0133324d461c9
'2011-12-13T06:55:09-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQG' 'sip-files00018.jp2'
f0f9184d09e4ae41856957f9345a38c0
f5e3a1bdbcd27083d7f05830de7eead7f558d844
describe
'159768' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQH' 'sip-files00018.jpg'
fdd21d813560e67392b32e98968235df
73f5db106138fe0f46856b4ad5363b79e0a7e3a8
describe
'117780' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQI' 'sip-files00018.pro'
9b3d5fd0520f469e4ddd644288f1ed63
66db1ca727b3619113cbe5d47a8e102123d2e7bc
'2011-12-13T06:53:58-05:00'
describe
'39515' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQJ' 'sip-files00018.QC.jpg'
c7d37bf78a41e8316199522156f0ae59
104645a0c6416cd31766fb9db8361c0b4c91ffdf
'2011-12-13T06:56:58-05:00'
describe
'5788272' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQK' 'sip-files00018.tif'
f2dc229dc2f6c4cf89a5e5a975ee6e4d
95710c49634d26f19466dc07942f64fbb1f474ed
'2011-12-13T06:55:43-05:00'
describe
'4966' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQL' 'sip-files00018.txt'
b226d575c7d2a31019568a718daf7aac
a2099cea1448195f5fbed555859133233e5084f3
describe
'8694' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQM' 'sip-files00018thm.jpg'
20ab1273d3bc6ece6917cedaac2b0ccc
ab7e2b811107ab12c93ff7e17534a917183b6b59
describe
'741675' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQN' 'sip-files00019.jp2'
6970dfcc9387b7bf7060fadbee146061
c53f38f113d40e607c441459e8ed8e0945cba133
describe
'170775' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQO' 'sip-files00019.jpg'
bc2226bf75cccd2dde0551b00f5f6008
e342c2d4ccce0b323c229bd27c70c67bd18ea9ff
describe
'5182' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQP' 'sip-files00019.pro'
c04b4876dce20c3ea9dee88a1ef001af
b3ce5041492516c097553575942c3e18cc602e79
'2011-12-13T06:56:21-05:00'
describe
'40236' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQQ' 'sip-files00019.QC.jpg'
4adc4a78fb6b7aa4389d85022e603725
830d432858120514d8ca9fd63fa68619162adcef
describe
'5957528' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQR' 'sip-files00019.tif'
0ede45add5ed5b54dcf357cac807fa11
879d774c81703f01fa58daa7f86f29b6407d2664
'2011-12-13T06:56:39-05:00'
describe
'293' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQS' 'sip-files00019.txt'
4d80af24844c0aed9b6194a0747cb55d
6abb1cb23765b0b54358cdcffdd99c03faebcaf1
'2011-12-13T06:55:48-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'9463' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQT' 'sip-files00019thm.jpg'
4bc0a4bbecfaa70d8b0e481d265b1d4e
6e840c44eaaa07304070de9156cd545350787ce6
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQU' 'sip-files00020.jp2'
8dceb1d069c8817f3bbe723feb52adee
4a98ac0c5dca49f65cfec37d6c97fd7fe515eff0
describe
'161908' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQV' 'sip-files00020.jpg'
61ccd2dec5692a365abda913851598b5
62486b357012d1de41aaf33fa14a14b0b1f10220
'2011-12-13T06:53:52-05:00'
describe
'114574' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQW' 'sip-files00020.pro'
15664b602cc1e9105d7e9a4aadcdcba1
fa44a806125ad07d921ac5c801e7bbab4c27028b
'2011-12-13T06:54:32-05:00'
describe
'40232' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQX' 'sip-files00020.QC.jpg'
ec55d107dc103bf255f26cf3604871c6
a058359da05f98b30eda1b4bc8cf34ef4af4c03d
'2011-12-13T06:57:00-05:00'
describe
'5788672' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQY' 'sip-files00020.tif'
8743fa0cb28d9217bfde4bde0a158723
ad3a27f9947c35846d25aabbed27783241cac0cf
describe
'4727' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKQZ' 'sip-files00020.txt'
e5fca05140160d2b41093fca86ccc76c
34ea97758486909cd9fd2b251ab2fc6cada85ffa
describe
'9033' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRA' 'sip-files00020thm.jpg'
a015b43a18919e73e2f6667ae5d81e48
6dec5c93758c36b389b4410ad1ffeea755e27446
'2011-12-13T06:56:48-05:00'
describe
'700617' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRB' 'sip-files00021.jp2'
38e99eb5013df7a63eb1a1494ced6619
720da9a263ea8e2be563ef7039058b67d70f0ae2
'2011-12-13T06:55:37-05:00'
describe
'168411' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRC' 'sip-files00021.jpg'
7da387b5343ed5b10be0ed72183b73be
f1accfbdac0652a7cc67a5288e29bfcdd74aa51d
'2011-12-13T06:56:10-05:00'
describe
'117543' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRD' 'sip-files00021.pro'
e66affe41c7557b501c7b3ef506dbf6f
58657846c5577995c9cd8f28dad67e355ef0e161
describe
'42169' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRE' 'sip-files00021.QC.jpg'
ed799f5a32bcdec1bfc6806b99c2d1d3
5f67119a508c1dcf6d49d6fac605a474da297c68
describe
'5629376' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRF' 'sip-files00021.tif'
f320fa5d08afbcabab44db79bd6b334d
626fd4d3169bcde69eb330acccd033ee9d229798
'2011-12-13T06:54:14-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRG' 'sip-files00021.txt'
651552809f4c4fe7f95e462f817d09d6
9dba111d1aa9ec7eb7a91a87ba90a72db0596c05
'2011-12-13T06:57:21-05:00'
describe
'9511' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRH' 'sip-files00021thm.jpg'
125d370fd118ee7d34010a60bd3e24a4
74095d68d13b786871d45934ca0e002bed6a4016
'2011-12-13T06:55:22-05:00'
describe
'720452' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRI' 'sip-files00022.jp2'
bd01507a39462d29925a5f38d7c9eeed
6bc701b38bf8507df543019329bbc13614a37535
'2011-12-13T06:56:00-05:00'
describe
'156361' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRJ' 'sip-files00022.jpg'
e7384888f168b62c2ccbafd92be59ac8
1da75e2eee81a46e336fcd6b718e3afedc0e761e
describe
'66555' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRK' 'sip-files00022.pro'
587ddd5227a43ca2ae573b6286bb3d57
4208c62a2d01454fc76b5879f82f29aff832a488
'2011-12-13T06:55:24-05:00'
describe
'38205' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRL' 'sip-files00022.QC.jpg'
6088d922bf9f3ac5a97443a599701928
bbe47fe26198202d6e3b5114dcd7d343c42631ab
describe
'5788232' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRM' 'sip-files00022.tif'
8d73fcbac37efe1eb0f90b7a266a72c9
d9f91d60a7c2dc7db1deb01aced62ae085ec9583
describe
'3582' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRN' 'sip-files00022.txt'
ee9b040620b29a6a5a238a5906805443
e73c33d301a747261ab83334f216c0dee3ed8ec0
'2011-12-13T06:53:47-05:00'
describe
'9199' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRO' 'sip-files00022thm.jpg'
43b6632fe281a6331bc9d298c36904c4
d801effff752547ed31c79e1d86c49afbb70f08c
'2011-12-13T06:56:40-05:00'
describe
'702602' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRP' 'sip-files00023.jp2'
e1c58bbcb6a6f6e2443634590b466046
c7191820313a7ca4267d9c30fd14c19fc3af061b
describe
'181367' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRQ' 'sip-files00023.jpg'
249a741227c51bf768101701dcb04369
e107fe1cd18b5670ca9e8aed30d4b67df242e6d7
describe
'94921' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRR' 'sip-files00023.pro'
127a27f8ac39a5525f5695e82ea9c988
d1d405e92817a370a97eef4d527c3f56fd79e45b
'2011-12-13T06:56:51-05:00'
describe
'43194' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRS' 'sip-files00023.QC.jpg'
a70a04324047478201aa01168ff35a08
101a00f0b5255d38f23d55d7ab0b0ff0d18a1acb
'2011-12-13T06:54:42-05:00'
describe
'5645564' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRT' 'sip-files00023.tif'
b46a5edf7eb4d77e03dc629e27f80a2c
e5ed739fe5069a77921e2ec38cd303692b22a93b
describe
'4775' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRU' 'sip-files00023.txt'
5eedb0461d43f38a23ffdb939ea11a88
8a2e8de86484945c6dcd14819afd297db8093ca6
describe
'9533' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRV' 'sip-files00023thm.jpg'
12289c24c8b7daf81e9447125ea05341
0ed9fa4593b3a9a0a14eb7a9a3ca26c66ce42ae5
'2011-12-13T06:55:17-05:00'
describe
'712435' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRW' 'sip-files00024.jp2'
40e9f2577644f46bedf262f00a4a2c34
3c11e1ae74a71179ca9fb496d109c63a22de8c12
'2011-12-13T06:56:26-05:00'
describe
'170987' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRX' 'sip-files00024.jpg'
262fa39d722657ad805058e8fc81ccaa
3ec780b82a96075e4146287f4e6116d1fae89128
describe
'83174' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRY' 'sip-files00024.pro'
a322814bc1473958d12edbf399919456
b794bc024476f93669a4a097a5d1a7705ad6667c
'2011-12-13T06:55:19-05:00'
describe
'40824' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKRZ' 'sip-files00024.QC.jpg'
ea8eedbd4abd6e276b5726ae68cf04ad
81ba6481e59c00725d5f87b7e38f3ff4f70f3fc6
'2011-12-13T06:57:38-05:00'
describe
'5724724' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSA' 'sip-files00024.tif'
c5785b4481b7e22e295d60b71e516263
81e4b4db1b7cc5c30246764a31f220b1e21ea18f
'2011-12-13T06:56:45-05:00'
describe
'4415' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSB' 'sip-files00024.txt'
64ab659675ca7d5c8664a5cd5efe49f0
9d25036a9f288638a9c463b5ffb9b01fe87a2776
'2011-12-13T06:53:54-05:00'
describe
'9291' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSC' 'sip-files00024thm.jpg'
7d89211a363f1575a103dd4189941da0
0f8677ee3b2a979325c980156653b1c7ea1b9419
'2011-12-13T06:55:05-05:00'
describe
'720471' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSD' 'sip-files00025.jp2'
10e9d6e16aed0b4ecb03e3b686bba1a9
8cd60da782248a03b0212157e898a80d710cbb2e
'2011-12-13T06:54:26-05:00'
describe
'133103' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSE' 'sip-files00025.jpg'
a97b37d93204d27169ce5e0ecc67f739
3ac902ab9b7a6d9a2f5756199a8ac6aa60caf8ad
'2011-12-13T06:55:41-05:00'
describe
'82152' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSF' 'sip-files00025.pro'
6a7da3f6040963bbb8bdf45066661c36
f479230528fe8449dad0d307da2ec4ddbd82177d
'2011-12-13T06:55:40-05:00'
describe
'32214' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSG' 'sip-files00025.QC.jpg'
a09cf1ea475ec1d22ac43453a7b493f2
d80f2e1a6bb2435fdd4e4416a3079d0c3dd4eef9
describe
'5787124' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSH' 'sip-files00025.tif'
ea7ca7dd4780083697e5e1dd0cd0dc35
266a9e2f4c001973ee4f419b13f7e647dd4e6210
'2011-12-13T06:55:31-05:00'
describe
'4107' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSI' 'sip-files00025.txt'
2499d02873a3e1ad85083bad494f55ef
a0b3b2a3571f33071a21e6cba19de94d2a0bdec5
describe
'7480' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSJ' 'sip-files00025thm.jpg'
07895718d94cb7e777d63de1ffb865d1
47763cbc5b02512a84354e5b298eebd5797940e4
describe
'710532' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSK' 'sip-files00026.jp2'
2c1fa19f592137fb7b7fd0148a7dd90d
b36291332311527ad8b305230ccdf0267466ee43
'2011-12-13T06:55:53-05:00'
describe
'143042' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSL' 'sip-files00026.jpg'
88feba30e1175a0d83ca98edd94ba72f
886af2493aae2b2469f9bee71906fe3f7d99cd4e
'2011-12-13T06:54:08-05:00'
describe
'58937' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSM' 'sip-files00026.pro'
e49dd11efeb6d9704c15ebb874e51e0a
6ac80a89a785987903c883eebba34a6311699828
describe
'35114' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSN' 'sip-files00026.QC.jpg'
6b74b15d6bc0d22de9b5c0b26145b6b5
4ac2a285cd4fa5d8ef2aa742eb650efabf5b87c2
describe
'5708156' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSO' 'sip-files00026.tif'
1549b95f13d715fb9666ea89a361e363
37f9543b12b54d1599ce65ef7cd7818dd1bfe350
'2011-12-13T06:54:11-05:00'
describe
'2514' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSP' 'sip-files00026.txt'
66ee61572d3a4902770ad82b1d9462c0
0306ddf665f179b7a7b1250eff124899f2c9c01c
'2011-12-13T06:55:16-05:00'
describe
'8267' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSQ' 'sip-files00026thm.jpg'
02adeaf21d952c8601f79697c6d4a552
8b75cc016655da032ba6e056f04e5407b67dbbad
describe
'702579' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSR' 'sip-files00027.jp2'
627b76fa5994e1a7649355895723acc6
a5c8c2897389be59e7bad2a6872803e12bb38fb4
describe
'155425' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSS' 'sip-files00027.jpg'
210698a1cd02e34fb70431b252088e3c
df656e2368a6907eb856c0560ebd33d62b0cdb08
describe
'62894' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKST' 'sip-files00027.pro'
b93f18528b49a7a136d2e19c40e71ef2
b211b2c1d54c622f8a5b405c49f60cb83c081d08
'2011-12-13T06:56:03-05:00'
describe
'37935' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSU' 'sip-files00027.QC.jpg'
3ebeff99cc1676a3f8057349b0ac22a2
dab36f2194bf0188c00ef9efe7a8756096ab15bf
describe
'5644728' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSV' 'sip-files00027.tif'
3e133fa69ea5d73a53489e2f26912c3a
03f86b96e7a7b9f04b60d0e551a031aa7d1320fc
describe
'2898' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSW' 'sip-files00027.txt'
3d335f921e59fefb17beaaa53bc3cea4
d38e5ae81ae61e1bd466d78945b7ba0ce05bd138
describe
'8575' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSX' 'sip-files00027thm.jpg'
29fbe6039fafdbac4a269efbcfb9ff4a
98fa7fc0be5033dd630ed8bebffae4788e00fe42
'2011-12-13T06:56:44-05:00'
describe
'700637' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSY' 'sip-files00028.jp2'
9048d0e7f2a0865380c88c78e3f78e35
b0e75e97170be5c812c2a05210edd32c84afa031
describe
'175096' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKSZ' 'sip-files00028.jpg'
722d2f40949f03aa583f96f25b0456fd
c8a8c53624028f91f8a992a14b7c320c1499405f
'2011-12-13T06:54:25-05:00'
describe
'113573' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTA' 'sip-files00028.pro'
4095784d5bea8fa6c1bf2a68f8ea29a5
6e35513f112ad103333ba434b61d1ffd7d328f1d
describe
'41050' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTB' 'sip-files00028.QC.jpg'
8b0a53b4b5a722637a71133f996869c9
4c2bd01018e9e746c909e92a0025c86a1728ce2c
'2011-12-13T06:57:41-05:00'
describe
'5629560' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTC' 'sip-files00028.tif'
38ba617de230c8ae7f298d53bb8f0e7b
d49fdfd568df85f229369de599f7a8073dd5f47f
describe
'5160' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTD' 'sip-files00028.txt'
76f60d80393c6e616a2af88eb45b51d8
4f79b950b8afa7890ebd8c3c3915b69bbdba77e9
'2011-12-13T06:56:59-05:00'
describe
'9234' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTE' 'sip-files00028thm.jpg'
1f0d4baa74add2b9c596f2d82acc5fa3
256674902dd94db90399ef95b9225bdafab2ff4f
'2011-12-13T06:57:25-05:00'
describe
'702612' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTF' 'sip-files00029.jp2'
dd7f2094218f675131521be1b50dabb4
c28512ae01c55d1d99d6c2384721eafeb83db521
'2011-12-13T06:57:16-05:00'
describe
'176690' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTG' 'sip-files00029.jpg'
2c4e52905b5f373ef95bfe414c512bac
e33410ba84b393e47dbc3024aef2eee1a95e5f6a
'2011-12-13T06:56:18-05:00'
describe
'132692' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTH' 'sip-files00029.pro'
414c8e8739a9cfb5f5cab2bc51bdba5b
880a7ff470840295a9cda5bc82452306f9b81689
describe
'41795' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTI' 'sip-files00029.QC.jpg'
3b04bd54e88915fad92efc6229aca0f8
0af90a3f8924c7de6dfe7d016109c47fcdd0fc0d
describe
'5644888' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTJ' 'sip-files00029.tif'
095867c6d6aa7552fad90af50eb552cf
959a6efffe9f4dd9698409b59419d22cabf85628
'2011-12-13T06:54:53-05:00'
describe
'5433' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTK' 'sip-files00029.txt'
d5332b90f7a3def856be884bf72f5b5b
74812d0cd14ea148bdb8f9854996953a72d9e6fb
'2011-12-13T06:55:44-05:00'
describe
'8964' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTL' 'sip-files00029thm.jpg'
c7c28d95fe93171ba7d77131eaaf6690
5172b9d4a23f3252fe0227e73cd7132daf321d1f
describe
'720478' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTM' 'sip-files00030.jp2'
984804e563ba38054e2899e03c0f1034
29dca3bab1703432a8731f2de3fc8f46e261922f
'2011-12-13T06:55:35-05:00'
describe
'160974' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTN' 'sip-files00030.jpg'
c5ad56b8ff7f10820b4cbe25a6a64a0b
93587d600648513e1bb5f74af7b556730cff3402
describe
'120905' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTO' 'sip-files00030.pro'
a212a653c5d37e16956a5402c1a10e27
4c35f268a878e8965557e96a9223bcbaecbb2f78
'2011-12-13T06:57:04-05:00'
describe
'39111' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTP' 'sip-files00030.QC.jpg'
135878e1658950b94996de79d62b06d1
23a865eb9d9cef058aecde11a722c226b3b21dc6
'2011-12-13T06:57:01-05:00'
describe
'5788016' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTQ' 'sip-files00030.tif'
413df457cab704d899a82f6d70119e6b
b686b030bce294674c32865574ee71738339c378
'2011-12-13T06:55:32-05:00'
describe
'5007' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTR' 'sip-files00030.txt'
c880e38e2f168235c2aa2a02c237f651
80b2dda2b9f61b61bde8f9bb9411cc1f31de170c
'2011-12-13T06:55:49-05:00'
describe
'8669' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTS' 'sip-files00030thm.jpg'
a9a7ad772ce5ed11e8e5a38a4d9cf571
deefb2b8e15ebad2c641cb6eaa521fe89773603b
describe
'720408' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTT' 'sip-files00031.jp2'
d352ad3069a4b41c54a6cfe2b7210695
9041778258e9e87f7ceb5058b9ae98aec4c2bc3f
'2011-12-13T06:54:21-05:00'
describe
'180107' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTU' 'sip-files00031.jpg'
929c6e61ffdb59d8b67a2d8f4409e28a
cfc3dcd6d868b9fb1377441356daef36d62c3f75
'2011-12-13T06:57:18-05:00'
describe
'1218' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTV' 'sip-files00031.pro'
f03a17e88408b6f4c94d6aaefa6e6887
be7390654c3a8c352671ba44c95d9b2f917e432b
describe
'42375' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTW' 'sip-files00031.QC.jpg'
3c79349c85bccdec75a07436dcdc5ba7
48a1f0b7b02ec306602500668dfb9342ceb7ed44
describe
'5787808' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTX' 'sip-files00031.tif'
c6f6177a6c70a16b3a314e452efec3a5
3ea2add6d015e0fff05b044dc047b0d2fd7460e2
describe
'194' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTY' 'sip-files00031.txt'
84e3d37e16f28550b8b88a78d59a48ff
97bde3aa38a69fa84df7396ec517f5893e22cd45
describe
'9662' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKTZ' 'sip-files00031thm.jpg'
14db92c7c13705408c197d3654957534
42eb95bf9304de5b4d508e55fd150afdcf43bb20
describe
'696513' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUA' 'sip-files00032.jp2'
d453d315d29f01fe4e77ede1ffe670e2
f61dd0978bdb2310f7935aa50760b52d4fd5a320
describe
'178017' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUB' 'sip-files00032.jpg'
cc3da10264d7de046b20e18376378d12
b9b9b89e7f4e289d4905e6f305bbcd0ff4ddb81d
'2011-12-13T06:57:19-05:00'
describe
'129254' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUC' 'sip-files00032.pro'
ce00da4b3767c3158ce0eafeb544eecc
61981e8d9bb79f518d820efae3707e2ff68e6925
describe
'43042' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUD' 'sip-files00032.QC.jpg'
76de7895e41cfddf57c51621a16b3a39
cc1594479debec69d4fa1554a614159df66fd956
describe
'5595944' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUE' 'sip-files00032.tif'
29052e44700209ab84ba452eebadf2aa
4663d13611e03da888a508911b6df8caad944065
'2011-12-13T06:56:43-05:00'
describe
'5323' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUF' 'sip-files00032.txt'
856e897a2fb225e362f729a82f5d320d
0b17ad2b5fb1a1f9cb30b3ee3e50e68875251336
describe
'9575' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUG' 'sip-files00032thm.jpg'
1dbfc648100f02240ebb6bd1b449130a
3f767b6555c03c84c04059b82e5ee0121ed8ed6a
'2011-12-13T06:54:56-05:00'
describe
'694604' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUH' 'sip-files00033.jp2'
28b7e0ff5adb2f747c990d03f39be864
f503ff87a99a2ba47ee9e0d89f036035e3519e91
describe
'178584' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUI' 'sip-files00033.jpg'
ccbb4ec44a149fbc828a0b1977fca6ab
9d29a79337deb7d225e267813610f2d63df4cfdb
describe
'131443' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUJ' 'sip-files00033.pro'
1c55858809796ce8b79b10d201083996
b68c09cf2dafa20fae0f31e721ab8c78bbd14975
'2011-12-13T06:57:26-05:00'
describe
'42621' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUK' 'sip-files00033.QC.jpg'
e259a10cf76119ca3d25658e645fb113
1897adc06ea53c471001f9a5e37583b96f65bf54
describe
'5581136' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUL' 'sip-files00033.tif'
f4035dd04707ad2b6f2d5cbad9e20166
093aae73a42a4c00a92a1796ebaabc3679b938b5
'2011-12-13T06:54:30-05:00'
describe
'5372' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUM' 'sip-files00033.txt'
062ca78baeff5f37dec488a7bf0e4e1b
61bf753412c657e405d276af05d1b4450e00bdab
describe
'9223' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUN' 'sip-files00033thm.jpg'
3a23b92c266628853c433a8a71f2338c
3442d81b3a759c4e8b982b88b15c5985292dfa68
describe
'720379' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUO' 'sip-files00034.jp2'
6344bb29ee80259c58987f1cf245f849
10bdeda5ef4b2abed6b3cffbea21bc1f16148135
'2011-12-13T06:54:41-05:00'
describe
'138678' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUP' 'sip-files00034.jpg'
db8389790ad91cf2440120f0198ed9eb
8b6863123ea711aeaf26d1eccd7f80f63359af5a
'2011-12-13T06:54:18-05:00'
describe
'101408' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUQ' 'sip-files00034.pro'
e7795ca14a5aa9e423908dcd1b2fa709
ffe8547547116aa0e0becce47b6f4639d5d71221
describe
'34052' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUR' 'sip-files00034.QC.jpg'
d4796c233f78a34b6221d5d1c01f67db
a52e7c610cf37e415f456676bde8ffb69d6b3c23
describe
'5787176' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUS' 'sip-files00034.tif'
b709a81e5dadd67c5c1801055f453c06
e166732287b3b45989e215336f01cc1f1e5ce554
'2011-12-13T06:53:51-05:00'
describe
'4170' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUT' 'sip-files00034.txt'
d926447ebfed5612da1717d4d5643323
21660824510e48ce418151e79b954b1f5dde7fca
'2011-12-13T06:57:33-05:00'
describe
'7700' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUU' 'sip-files00034thm.jpg'
95b7755fcf4d82d28c3be8aef1adb3a4
8500704650bdd1474837920ef685f194f35b725e
describe
'731877' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUV' 'sip-files00035.jp2'
81cf5a00771cf8512796097112d5bd10
3589e565040ef550811eee9eaeec01cb8c4395c9
describe
'151544' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUW' 'sip-files00035.jpg'
b5e403aa51fe8d61c094e25c1408f4e4
a5a188d3fa50892964f2728e3571cd056edd7073
'2011-12-13T06:56:24-05:00'
describe
'80997' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUX' 'sip-files00035.pro'
fdc2c417bae840cec25288bdc27a35a8
8ae6b57e5d6e7fa144cdabea348a171dbcfefcbf
'2011-12-13T06:55:30-05:00'
describe
'36045' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUY' 'sip-files00035.QC.jpg'
b03995de10aa2071448927e7d9456df4
c41df752ac57d3d5afcd1d52d76dd1e4f33799f8
'2011-12-13T06:55:10-05:00'
describe
'5878872' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKUZ' 'sip-files00035.tif'
24c20b8f83adcd2b85f1d4c515c05daa
30c623da5f50487198eb9ec4374bffe18fc6098a
'2011-12-13T06:55:54-05:00'
describe
'3577' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVA' 'sip-files00035.txt'
1028840220395447244b1ac047fe1bad
56ac1c4e4624c5a770b1b01f5620da91ac76fa53
'2011-12-13T06:57:29-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'8342' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVB' 'sip-files00035thm.jpg'
7b359fd1908f8d16ea51080b9eb811cb
572fece7c825122cc0dcafa40467e8dc02d3188e
describe
'702587' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVC' 'sip-files00036.jp2'
f7ce71a7edbb502649c995bd2d9bc729
b00341c028db0d3390d3bcdeb762e1a2524ce33a
describe
'178611' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVD' 'sip-files00036.jpg'
0001d404b331e93f9b1dced6101251fe
9f49426beb460724b4af4d2740e07f4d23101f11
describe
'84088' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVE' 'sip-files00036.pro'
2ec44b32d45f8dec11225add2cdff61b
582b4b3ef184efb139ac591ff4af52691dbec776
'2011-12-13T06:54:28-05:00'
describe
'42313' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVF' 'sip-files00036.QC.jpg'
9785c83a07a13cabb6a04793aea0150f
491eeab165ebede66ec130e2ed17a63101f70023
describe
'5645892' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVG' 'sip-files00036.tif'
c1012a5f740c89776700f65623ad2088
89a384c3bc84197dbf63e52162b793cacd66bfa5
'2011-12-13T06:54:44-05:00'
describe
'4553' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVH' 'sip-files00036.txt'
46be458f1035133528be411771a6a89e
90532bf9dcad2594f0121dfa57032135c55cf36b
describe
'9916' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVI' 'sip-files00036thm.jpg'
11fadae864fb1ec6636452bec33003eb
3fe824476ee1f1b5cfe7f35cc11debce773e29b5
describe
'720383' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVJ' 'sip-files00037.jp2'
332dfdd0affd3db3dd65d0146f6fd673
91b9ed5fe5b8d0b3fed5a92cf28117e6b64b6820
describe
'171045' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVK' 'sip-files00037.jpg'
5a03a5aab1d217d4ee789db884736423
315e7862df9aac0603901e5a993e24ae537cd4ea
describe
'97031' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVL' 'sip-files00037.pro'
d92474aacc8b81c278eeb25d90b1ba6d
47be56df53506ebfe28c3527d5ba267fee0c367e
'2011-12-13T06:53:48-05:00'
describe
'41256' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVM' 'sip-files00037.QC.jpg'
8d9e65d3daf4802dce96811c72030619
5ccf5fbe5352c5635ec81bf1cd52bec5a0871855
'2011-12-13T06:56:50-05:00'
describe
'5788676' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVN' 'sip-files00037.tif'
829b85f9045950e5d41adb19799ff265
7ce066b968028844e4bff8c35fa78be335296a74
describe
'4282' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVO' 'sip-files00037.txt'
40c106973810d767a8fa761fd58a283c
73e64db380c4c4a411699e59bf3592c9e84577a7
describe
'9682' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVP' 'sip-files00037thm.jpg'
f286952bf6cfcf18de1dc69c37ea348d
6f2d03dad16af943a64b028068771c7f62ebbac9
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVQ' 'sip-files00038.jp2'
14e3b369063d5364c0253aa0fb7cd480
c4b2d1cabcd02ffa072a1e68fb144bdb6f474296
describe
'94171' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVR' 'sip-files00038.jpg'
f5f3d8d21522710255a1aca43fc2bc21
207bd3bcb8b7c652c6df07c72d37ed181b33f293
describe
'48592' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVS' 'sip-files00038.pro'
0c7b796ca72b77076bd3415f93b52430
54fc15a45abe1873a7aea5f7bdd41cd5f0df412c
'2011-12-13T06:54:39-05:00'
describe
'22472' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVT' 'sip-files00038.QC.jpg'
a61a2c8c87888084811a1b58dc632937
df24d1d807a3885db49726e86d77bddc4763b217
describe
'5785092' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVU' 'sip-files00038.tif'
148cb1bd8d65e413342e9d151f6bb37b
185dce83a8abdaf89a64517a35603498458967ed
describe
'2191' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVV' 'sip-files00038.txt'
c8855bb2c56b3ee8a37162876757d17c
d2b5775347b2b8700bc68d52a1bb8163c64ace97
describe
'5408' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVW' 'sip-files00038thm.jpg'
24798e0823efe37dab03707a919fbe5b
980a2497dc8a1f58481cdb56a0f85dd4deac9b83
'2011-12-13T06:54:15-05:00'
describe
'716478' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVX' 'sip-files00039.jp2'
93f675d1faf45d93f566ec0a3873015c
fc138df3a7fc780162409e7a544503d8108e3b92
describe
'168499' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVY' 'sip-files00039.jpg'
97b6a6973619bd3f661b46fca93cbc76
00decf603c4eb71ddc0663c49503c1ed5c700170
describe
'125906' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKVZ' 'sip-files00039.pro'
20e229341041f26edfd06ffd65941492
9dc1835b2db0d8e52399e9255e8d11da392f8987
describe
'39378' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWA' 'sip-files00039.QC.jpg'
dec03172b6d9e6dae28be68d9d662dbd
d8b7f3015f2048b8c58f4a8e45e2f64ca390888f
describe
'5756284' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWB' 'sip-files00039.tif'
6032b04c76864ef68ac27baf0fd66476
debb5827112a7877865a7344eae29680bd7df8d4
'2011-12-13T06:53:49-05:00'
describe
'5298' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWC' 'sip-files00039.txt'
6f2c1f8ae288cb11cd4d3124bb678424
ab81f18bb96851746a834ffd0ba6231b95ee983e
'2011-12-13T06:54:37-05:00'
describe
'8824' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWD' 'sip-files00039thm.jpg'
a6dba46647d23676a31550d62c660d81
3ad8e04f08f02782b7247f79c7ca79b8523bef16
describe
'738381' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWE' 'sip-files00040.jp2'
1be293d27a6a146ad29f0f483e97bc9f
71447d284d2878dc077f181c66659423eba93192
'2011-12-13T06:55:03-05:00'
describe
'181492' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWF' 'sip-files00040.jpg'
933994f076f9f05903a54b4c8d1203e2
49b5dc264dfd467eaa691820881995071744022f
describe
'134606' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWG' 'sip-files00040.pro'
3ee3ebded1406ce86503418fd1dfcd0b
7529b8be1dfcce18a77467c6eeaaac80dea9e5de
'2011-12-13T06:57:07-05:00'
describe
'41280' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWH' 'sip-files00040.QC.jpg'
ab87bf21aac231c923b12e0ecbcdc917
2bfe6b541210c2e330b5816ab41154110b9b05ec
describe
'5931676' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWI' 'sip-files00040.tif'
0086060d1450b777363c71cd691bc25a
16cdbdb9cf8451812b1c5337c00b0aec4f72b868
describe
'5496' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWJ' 'sip-files00040.txt'
ddc5952ffc098b23f6ccf2db8ece9169
c9baf0ea31b4d9e6eb1e2ccdf3734da374c380e1
describe
'8906' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWK' 'sip-files00040thm.jpg'
dd72475bfaa1555a74a73a8b04fca68e
678d49da292e2abf342329fa2e7b312b2e78eae5
describe
'733460' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWL' 'sip-files00041.jp2'
583d585545e5f2adc52c4b4ed45013b9
47f36394f6277ba4c139df018da0f163ff4dc03f
'2011-12-13T06:55:42-05:00'
describe
'183673' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWM' 'sip-files00041.jpg'
ab6983d8ba3e7fd1e1775e48f501d2e9
f03856d7f57de3b406bb249da96b376ef7787e16
'2011-12-13T06:54:29-05:00'
describe
'110498' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWN' 'sip-files00041.pro'
c42ace495dda78a88a83998c71d96c6c
f36351c0a5560bec1e8aed96ced510041a007fb9
describe
'43334' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWO' 'sip-files00041.QC.jpg'
94d0c4a44b987b8ea3f10de58ad7f018
caad5d2294246e71f5ad42e2917929988577d866
'2011-12-13T06:56:46-05:00'
describe
'5892860' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWP' 'sip-files00041.tif'
001c8a9e70dc8214c48b0033c23c3e29
0a6bb42706966e2e82ec92a138150a75f76039a8
describe
'5139' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWQ' 'sip-files00041.txt'
93359b824690738aff88f50684164087
8a735296345587c929a1717fd88c127b47c2b9e3
describe
'9707' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWR' 'sip-files00041thm.jpg'
4ffadcdb3e82da124d4c85d1da55b033
666f887e65da2d0851ab479286da3ec3aa05d01f
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWS' 'sip-files00042.jp2'
7a1b2a20a9663a63adca1717f7cb9c5e
206403b2280a2b26f990be44af067c4c071c72d3
'2011-12-13T06:54:34-05:00'
describe
'158078' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWT' 'sip-files00042.jpg'
d6a009498b24e88b844bb8e9d262eb4b
dfb4e130147c2385250ef9d58430e3fcd52e6b26
describe
'90111' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWU' 'sip-files00042.pro'
8eb113466b81733d1460d8ea11177364
8a0357c9027b04965196a1dd592547b24a85f7aa
describe
'37162' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWV' 'sip-files00042.QC.jpg'
97773db4dc157b680ef18cf2302c998a
8cbb8945b2d3ce8309b4eaf483ffb68889b5defe
describe
'5787580' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWW' 'sip-files00042.tif'
e1efac53e6c5f70bd3e77cb40ead980f
e0f87002cdc3fb9da4f4de0c9ea043e8cc42ba6b
'2011-12-13T06:57:10-05:00'
describe
'4064' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWX' 'sip-files00042.txt'
d1bb086e460b4f167495da69d862887a
12d9d686e6e2803ecbf5efe6fa8dc2f6f906ca6c
describe
'8473' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWY' 'sip-files00042thm.jpg'
12aa4cb4e482134e7470a57d6bc71ffc
e8c50cc827aa1fd2a5b60999a3cc4bd47b9f0e18
'2011-12-13T06:56:53-05:00'
describe
'720430' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKWZ' 'sip-files00043.jp2'
517ebd0e32446649a4134605e0f6418b
9c7d6e15d8a3f5c2670773b6f09146f269913aae
describe
'173172' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXA' 'sip-files00043.jpg'
00100c4772c88fd4616a1b3b37eb9ae7
8a8d158163350180bcfe4642d5f3ed1f700c89df
describe
'115758' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXB' 'sip-files00043.pro'
32c48074f11ae6e8e67548e7cada35fe
8cd61fe09f1bf71cba25d294524d9426249cb6db
describe
'40216' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXC' 'sip-files00043.QC.jpg'
a88a359efa2ff40a63c7043e6d8a645e
e1cf4a6b113eebbf0d57c8362813bdeae4d89b46
describe
'5787960' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXD' 'sip-files00043.tif'
c77e5463f6f66bc0ee14eef65bd4cdec
7ba440616a7b5799baefead78b331c297b9aabea
describe
'4882' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXE' 'sip-files00043.txt'
c231867610d1c9854067b94dcd15a636
73530f547e4974ce4d741af3332d7f861852c27f
'2011-12-13T06:56:32-05:00'
describe
'8948' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXF' 'sip-files00043thm.jpg'
5d7a08d83fb9b1794a1ea36092538206
e06180bbf454a27451b43785c6b68b56f4dd726b
describe
'706574' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXG' 'sip-files00044.jp2'
2143e7a11e8339590ee1cf4e5e3f6508
debef6d833997e40c11d9e5246adcd7aa2f44a58
describe
'182238' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXH' 'sip-files00044.jpg'
2af9ecd1760c1a80339b53cf6d5c4e31
ccaf0dba540fd53dd56f3f5bc01ba8f0531e4714
describe
'142610' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXI' 'sip-files00044.pro'
1737969081e43fcba80cd1080ce337b2
420062b41420f64ad7f4ca557c8e372c7d695ea3
describe
'42534' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXJ' 'sip-files00044.QC.jpg'
fb7740321def732d84a0622c3ca35a8f
dd2db602c482f6a81b129bbbf22b171694896556
'2011-12-13T06:54:50-05:00'
describe
'5677080' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXK' 'sip-files00044.tif'
8e35907f6a20e9178ebcc5aeeae7cdb1
0c2e96068921f2ea7de1ee5e011315ef49c2acdb
'2011-12-13T06:56:05-05:00'
describe
'5823' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXL' 'sip-files00044.txt'
90ccd416d930d33a7f3fe55f280e87c9
aabfa8e79af21e6434c6d3b929dbb18dd0330962
'2011-12-13T06:54:24-05:00'
describe
'9325' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXM' 'sip-files00044thm.jpg'
b722e4f8f95378de5e45b50ad0efd114
c2c132c4afdafc6107d3f7a70bb5af1dcaec6035
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXN' 'sip-files00045.jp2'
49a28a614c04472ade0efecf698ca51b
76ec185b4dcfc04cb27d0a7a2e25da7993c0a0b8
'2011-12-13T06:56:31-05:00'
describe
'160864' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXO' 'sip-files00045.jpg'
ac941b70111501a13d9797a30f7816fd
7231adf1b5c3f59583163e1c608e322228d9c720
'2011-12-13T06:56:49-05:00'
describe
'125486' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXP' 'sip-files00045.pro'
ef5683e1339289b9e1ff50d1c88097c4
89bcacef17a905a10588d677daddf9687305cdb9
describe
'38465' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXQ' 'sip-files00045.QC.jpg'
e5e32f6258130ecefff780a1f854c970
e02934f2b51b9cfddbabae74d145909ce731b0d1
describe
'5787592' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXR' 'sip-files00045.tif'
ccf5948b404bc948e543f2df8370d07d
f126faec6e8ea6fff1b2cd59faf327fd48eef70a
describe
'5389' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXS' 'sip-files00045.txt'
72a469e6ce25997b6ed7ba20aa5a47ce
96e3b5b3d145cdaf6e351798c9868990073549a9
describe
'8543' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXT' 'sip-files00045thm.jpg'
17b8bb9fd94f6d8e9a116d944606e373
7fdf1d0210cb5e29e66090a28340323c7076e5a4
describe
'720414' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXU' 'sip-files00046.jp2'
c4b48f9342ae2b16954a6ce6a2f48752
c869402292cfada8696a5805380ccb62a68b5e22
describe
'158181' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXV' 'sip-files00046.jpg'
be9b6c2d204affa9c2cb7f75b698fef0
c2cae703fa45924eaac2577fdfe9c44f91b3daf3
describe
'49875' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXW' 'sip-files00046.pro'
85462e18db796e96ff1358a211412abd
7b3702e70136bae9ad8fc07ddfae212811382b66
describe
'38598' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXX' 'sip-files00046.QC.jpg'
d296fa37cfe65b8107c6b6fc9acf3737
85e8a80eeb086f73b58063bd70862c4d996c3dac
'2011-12-13T06:57:06-05:00'
describe
'5787604' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXY' 'sip-files00046.tif'
dde7a3ae8aa17523b8e0872f03f17b2a
7b1ff335bbda6538710622beb9e6de415fcac50b
describe
'2230' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKXZ' 'sip-files00046.txt'
e277e0a99abb51737c89c8a4eb2829f6
5094f42b588ef54415399b125926b04b4d436a02
describe
'9302' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYA' 'sip-files00046thm.jpg'
1cae4905208ed2fc1819ac853f60a1b0
df0c31d6320a79792b2700efc8357a3234c28417
describe
'720417' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYB' 'sip-files00047.jp2'
b9c18e4db4a0eaf856fb7d989ac5e585
e604b4f6721be481436d2529f1872b5239b1afb0
describe
'177075' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYC' 'sip-files00047.jpg'
001a2c3082e03ea02c65248d6ff04b37
edbeb247efdea273d7b6db419a00744519ec1377
'2011-12-13T06:57:23-05:00'
describe
'138092' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYD' 'sip-files00047.pro'
c478d5a4b03ce7ee90b968e2f55f1afb
82269555b94c22eb3631d50aad5f9755d50c9834
describe
'40891' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYE' 'sip-files00047.QC.jpg'
04aebae8cbdab59069ee05195f4f29d0
de1ad47392f79e7996cb0183da142ed2f6a984ea
describe
'5788032' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYF' 'sip-files00047.tif'
13bd458aac0c86f218325e0d0525d1b9
15be0056dd43ac9330f2c098ef0dda922c0b4f98
describe
'5657' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYG' 'sip-files00047.txt'
26039843165688c4d770aefbb613f62f
b8a36fdc4912dc625813dd02477eff9ca3c0461e
describe
'8930' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYH' 'sip-files00047thm.jpg'
c116487007c49a151c43935208d05023
be63e5ac65148bfc1120abf24ec0e9ced5702bcf
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYI' 'sip-files00048.jp2'
efbca9865a1e8c178932c8c6db6c3c1c
42a22f1e97cc73f7574ad1b40236e31b54ef5a1a
describe
'183653' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYJ' 'sip-files00048.jpg'
2bad58dd313c6c4064e970e07990a8b3
2f36e40779cbf2bda2ddd5f8e31a6703215ef780
describe
'138877' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYK' 'sip-files00048.pro'
5eb985c84ea0bb38aa9cef6fb1a31710
295f29de818e1c57dad1df53243d2d08b17fa19b
describe
'42482' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYL' 'sip-files00048.QC.jpg'
53749479a4cbdd6280ed94081185be7e
2ee40ed86fb08418f6b22e3978c85630bb12fea9
describe
'5788536' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYM' 'sip-files00048.tif'
bc71d7fdc0e145bca6ce3c411f3d2ff8
6e44747f2b335ec8d556a90df410cc03f75ad1cd
describe
'5626' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYN' 'sip-files00048.txt'
e9dd8b2bef12053bae4059e9062a5bca
ac1aad60c3dbd6faa2551105f7d7738183b66ce3
describe
'8984' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYO' 'sip-files00048thm.jpg'
d7f26f0fbb02ced668e871c917215c76
579f62d744d7e7832567dc00e17946d92a1b5da4
describe
'700451' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYP' 'sip-files00049.jp2'
9c49bb75ebc688445c385b03ee4b7251
3a3fe428d3b73aa45f5f36809b50255c907b0b22
describe
'193595' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYQ' 'sip-files00049.jpg'
99e050c366766961aa3953d1c22fac75
78a0b8235bb60aa283cc9448a5459986cb5b29ee
describe
'139244' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYR' 'sip-files00049.pro'
05a4ad5b016bd6087e3f3ec97f6dca03
7ce7bbd08c4afe24ef3e7d1f8aaca91c9ee4c4e5
describe
'45204' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYS' 'sip-files00049.QC.jpg'
acc66ac4c7d13532d471cafb6c2565bd
28935f86bb0cf38f8d4b565d1349cc97a03fab82
describe
'5628480' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYT' 'sip-files00049.tif'
bdb53bd29f135047edc20da89844f589
ca2c6e34d4fbd9300c7b9eccf91c947e6522b11c
describe
'5695' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYU' 'sip-files00049.txt'
95c8bb5f304168cbaa1fb8a3b3099df7
bf9e3a7811dc33ba416ea6ec14b63651cbde6bdd
describe
'9886' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYV' 'sip-files00049thm.jpg'
438f30396ad1eb62989ac09d42418fbd
a849234b600da20ea0c2e24a7618a0614c8c5bdb
describe
'720454' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYW' 'sip-files00050.jp2'
a4403a3db95e9d600b65083a2754d376
8df6a29b76a04b463b684cc86bc9186a91c35c1e
describe
'167789' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYX' 'sip-files00050.jpg'
3c531c4624d441a191ae82dafebbd256
0043133f5d013de3213d1c5958d9c57b59fa7808
describe
'117456' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYY' 'sip-files00050.pro'
5cae0f711ad6f8ec6c9295fe22eb8c78
5589495dbe57acb8d55cbdc37873cce89cb71f76
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKYZ' 'sip-files00050.QC.jpg'
80a1a8eca34ac2fbd7269ae4ad84e14c
381884e6b766db0479bf6c908b06c20906292df6
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZA' 'sip-files00050.tif'
2d1633ad7b1901c4e45f5c79cc5749ad
d8358783cb61aec4c3b7c89ffc1709dca29dedfe
describe
'5241' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZB' 'sip-files00050.txt'
6d9bf8e14f8cafe078b5165a09c4cb8d
999a29bb22a0ace7efb5283ac54917f3b0a544db
'2011-12-13T06:57:17-05:00'
describe
'8626' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZC' 'sip-files00050thm.jpg'
93bd9c4d05bdc742cfafb6955278f689
33dbc8e1567c43b20ae15f273e6cca38d6ca2464
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZD' 'sip-files00051.jp2'
25bba4248b9325ce6578ccc6a8310b0e
1ef385fa3b9d0360fc565127fa26a78a6adf8b03
describe
'163679' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZE' 'sip-files00051.jpg'
67d065ea33e3f3b9318ba5d6a3077944
83f30c2be6d192d4b217188a287d4b9484a3120d
describe
'98209' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZF' 'sip-files00051.pro'
88d94357d2b4ac3d52299463e6fad81f
079c884f4cc1b8a167b68a13b48918f3da3e47e2
describe
'38848' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZG' 'sip-files00051.QC.jpg'
74f287431ea17a6fca2c8dd025a2394e
00979623dcacff553620573c62041a5dacf74499
describe
'5787980' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZH' 'sip-files00051.tif'
73de7b02c81ba148ca5e9cbec4bfb4d5
7932b3c0abffa48fafbe102448c0b2d623f0f5e3
'2011-12-13T06:54:47-05:00'
describe
'4007' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZI' 'sip-files00051.txt'
ec8f740d05609f79349ea05a1fcb879b
4b8a11adb5634acde0ff426423724e0f1cefa212
describe
'8697' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZJ' 'sip-files00051thm.jpg'
2583fc2a71b8204a85b5c6e867496066
f1e038549ccb20076f32e1fdb95f78b92231f251
describe
'720475' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZK' 'sip-files00052.jp2'
fe1d07b041bdb4e916d2e7b2cb090f8a
aebfe95adc2702ab6ae1dc299601bd15f6c29419
describe
'171829' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZL' 'sip-files00052.jpg'
83d78440a4d246ddc1f5da580532088c
aa962f027737843b0b9945a6c1898a2757a5d324
'2011-12-13T06:57:27-05:00'
describe
'107753' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZM' 'sip-files00052.pro'
63df8a2bdef7b45e96341b8ba528ee77
ecdafd114b23dcd596cc79530ecce199e8627f5f
describe
'40919' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZN' 'sip-files00052.QC.jpg'
8d14ffa819f145717cd3d788761b88ab
e3dbdb7e2a4b8a45f76272394bcf69491ae06a62
describe
'5788428' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZO' 'sip-files00052.tif'
24ff3ca1a1c6fdf24cd83acac79b6d31
3cc6659520dfbd49a6a7df62abd11ddf56535ee1
describe
'5612' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZP' 'sip-files00052.txt'
7873e670bfeb40f4c5e9228b877c4ae5
21bca00127b9054e3d8acb23e66e4f20e2df0449
'2011-12-13T06:56:12-05:00'
describe
'8983' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZQ' 'sip-files00052thm.jpg'
54ccc0dbc02f01bb146486106195b1ec
016a3ff77214abdaa6b9827bfb2ab47c5730e1fa
describe
'720450' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZR' 'sip-files00053.jp2'
2d6963f01d9be3759c49e76fafcf7137
3e794c9ef5d54563e1d1aed927c63702606d3cb4
describe
'173818' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZS' 'sip-files00053.jpg'
90b9dfeee08d31204866b618a08caae3
998b205fe298756c9736adcf9874635be929e74b
'2011-12-13T06:55:58-05:00'
describe
'131880' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZT' 'sip-files00053.pro'
5ac3b82da78324751f589276b86a3f79
aee919365958acdcefd7d29ac2085869b8a3f12f
describe
'39551' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZU' 'sip-files00053.QC.jpg'
ae49c2b7079635e6919fba455210eb30
6c20fa68c7a0713a5cb2a6d5f7bd6d4eb634c64e
describe
'5787788' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZV' 'sip-files00053.tif'
6cfbbd3265e10e3f952d4642165e6b7c
6bdc7a21eae53938eaea437fc5b3927c796acfcb
describe
'5378' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZW' 'sip-files00053.txt'
7f4bf12b86fff3ae6e73728c466b48e2
a6088115429f531c8c67543107c33ab8e0e9b641
describe
'8526' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZX' 'sip-files00053thm.jpg'
0f8c9275480e9f29c47a05aab1783540
51adb3d6a9e1757c73d7cf10d53456db6aa4fc48
describe
'710554' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZY' 'sip-files00054.jp2'
9be97d6a64a5eb86819ad02dbb763753
2f1c528776c534ec53b9b0a69dd6eff92725ed72
describe
'166195' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABKZZ' 'sip-files00054.jpg'
20b5dc69bc6976617926b154d374db4e
6479f1f9acd4b9ad343a01623f7003e6638996cc
describe
'50098' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAA' 'sip-files00054.pro'
7c370316c1679d84ce687692a4658ff5
9d2365708223b47bff94daaace338731ae56add1
describe
'39672' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAB' 'sip-files00054.QC.jpg'
e64aab77fa1c5a012463c5a5880d6a1f
80609509da207de37e3fd9849779761a9ff978c9
describe
'5708568' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAC' 'sip-files00054.tif'
7679ee0d8db2b872421e4b2d950b5a04
61ad72c158a4a423d2a22f0fa434d29cf2d0f9b6
describe
'2094' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAD' 'sip-files00054.txt'
126ed4f73a875e7d03211d0c22933e0e
287b67f7e845663182ee493f8c40f37d5698ab7d
describe
'9116' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAE' 'sip-files00054thm.jpg'
eb732861e1575c6b261f6b4fd09d32cb
422f3ef12fa628797f7ef78b3f756e2788ced2d2
describe
'720396' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAF' 'sip-files00055.jp2'
f2c563800361da2dcfc689c4e958da67
e2c4a31d6ed8db587d8095017fc10bcedacb72c1
describe
'178402' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAG' 'sip-files00055.jpg'
688c131ffb056dd7a444cc7eb671c035
ba26803e82d1ba63259e4ad71d82468af0d5f15e
describe
'138957' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAH' 'sip-files00055.pro'
086b7ef4d865f7007869614ef482d938
0d81c5c1120da15c79cdc4d23cf313bc37e9803d
describe
'41154' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAI' 'sip-files00055.QC.jpg'
b54294d2ca119b661940608a09aa1bd7
cd96a66aca6c2dda2097e9c8f1e840124dec6d11
'2011-12-13T06:57:37-05:00'
describe
'5788084' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAJ' 'sip-files00055.tif'
94f5b750a4e1eb57b009385e2ad70233
e6ab63f8a9526f612caa8ecf9034fde1ec08ac19
describe
'5664' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAK' 'sip-files00055.txt'
2995941d707308dc16398dbd1166c8c4
6da988faf177933a87c9fed4db0c2de26f685cfe
describe
'8719' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAL' 'sip-files00055thm.jpg'
17e20562b6dc0c1843107167abd1a9fb
0812f91ebeda39f0244f6c7110a2f31da09be378
describe
'714844' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAM' 'sip-files00056.jp2'
365b3006c37b33dd3d85a1389142885e
1b83f0cb2ea30d427188c7830ffe567ef8e5948d
'2011-12-13T06:57:32-05:00'
describe
'189326' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAN' 'sip-files00056.jpg'
cf251b5cf45fe8a6ba8025e550a03de2
e30c9c611addc26fbe5499ac263b89a0ccb9eb8b
describe
'136462' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAO' 'sip-files00056.pro'
b3f05e15251f0702b27542b182d380e8
85e2a0ba56878a676335037d30a88a09a0bb1322
describe
'44303' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAP' 'sip-files00056.QC.jpg'
e996365611e1de3838a657247c4740b3
83021ecfb43264fcb027a240c7d3e3211a9c3c7e
'2011-12-13T06:55:33-05:00'
describe
'5743628' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAQ' 'sip-files00056.tif'
a6d523846ebd2a5e108341aa67f9389e
7c558a295d3a8c060ce66a6333a9b6040f26a50f
describe
'5560' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAR' 'sip-files00056.txt'
f121b1db6cd89fccaebfceff0c5d0521
ede848219134c7379a5aa5c9955010cac67c4c6e
describe
'9779' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAS' 'sip-files00056thm.jpg'
a6b81656d136b78b21f4d37a14df992d
2a7438bb6ff7112914f9fd9f58478c24415704c9
describe
'720480' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAT' 'sip-files00057.jp2'
52f9981589f5eda43f3577bd33f18406
af08f8e4488b73742cb2adf2b0393511c0585d78
describe
'148141' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAU' 'sip-files00057.jpg'
2a88ce299df2d54a2ebe5dcde0c4a18c
d70dfdc33b407d9b41345759d4d3818ca1730e14
describe
'107985' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAV' 'sip-files00057.pro'
410d3f0f6c9d88e3d8d162457b2a8d4d
214b48f1d7647a3442fbbfbc31174bb2ee8ed585
'2011-12-13T06:56:55-05:00'
describe
'34182' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAW' 'sip-files00057.QC.jpg'
ab9b2fd6a1c68660b55ee96ed38dac23
fa689422c7159a5c9458b3a988efd4658d00ecd5
describe
'5787068' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAX' 'sip-files00057.tif'
a8ee2da75a7a85280a80ef5f6cdb956b
657500c965911a4669f4a432eb6e418ca101aa9c
'2011-12-13T06:55:02-05:00'
describe
'4396' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAY' 'sip-files00057.txt'
f1ae01e734ba8c453c4015d50691f957
00415077345a76a09ab4c3fcfef3f3bdf1986e9d
describe
'7673' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLAZ' 'sip-files00057thm.jpg'
ce7763681265363878f7db92426c66ab
a5e938e2dbcbc7ca81fafcf393e4e9779cdcfd79
describe
'704541' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBA' 'sip-files00058.jp2'
5d6ccfd42a0f32accd25e59dc763bf12
41d38fec475d89fd94f4a950e764cf6b0cc349d6
describe
'164247' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBB' 'sip-files00058.jpg'
dec84797a9e7ea17d1795dd3897c14f2
09a93ecb9ac07535cb2ad85940e5539a4a439e47
'2011-12-13T06:57:22-05:00'
describe
'117020' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBC' 'sip-files00058.pro'
143491a15873910628b61ba6351c82f0
9f7400c80d4f1cd9afa979033935d313e9d35801
describe
'39820' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBD' 'sip-files00058.QC.jpg'
8812bd091e1cd1c0718ad04003b218fc
8e445d310285236874cf388ccc26410e9058595e
describe
'5660476' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBE' 'sip-files00058.tif'
87d3de9fc45112738df4edc7200bb3ac
befee55c11df42d7bf8efed975275ca256703466
'2011-12-13T06:56:34-05:00'
describe
'4868' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBF' 'sip-files00058.txt'
2f73d043e7b5309aafbbfcced08774c2
46e784a7fd62f4959f8613e38433100d18020c53
'2011-12-13T06:53:57-05:00'
describe
'8941' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBG' 'sip-files00058thm.jpg'
f490b175737b0d8bf03b572ae0513991
898cbe0674232a3c69454f933ef41bf5ad9cae2e
describe
'720394' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBH' 'sip-files00059.jp2'
5d0ac83384da89f7167915fda60a37c8
1a4bda460b3a512ec94be1df9ce46234d521051b
describe
'182477' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBI' 'sip-files00059.jpg'
153d3ed3cb377b5f8666d076fdff67a6
f815332cce0ba0849325d9c1d761a89de56f94b2
describe
'2264' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBJ' 'sip-files00059.pro'
f51e158b415d5e52a31a64ed239dcd6a
37ce2812bf57567947c297458173994d9390594a
'2011-12-13T06:56:08-05:00'
describe
'41462' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBK' 'sip-files00059.QC.jpg'
62362c3b4f5ea67c8d09ed0a8ac7d1ad
95bac56e32dc76e5836681f390c6e410d2a9ee4e
describe
'5788280' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBL' 'sip-files00059.tif'
630b6eb38fda206e944f2f5948ebe792
2083398a3579288cd483de2805a2d57e77638013
describe
'286' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBM' 'sip-files00059.txt'
ecb0dcdf4cd6715d7346caa00466e394
452733e9309910a8e20fc321fe5ef8b29cc15bfd
describe
Invalid character
'9493' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBN' 'sip-files00059thm.jpg'
4dd7acffc4d1f180ceb1538cc3698bb5
ae3c17dea635202f62176d97c5912ffaf5726609
describe
'696627' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBO' 'sip-files00060.jp2'
fb0529346f50745c59e15ad896dc96c0
7976db368f0008b6bd760d7676b55e467ceca73c
describe
'155056' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBP' 'sip-files00060.jpg'
2ee81aa2b91851be144ccdca640d76a9
d054ed41f658187b308b16655a4fd1d828323449
'2011-12-13T06:57:30-05:00'
describe
'100826' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBQ' 'sip-files00060.pro'
881f0036db5900d239f11841e9f0a747
e97a3e0ed7bf080d5af374501def6caa798a8778
describe
'37807' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBR' 'sip-files00060.QC.jpg'
74f21a039bff46873e0ff308af2f44bb
03362ef56f6542903d06b0c125f01493ddd60a02
describe
'5597060' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBS' 'sip-files00060.tif'
f6d6098a923cac46e723eda3097afe31
e794d7d5e70b705e6fd5465c9b1c63ccd4e92487
'2011-12-13T06:55:45-05:00'
describe
'4220' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBT' 'sip-files00060.txt'
d51a4ddb25f86fa174d363077261fa29
246993e270160bf2eae47c2333160ba207b56a77
'2011-12-13T06:55:23-05:00'
describe
Invalid character
'8615' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBU' 'sip-files00060thm.jpg'
9df3d001b0e156767c9ad07f71a67b05
451f2a8866020b520c3170802d2ffbea9440543f
describe
'720468' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBV' 'sip-files00061.jp2'
063941c6f44b696049ed6caf58034065
66bd5765dfde3f942cdfe969d94d4288810865f1
describe
'165229' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBW' 'sip-files00061.jpg'
0c630b933e88670682ea4119ecba906e
261c5a3a56182fc15c4c4babc1bbd1df2ded184f
'2011-12-13T06:55:12-05:00'
describe
'118877' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBX' 'sip-files00061.pro'
64bbcbe40e4205d7a4af280dbba8b663
6d4bc1878b1b7792325ad7624775a27571c99eb5
describe
'39608' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBY' 'sip-files00061.QC.jpg'
55a2999bb36858eb57acb2d2e28102ab
8ec7d88380874ad89e97e9ee090d64e80e89e71f
describe
'5788268' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLBZ' 'sip-files00061.tif'
55fbc89038209674fe554a9b5ddff109
99444f67a71a65bd37eccdafcd0805076f8f136a
describe
'5030' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCA' 'sip-files00061.txt'
d0aab36f8ec1bb6f11b005a8395638c6
6a95aa9d883638223cb417cacb01e07b44785f90
describe
'8909' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCB' 'sip-files00061thm.jpg'
1f13a657d60c7f4c24e95a88131c8bf1
fac7159f66358b2805a1c397cfe4908423ef2b59
describe
'720409' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCC' 'sip-files00062.jp2'
7b863622ff6383dfc86684490ba00b98
5053a63cc499ab575b6cd0f2c39f6644d15de420
describe
'170130' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCD' 'sip-files00062.jpg'
84b1137a00fd0e8c303c25c052fb7866
c8a95704466ba53e20b1bdbb363d0ab8acbccdb1
'2011-12-13T06:56:29-05:00'
describe
'97175' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCE' 'sip-files00062.pro'
0abadd83c5465081f32901351c991fbd
12d6dc6b5ba3174d016dcf5b9ad153f372454cfe
describe
'40959' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCF' 'sip-files00062.QC.jpg'
1fe5ee04469747a07a068d8be1610c81
142753f829ed8518ef97e5b984ef92ece41405a1
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCG' 'sip-files00062.tif'
3ba259b01a83254834c9070d162f19bf
1cfe8b14401dc154363b5c3dcdd758781892f940
describe
'4704' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCH' 'sip-files00062.txt'
89b3e65f6638cae8a7a8b10d8d518337
7ab16030b39864ff8f70dc6b007ddbb871d9be1a
describe
'9245' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCI' 'sip-files00062thm.jpg'
528d670a364b515864be95b0fccd1c6e
005f4755e9d40135fb2508964eaa75e75bd9f898
describe
'700635' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCJ' 'sip-files00063.jp2'
bc0a4486e053421216efa8fecaa1942b
b121a8bd6e4da409d531a9094d86652c124764b5
describe
'185296' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCK' 'sip-files00063.jpg'
b0c07288807cc20a1ca67951bbf2091b
1a8ed69de4efda082666ca53cee2eb6369651df8
describe
'94795' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCL' 'sip-files00063.pro'
c1419cda48719b3e0289b5001be8411d
af74362f5f721e95e8bef738ed5e16053b587b2c
describe
'44371' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCM' 'sip-files00063.QC.jpg'
326d343f8237928b8a9bc36090ef797c
cb89b5dced240c2a46704b3274e611d83356035d
describe
'5629284' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCN' 'sip-files00063.tif'
fc42f715e2542216b4f7b8f819a7fa7a
a35168b6ca49b212bd1f160185711827d2aee4c4
'2011-12-13T06:55:26-05:00'
describe
'4794' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCO' 'sip-files00063.txt'
444cc25d67b3987af8e26f61af7b2b0a
cf105209765b1432d9fb81c995fdb606d8d1fe2b
describe
Invalid character
'9713' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCP' 'sip-files00063thm.jpg'
8b2136e8aa87f6dbd056fbb6e14c91eb
88359f657252cf2413644636880915b279611489
'2011-12-13T06:57:24-05:00'
describe
'730264' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCQ' 'sip-files00064.jp2'
6896f8513f350dd745afdcff7d7b8209
5cfd4e4215f4fa23126d1cf461c84a960a278c94
'2011-12-13T06:55:18-05:00'
describe
'155416' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCR' 'sip-files00064.jpg'
d2f78b6e5abdcfbfabc7f793adefea81
7b2163f4977ce9d8be597b45bc2c6658a6c79ad6
'2011-12-13T06:56:16-05:00'
describe
'100107' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCS' 'sip-files00064.pro'
cdb61175d25198ca29d9e1f0f8ad340e
50a1e666aa1a2163f4d1a48cd12e5b61decc5006
describe
'38374' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCT' 'sip-files00064.QC.jpg'
1589a8d058b006228d479a08c2d46cee
c58d49f893304057ae267d2c67f91e0f08cf7a0a
describe
'5866452' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCU' 'sip-files00064.tif'
4551fe345edc7d96468647b9a6973aab
978f88cec9486e36a66447df6ce295d4c90c3f33
describe
'4105' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCV' 'sip-files00064.txt'
50b80ee56c44b67bb079421f2d27c40c
dc12e05f4b8cd3698b54c948a2d05de821460428
describe
'8882' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCW' 'sip-files00064thm.jpg'
3290b124e3ed316edd81df664c5eb07b
ad0e386eb7c3fc26edf8d1c9f8eb083c1febd9c4
describe
'716830' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCX' 'sip-files00065.jp2'
c087692b3dce0e1d5cd726b7a45f42f4
1411404a794f8884c9c98f9c8ab078e7a9fec76d
describe
'178658' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCY' 'sip-files00065.jpg'
7d874e0ec37c50524528485a887ef6a0
9c9c1ecc44d17b8662cb82e0f2f706a551caa546
describe
'80299' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLCZ' 'sip-files00065.pro'
712b88937c1895c666bc2d3985f9fec4
50600a40a3b28690c6016949d0b71a8e0a25ea94
describe
'42398' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDA' 'sip-files00065.QC.jpg'
103893ee88c323bd59282eb26b433903
e1a0c30d4e60a5788fd9f746151b72bb2bb97472
'2011-12-13T06:55:59-05:00'
describe
'5759544' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDB' 'sip-files00065.tif'
edfd70e0a07036079a68ee9ebff73418
23a208af9b3a04fb0e597e2a95ace3566c5c6134
describe
'4094' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDC' 'sip-files00065.txt'
625a33ee03e21630629ae4afd7860463
dd6f310336ed134e4115d55d36aa47996c818d81
describe
'9768' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDD' 'sip-files00065thm.jpg'
8e89b6dde3fc29e585f8105cdc381db7
e63fca56a8336a8af6780e39307686b56d229f59
describe
'720483' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDE' 'sip-files00066.jp2'
e9846103c1bd40c269f60c874688bdba
e0cff1b50cb3bb544791b8dad24ef994611e618b
describe
'177230' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDF' 'sip-files00066.jpg'
2eca199a76a6ebbb1a387578c8b58a4d
18d14b91f5fff0fe5ab9dfac03ea9ad599be406f
'2011-12-13T06:56:23-05:00'
describe
'58109' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDG' 'sip-files00066.pro'
207cf81ea00ac97570d500742bafd7e5
f28a7f6a6e0508fc27f701d95647fb0b974a0214
'2011-12-13T06:54:57-05:00'
describe
'42377' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDH' 'sip-files00066.QC.jpg'
a73007d2f7b59eec38599b2b38d2c386
1d3c157b9e07ff4487474be2ed965d42003b50cf
describe
'5788440' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDI' 'sip-files00066.tif'
f0c6a5869eca8af98aefa1eca11ec2d6
99bdbafcd5482439616280ad4795014daee84d91
describe
'2357' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDJ' 'sip-files00066.txt'
c25199731c6a4e0c5c8fe38218e9db97
8fa31053bb6c614cd332bc235f3984a6fb5ac298
describe
Invalid character
'9880' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDK' 'sip-files00066thm.jpg'
50383da5a18f2a4210e41481d7d7c497
f7f044f0a134bc426a04e7731db2d78fe2e68d19
'2011-12-13T06:55:55-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDL' 'sip-files00067.jp2'
043c3633640bdfc977ac739524f9b45d
ca68b46ca9ee9e0866a7684a7eb0ceba0278b1c6
describe
'136793' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDM' 'sip-files00067.jpg'
16b1545e8b2e4cdcd11eec382e80944d
92e742c803532f5bc3ac492519b7247878ead59c
describe
'67907' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDN' 'sip-files00067.pro'
72635066a8cd6d8d84b4774c2a9f0c7f
035f7bd747551f63c583ee1ce32a3de9990dcb12
describe
'32080' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDO' 'sip-files00067.QC.jpg'
9ab80f51c11b8372b4dd59944fcabd3c
5db94644af90226622a5f46e9ec7cb899aed7e59
'2011-12-13T06:54:00-05:00'
describe
'5787152' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDP' 'sip-files00067.tif'
7b5a255500eefc91aa927b673544005f
e2a7d707a33ad06f1958d445cea77cd78466ce16
describe
'2830' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDQ' 'sip-files00067.txt'
76c027c7b00e2cb81737b8fbcd472a5e
6546a174892137e899cad9aa11819ed0d490b062
describe
Invalid character
'7525' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDR' 'sip-files00067thm.jpg'
b1d18099bdae88fa35e820f98281fb72
ce6278ad166a54bf9c89238c4712c653ed357a42
describe
'720330' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDS' 'sip-files00068.jp2'
43d1c0fc79e0f7d1ed3e7e5bf08fadf1
ff973f2ddfc1368b80cf36a9bcc07b04571cf81e
describe
'164430' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDT' 'sip-files00068.jpg'
e6812251aab7456f532379ef62dab88a
6d8e87097777f9c81ca3615f393b88b4b1e758a0
describe
'112004' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDU' 'sip-files00068.pro'
7f802992a25435125dbc90244df5eb10
15ad1e2cf9fcb9e3d05761b5357ecdc5057bfc80
describe
'38586' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDV' 'sip-files00068.QC.jpg'
ba51057b332ea21883b2d61246ce3e6b
8e4e90a41ac6506ef89864e8f0c682de0f1755dc
describe
'5788228' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDW' 'sip-files00068.tif'
21a98c8fbb15cac5168c2cb1ce52c5ba
4bb52edf47b8ffe90d7d79bfd94a4f9dbd422c4a
describe
'5088' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDX' 'sip-files00068.txt'
0c13c79e60d7e3231dde651a4499320a
a2d3a32e23d082c9d988bbd54d67661c551995ff
describe
'8599' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDY' 'sip-files00068thm.jpg'
6c37f7af05374dddc44ccaf3245feccb
31a3ff69e27a5c6b253adb344f10d18591b57b95
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLDZ' 'sip-files00069.jp2'
1bf4c8694122d8029fd760d9026b9e39
f489d60d2428a709091355c0824e12444841c125
describe
'174930' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEA' 'sip-files00069.jpg'
8e8721367829d43c02aa59379a4f627e
441757d7389142fd6926688e55cd3f2d5dd77b1b
'2011-12-13T06:55:28-05:00'
describe
'128960' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEB' 'sip-files00069.pro'
634a3b4cd6cb736f9c8d3a4e6da369d1
40729c8ad4c20bc1326a69b0fb7370f274196ee6
describe
'41833' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEC' 'sip-files00069.QC.jpg'
567d689cf753dff70835849d57a9b7e9
64f317772a209db0ef85c6a8deb59358170c925b
describe
'5788436' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLED' 'sip-files00069.tif'
2f94a1ef1bd07cb77de65bfd9134d329
884e4ee0d2d938e982a0e61269c5491d5e91d50b
describe
'5347' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEE' 'sip-files00069.txt'
f393429345cce9a45a0f7bb3fb90ab72
d5a718e64d37b9905ade4e86d3e9e10f2002448c
describe
'9343' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEF' 'sip-files00069thm.jpg'
0a024776d5348b9f0a048e2a23d9e92f
4fd503bf7d15d508b7c0085fbdd0bc3370cc92f5
describe
'720306' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEG' 'sip-files00070.jp2'
53853eeecb49965aed9d255d4d974d95
15f9b9604a253f48f567c1b658bb4a88ded11e8d
describe
'164127' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEH' 'sip-files00070.jpg'
d574216d6a096cb950428daef00fe996
44abb194b2b465a51d0c250bb917fb450dd3a4ef
describe
'54191' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEI' 'sip-files00070.pro'
fec1f65b383d2c17776d16f27cbd9f99
efe0cb09a0b405e5106c4770b2436e0d525f8bc7
describe
'37539' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEJ' 'sip-files00070.QC.jpg'
dba18ef3e79ef5087bac420f45752405
7b63c664a8dc6721ec2cc566be6d48446792925f
describe
'5787496' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEK' 'sip-files00070.tif'
031cafae31245d66d09b36a6abea11b1
7d33845f156dc298461c3f7891d540bfea2befb2
describe
'2224' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEL' 'sip-files00070.txt'
0af36ccffd73ee20a41f41d5514f6343
8fe0a9e3874c8b6993f04688d793a4d4abb77f7a
describe
'8600' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEM' 'sip-files00070thm.jpg'
d5f57868a347de054442eedcf905c165
9a174744716242291b7dd6970a7a000414fafe58
describe
'720376' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEN' 'sip-files00071.jp2'
c1b2a941cbe9561dd17af57d829486da
8b02d957e9e57ee876c554065b682f1ba6d6c7b2
describe
'166499' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEO' 'sip-files00071.jpg'
0db8fcca9370ceeb8438349d6422a7f4
ee07b76dcac19606856967e6fbd3adcec1eebb7b
describe
'35591' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEP' 'sip-files00071.pro'
94a57da63ff609394b3fe5b6eaec233f
fe60cae071d46e71b73b46403bf48f629f07d4f8
describe
'37225' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEQ' 'sip-files00071.QC.jpg'
a41a13612e9eb601fde2c63f59c00fe5
7fab980a31d84350e3a522582a49d122c9a94210
describe
'5787920' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLER' 'sip-files00071.tif'
aae3146aa753645cb0733ffceb76a5e0
2c960354842c4376b006edd15a18aae0db5746a0
'2011-12-13T06:55:13-05:00'
describe
'1447' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLES' 'sip-files00071.txt'
25308a7528c6e4ae97500630ef881aa1
62fee00ff99e194197b57916af8369c221700c34
describe
'8437' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLET' 'sip-files00071thm.jpg'
1d95e789e163bbbbfa7fcd3357c76db2
17ce64d2cf1e63402f0e62448597dc31bd962dd7
describe
'702536' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEU' 'sip-files00072.jp2'
7f62a2220ef701fb1e0a0a51ef368a65
ba2087c9ff23e256d701c958b64327ed525bbc17
describe
'175062' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEV' 'sip-files00072.jpg'
3cf585b80f582d4ab18e94f59a0f9f3d
0e58ef51bae137e3c86fff740fe654c620a0720e
describe
'124205' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEW' 'sip-files00072.pro'
5163f1981c4ca663abfeb59dd5105241
01a96b7341b7bee0e167087863d592fa6949542b
describe
'42454' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEX' 'sip-files00072.QC.jpg'
c87b827c73283ecfad0ac7b275375c9a
c9e14490229364cae3cb3fac102e4cb3ecef3098
describe
'5645492' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEY' 'sip-files00072.tif'
130af556feb3cf2e6b931c07bbdff79d
be25c0f3325eb8183ae28d99f2b5737a91a287f0
describe
'5107' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLEZ' 'sip-files00072.txt'
b7c439946a1adac4f37e67ec82194ed6
748b6b974c0ab133193b18f776d18a90857bc4fd
describe
'9539' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFA' 'sip-files00072thm.jpg'
57cbeb390066493c19cbafce77d1bad8
737c39d979bdd5a6bedbbb850150fd4084521bd0
describe
'720444' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFB' 'sip-files00073.jp2'
4a6c7e15eea703f506f3ab2195ba255c
60c52d4a212b669ed3cb1f9dbb4936af5d187998
describe
'156632' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFC' 'sip-files00073.jpg'
65c2848ab16cc903e8e120af7a79f7fb
3abd3ee8d7b404baf7dee8a6a7d8ef69437a3ac2
describe
'110642' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFD' 'sip-files00073.pro'
5bca6121aafb368c774b7710f55926fc
2e595119ae73161816b10f5fdcebdbbb50f023ec
describe
'36333' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFE' 'sip-files00073.QC.jpg'
6743eb60da3876d7d0a21d51cdfefe2d
877bc37d9b728fb7665ff6571b724f90cde19e38
describe
'5787268' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFF' 'sip-files00073.tif'
b3a751e546e9dbaf9b21ea86a1c52bec
1a97ba74b4bfac23d86a88d1c111c29b19d4b838
describe
'4538' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFG' 'sip-files00073.txt'
93eaaf21338c1e8cee7c1106eb91fc7a
6d50745e043ff607c37de487fdcce9f2a6efc857
describe
'8101' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFH' 'sip-files00073thm.jpg'
4b9e889835a81802b780c508082e2b45
b58f532eb15ba363bacde2b37a4c3ea619733441
describe
'704102' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFI' 'sip-files00074.jp2'
ae8b9ac052e52e3f425da3f6d28b475f
671e1df499532e41e01afac47a856a5717c5062f
describe
'181322' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFJ' 'sip-files00074.jpg'
0eacf2421a39c3f26a6cd9610d7ca035
6183a6474aebd1ec60ab32e889e00131991e7dbc
describe
'118958' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFK' 'sip-files00074.pro'
88e1fa0aef46b2fd31b43d6794ffcb30
627acb068b8331ac620e2633be5c99bfb3c3fffb
describe
'42742' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFL' 'sip-files00074.QC.jpg'
81bf42440dbc9fef1a3970ae2b73813f
cc9533100503ef4e7345638a701d2fcc3e229fa7
describe
'5657112' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFM' 'sip-files00074.tif'
4c83e293d74a0f6d1ecb6870bf5ac4c5
68f1f30ee149dec7bda44b44447d825060c174da
describe
'5351' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFN' 'sip-files00074.txt'
1f3ae74e4361873df49d840d7c736a47
60159cd1770859ee3dcb1e493da758894c6dbb5c
describe
'9253' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFO' 'sip-files00074thm.jpg'
73b586ce48949fe7463adff3f1b4b7b2
71b0d69564f63c5b87662b09f4aa67b31a45ff65
describe
'706571' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFP' 'sip-files00075.jp2'
595d36cdd4dff469e4e1fa8c6f2d7eb9
5bb8ca8f0601ff03c1f832d78748b275b191fb69
describe
'159549' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFQ' 'sip-files00075.jpg'
45f0c0533fbb5cb6217235705cf17cb7
c022505f4fab300e09502b6a0891dd8d2e8225ce
describe
'28488' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFR' 'sip-files00075.pro'
be012c25ef5f660bfb421f997bfa8104
3f277fa012d1c6d165afa3a3aae6d985a3f3f1f2
describe
'37361' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFS' 'sip-files00075.QC.jpg'
a69dbbb238051700bb2e5176a09a83de
0502744eba00d7744115f5c387b963f571ae1ea5
describe
'5675540' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFT' 'sip-files00075.tif'
d1c74473826eb31e40ac3ff6d2638bf0
71b41c13187d50a8807e2ac0dea9427e03d5bd13
describe
'1182' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFU' 'sip-files00075.txt'
d5b3e0fb25d542f3a7c207622d954b1f
dc059f018dd560f6bea4896167970abbf33be19e
describe
'8713' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFV' 'sip-files00075thm.jpg'
dc96ba6052f2c34d08b3b4e6f7a66d47
6c3f62a974a08e98fed49f6ed80c2f4cc12f2b09
describe
'706514' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFW' 'sip-files00076.jp2'
4682259373b8592505c965053b55a49b
42cc605bdb9e04dde3b14e6321ec8ff633d23a27
describe
'175017' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFX' 'sip-files00076.jpg'
8078fd777cc8235d835cfcc7d7f52e6e
837ece9ff11e25532e2e106a550d0ff0129ddc7f
describe
'104304' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFY' 'sip-files00076.pro'
afc72ca55456bf2432596bd8b2aed67a
b24ffaf7f90da7e436b1ef70b2ee19343cc67c13
describe
'40806' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLFZ' 'sip-files00076.QC.jpg'
a0c52936cf0bcb6e8b48aee4447b1f35
1c251fccbb5daa11b7b8d90735980e057c60fa1f
describe
'5676724' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGA' 'sip-files00076.tif'
5e39dff70ce9001c20c12c331b6957af
134df680cefbdcc1cd806f61881f83ef4d68075a
describe
'4253' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGB' 'sip-files00076.txt'
6618580d8d3a0deaccf100890a113129
fb9b11d2636d69f3f7a4fe6c78a145042a37909d
describe
'9193' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGC' 'sip-files00076thm.jpg'
9178ab37e9e5cde3a1a2e135b834759e
20b453a5bc79e3481325694b16b5842fd7008a4b
describe
'720427' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGD' 'sip-files00077.jp2'
f533c1cb25caeac855a7dd793bc95e64
84ee5a7827182e516061ed555be82213d65cda75
describe
'167493' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGE' 'sip-files00077.jpg'
a20a14e1a1d55ea4db61716b06317bdc
4d3174905dfb5b8282bddb639657635ea2857a67
describe
'103664' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGF' 'sip-files00077.pro'
c534805792b7391d43548099fca513b4
59eda24ae48b406be8af89e37ec2083d9cce7291
describe
'39554' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGG' 'sip-files00077.QC.jpg'
e526de7c58db77e8eda29fb1d044b332
233e76686e6808afb4b1653c68afc0073992d4b5
describe
'5788148' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGH' 'sip-files00077.tif'
ae94c81f8c204ae7d34181703f7f7bdf
b9e228126df7d41a3b63ef308aeab74b8089f7aa
describe
'4315' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGI' 'sip-files00077.txt'
67c643a4e079ef3dea0c57b8037685b5
c53cc6fbed3cb6704be5c6dfe2b0d5dc2924f24e
describe
'8852' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGJ' 'sip-files00077thm.jpg'
2f9d32ab751fdd9910a63e9050c618da
721e8f08b87886d10dcb9c04fe6cfc006547609f
describe
'719368' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGK' 'sip-files00078.jp2'
4e07c93c3e4ce15500c524ad738a239f
78cad2bbc3531dbc4376de6436cd17b7bb324b15
describe
'177308' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGL' 'sip-files00078.jpg'
aabdbf1c1039f3c0098b674d950cbd4d
3bfb278e21ff949da6855afc567bcfdc7a44332d
describe
'1813' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGM' 'sip-files00078.pro'
8e354dc38b5e077d5da2e87528c12654
6f65acf3625b826b0959a8acd41c5efe771ab152
describe
'44870' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGN' 'sip-files00078.QC.jpg'
7d9b943201ee383bb7a53e1de97dd4c0
34d4165f3b369caa834f89b759812f6906bf1e0c
describe
'5781388' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGO' 'sip-files00078.tif'
7260a62c6db6d8894db966d932a4aa5a
bf024acd99edb252d0f973fd966c282752ece945
describe
'212' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGP' 'sip-files00078.txt'
d5fa60f5b015a9647e9037fb63cc609d
d92dfaf575442e6b5743be3b3f0a1cd49129764e
describe
'11185' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGQ' 'sip-files00078thm.jpg'
3c7c6a46fbe38dc2e48271725120f069
79316fdd5aaefa00734c0a6b88ffc8459cd78d4d
describe
'720354' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGR' 'sip-files00079.jp2'
54608b6b0030b1af26796f34e34496e3
d16b65e7edd89b37241785a61590c959b19cf224
describe
'177352' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGS' 'sip-files00079.jpg'
47069b3459f578cda2f7602fa4f6a2ee
cc64330ce2fc98176c40bda410fddab82bb1c223
describe
'130888' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGT' 'sip-files00079.pro'
3dcd608e09592f92e6f87b3920b92162
74ff12d81df4f008542e85ed0f99439163f09e90
describe
'42096' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGU' 'sip-files00079.QC.jpg'
73c627506df488a35e1225485816ff86
9d49a9027eef81fe53652604f3dfe8e78829d304
describe
'5788700' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGV' 'sip-files00079.tif'
b3b476f26720566c1fe564dcbc04ab7a
fd96585dfde2f91bea03fdd9a8a4f6e58bac7a8f
describe
'5425' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGW' 'sip-files00079.txt'
1871d4a9d23b13df1ec2ddd75c7aa7c1
637357e40fecab7ef4e87603b6d48c3f70d3a6fe
describe
'9386' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGX' 'sip-files00079thm.jpg'
a1e135a4cc5a65517e7217fd5aea5862
036a6dc63f37ac81039fde4d42be4b1e55cd0257
describe
'704605' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGY' 'sip-files00080.jp2'
b8dac9a830123aca969790e54a80c27d
2c4a0dbabf24a36a51e72a8be062bf3ace01f7f9
describe
'150968' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLGZ' 'sip-files00080.jpg'
ee63ab03901ab02d346210fce1405c59
2f2e51aad8bb13d7bae3004331c4cd5f789817e9
'2011-12-13T06:54:06-05:00'
describe
'86196' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHA' 'sip-files00080.pro'
2b68640105bf0f823ae51a9b39163b00
3fcecea55a761f950f9a7b60b21bd579c86d98b8
describe
'35968' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHB' 'sip-files00080.QC.jpg'
31d009342e5d00c755d2885161412444
a5252f1a64f86718fd64caa9352fe6fd91a22aab
describe
'5660624' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHC' 'sip-files00080.tif'
a0f69c1b6b9d5f4c68750e4325ce2883
ec6ca20e48a23103215087edeed68a012ae340a0
describe
'3546' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHD' 'sip-files00080.txt'
63b0081b77e332ccbc8801e971c78f01
b876d59bffc3d0c9e4c3344c7c13b97c9168625a
describe
'8512' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHE' 'sip-files00080thm.jpg'
e5df727866955e33f253fd22f4aecebd
596e33859ef543ad9908f5e02e48b9822454f7c2
describe
'686743' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHF' 'sip-files00081.jp2'
2a80789211ab2111a43fd9ce12652845
777ecc85ff2631c1db40a2282dc767fbed90bd8a
describe
'169209' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHG' 'sip-files00081.jpg'
5a6e1d69b02544753c77c82c00b0060e
389a2b20244cb2dd228a654930e9f37a8b264bb1
describe
'89490' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHH' 'sip-files00081.pro'
48fedbef4c214dec9f2653944af1b19e
5bc542430019e588ee6dd2b6ceba997c498db95d
describe
'40707' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHI' 'sip-files00081.QC.jpg'
1ab49c0d18468a25077f2b7b9ddda52f
1308400904ec49a99ebb1ca071369ad8d645f26d
describe
'5517768' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHJ' 'sip-files00081.tif'
a1dd3c1ca4b9105f15d3dca5a80a882e
eeb6cdacd9e75f9b0eaf1d81d1f915bd24ce1d47
'2011-12-13T06:53:53-05:00'
describe
'4006' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHK' 'sip-files00081.txt'
4ae5a124662361d4f112e2957c8380c7
ae365493ce74ab4b23026fe0e5f852e130f285c6
describe
'9327' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHL' 'sip-files00081thm.jpg'
daf2f40e62817fa1ff591667acc1cf40
20d83719eb99c7a5734108e178a2c753d7231fd5
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHM' 'sip-files00082.jp2'
8c64bcdadb00f653cc14dc0c247f796f
e425d7fcc361a75683deeb24c85c0ba1550c5c76
describe
'165707' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHN' 'sip-files00082.jpg'
bb47add51404e648a8297a412d31496f
3d2d521f50c84c2d427b6b4fe732cda10ee4a53d
describe
'125168' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHO' 'sip-files00082.pro'
c7b0241659b26806f50f47949a9d5099
f0f9c5639a3bbc1ac7f5eb68c8a626a25ead6e07
describe
'40022' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHP' 'sip-files00082.QC.jpg'
6e270f4e1bad66bbee4676d9bce077ba
26bb7ba0dbb5a07c4b371e7f3ea8675c48aca62e
describe
'5788420' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHQ' 'sip-files00082.tif'
8042adf07ea995eb244bf38d313b0388
79bf5e1a449fecd733d800086afb25e86b16e92f
'2011-12-13T06:57:34-05:00'
describe
'5208' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHR' 'sip-files00082.txt'
0c3eedf77e684f936770d3aed189c57a
9ca5a1759ad2c0da2596629bc87b03369f1dacd5
describe
'8938' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHS' 'sip-files00082thm.jpg'
dc3fd587f21f1400687f696f763dc095
a9d2581fceb8f590bd06c34e8818e5111d772395
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHT' 'sip-files00083.jp2'
db82a7315b68c91af55cf95dfaade8a7
a067958b6dfb1e531c734492297dfdde6f51ad49
describe
'167124' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHU' 'sip-files00083.jpg'
4c80e0e36b025a850115c496176cef21
e2d41e50cd3eaa4461c14a3612371a231e04353b
describe
'121896' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHV' 'sip-files00083.pro'
97e5b587db763677b7003113dabb45a7
6c0c64b1653a3fac725fdf069b7b6c41e95e8896
describe
'40477' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHW' 'sip-files00083.QC.jpg'
bcd5659174021282c5ca1f7a4c7f7b94
9075ee36b9a85084bb9cee771e1aa9226fd6ad5d
describe
'5629396' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHX' 'sip-files00083.tif'
148ad7c0b9d6716a1d8aa7717dd5ab2f
0618f4ec389efc07acd608837ffc67daa3b6042b
describe
'5101' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHY' 'sip-files00083.txt'
8710103f3b3a3dd43bf7c7dc1399237b
3907a1d65bf9dda38fd025b64a60c590d39cbcd7
describe
'9276' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLHZ' 'sip-files00083thm.jpg'
1d1b5625e854b3a6930c78d0431a62aa
fe134bb24fdfc027637c311c4a60cdfbfee13527
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIA' 'sip-files00084.jp2'
ceb83160cd181f7c2e1204e96bb3dad7
4a079f9272e5a174477f293e11249abed47b2010
describe
'171248' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIB' 'sip-files00084.jpg'
fb0cb471c141f61fbf0f79a090da47f4
895ab5a5919cfafd58a026efcce17a219a8813bd
describe
'80040' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIC' 'sip-files00084.pro'
b24213ed3b8079b049ec9cad874354ce
56334bdb912c95618d7f24f6a9f12dc2dc7c5b7e
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLID' 'sip-files00084.QC.jpg'
1a821aef64227157655949fa66aa86ed
aef9485db653de47471e68f4eef6d890b49e78cd
describe
'5788876' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIE' 'sip-files00084.tif'
9edf0f1fd041c36c577775275c7296fc
f1ee0ff319798644810405ca65ee9e3796072027
describe
'4146' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIF' 'sip-files00084.txt'
ff966aca3d0ff9012b4a85ab73770d39
b897c803eb390415086985440200acdd18da890d
describe
'9800' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIG' 'sip-files00084thm.jpg'
80f742e4c41cf324454355fe0aaa61ee
6ef26673946656a0a3bb0647474d67a4007602a3
describe
'692699' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIH' 'sip-files00085.jp2'
be872e5cce9c2f879fb31ad7fcf7efa4
850d55d2b4ce42355f0c16751115f8a4a6168f17
describe
'175507' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLII' 'sip-files00085.jpg'
ba28276abb0c8ac9dc6fc8a610f3634e
58bb24cbac662cea23c3db8e94a6238a0acd66bb
describe
'67634' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIJ' 'sip-files00085.pro'
b9476c707964fcbf9da507f71a6e0958
b9be26ebd1271ab0dea9a1ad770a315482b7ad96
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIK' 'sip-files00085.QC.jpg'
3cc4e0d7cc3404a1becd1598021305bd
be089ccc141cfe8a16d463fea2c55d4f7b58e468
describe
'5566060' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIL' 'sip-files00085.tif'
5b64d5317722a6cffc67ba8abe2eed57
d57fb7c47a22d755addd9da98575de3f9992f1b3
describe
'2737' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIM' 'sip-files00085.txt'
9b9e42922b027297f3e7dba239a2d51b
bdd46bf0e84f2fa930b96b5fececa55ca51287bf
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIN' 'sip-files00085thm.jpg'
8d57ce76e6d666755adf4783ef726717
ba8be96dd1b0c4f260822bda78b25e607a576030
describe
'720479' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIO' 'sip-files00086.jp2'
f4443d2bd86c14c657750d4941189b60
b9c809f46c4023968b6d552e4e86a9592c357cba
describe
'140379' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIP' 'sip-files00086.jpg'
041841da587e208b064c208ddc143864
1ddd8ccc5df60f986c79a59c647fdcf1c556a830
describe
'99509' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIQ' 'sip-files00086.pro'
1c25d3cf6fb936925381bd25a680d5d2
0a52c537b1e7e5ade6a8746b6bf7381b60c381da
describe
'35811' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIR' 'sip-files00086.QC.jpg'
e01ee2be55cfd2c240d17085f0c40402
e3503d5f46d816e4b2d89b20edb87880787cea50
describe
'5787556' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIS' 'sip-files00086.tif'
e69c8ab2ad03ddd26470b522081b14bc
151c1c74f13844176bb23dd05daaba1bb41930f3
describe
'4168' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIT' 'sip-files00086.txt'
f71dbb9ba4e97fa4fba94371dbb4d064
7fdf36914d2e7b2adab4a53175a39cd09a94c2aa
describe
'8153' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIU' 'sip-files00086thm.jpg'
d84c45e962b3723f4404508f367cd200
3c03852dcd464887294ed2c35cb7b2c5417f9161
describe
'692695' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIV' 'sip-files00087.jp2'
0a5254651be36261e372dd8bd164ef4b
98709cc02c56b94328d4193bfcc3a6c9295cd499
describe
'142365' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIW' 'sip-files00087.jpg'
569eb7851d273ef96232b25dafe2862f
0abb21e064c9f56d49f0e37a0608c2ddb0e59746
describe
'81305' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIX' 'sip-files00087.pro'
8ef3742a012299f75f099b92f86329e9
dad980ba2452c5247a57af1e65ebd43c87d2b73c
describe
'37132' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIY' 'sip-files00087.QC.jpg'
58fb51647a9acc5b3cac116fb011d899
d476b2df5e7dd6407214f298545c485f389900ff
describe
'5565288' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLIZ' 'sip-files00087.tif'
657538aabe500c3665fe4638112832fe
d78d67a9a6394299737c79569ba777e3077c4278
describe
'4089' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJA' 'sip-files00087.txt'
b973ae731800047e7971a2c45ed016a3
5d39658e5b4a1820bca7a288352f281b273bf066
describe
'8798' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJB' 'sip-files00087thm.jpg'
39312622418940e20b112ffc1a7c0fe0
5fd0434b5f8909cd4729761b614298408d555dcc
describe
'720477' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJC' 'sip-files00088.jp2'
7a61db5144f02de5edb579453001858d
7bcaad98db1d1ffe95351afa09b856a70f8280bf
describe
'164810' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJD' 'sip-files00088.jpg'
3d1d37ebc851615bf40d8dd99778726e
fbedce0e348ed45b5ddb2ccab13a7889dc261eb6
describe
'116918' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJE' 'sip-files00088.pro'
198a486a7fc3c23952b4858baedf5eb6
bb2a67d8ffbb261143015edbda4b11908404bba7
describe
'39294' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJF' 'sip-files00088.QC.jpg'
2b2b82cff6172abfaa588fab611dda7c
d2f3a94edecacac8e6b75303a5e55ea263906d40
describe
'5788408' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJG' 'sip-files00088.tif'
ac001403b473fb7ea2c7d1c654af8f1e
b1425729a7356eb15c12fdcc0216312e967b7fe2
describe
'5050' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJH' 'sip-files00088.txt'
f354c5ade70cbd9f9c1c5ea8b497c9b7
04ed01ad5c52251eed5933d43ea200d1dffe416e
describe
'8927' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJI' 'sip-files00088thm.jpg'
77ea50f411cf1cb9bb467243e623d4c3
1749664f8b6b1c7ad5db830095f3dd6cea0d9516
describe
'694664' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJJ' 'sip-files00089.jp2'
eedee90d5d81ff9afcb169e36ef6a244
0bdb1c1a048ab1ac1dfc7fa02d3d9a154f9a97ee
describe
'177031' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJK' 'sip-files00089.jpg'
0c5f9864de9045534776a1448b894209
78dee6387986c3f454d02ea835dc8d7fac91b668
describe
'120865' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJL' 'sip-files00089.pro'
5b46d6cd1c82b77812dd88a9851bccb7
97ef4cf3f61ed41c060a3c853f76275483718126
describe
'41841' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJM' 'sip-files00089.QC.jpg'
85fe2b063559663f557696ce944b80ef
f6877c94b7dbb96126d1847461b256fc3ce3f7bc
describe
'5581668' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJN' 'sip-files00089.tif'
cb1b1c67ecee0f1511c8091deb7919f7
688c0ac6eace4c05eea1562809117200ccc4f0ca
describe
'5034' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJO' 'sip-files00089.txt'
2f840d7290ce768554f537451f4582ae
1ffa51e1245654ca4bad7fac0ef5c595841f7103
describe
'9093' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJP' 'sip-files00089thm.jpg'
6750153be76132ae7dffc12e75a8f3c8
2cd87a27a209fc211c09ea6160cecf62d0e65d54
describe
'720388' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJQ' 'sip-files00090.jp2'
55bd6e399316a71ed879679ccc07f0a8
3b316f7f085d9337b60c7d14d5c99ee909174021
describe
'142483' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJR' 'sip-files00090.jpg'
2ef63419d4a63aa0d5bef9b49677a66a
939738d499aed099d81570b8e4e33b13394bf4e2
describe
'18911' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJS' 'sip-files00090.pro'
cf49f97ffb9e875444155c97f89a8011
fcf224d0603117618c9b9644da84391522e09bb4
describe
'33942' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJT' 'sip-files00090.QC.jpg'
34cd11f05ed6286dd307226a983647f5
d27d1d74cad18cd1e383d9c6817312392ba59669
describe
'5786984' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJU' 'sip-files00090.tif'
753a6c8174bff79ada51825af388b88f
42ce25c009ed1de1406c77722bd215efdb2eb3ee
describe
'818' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJV' 'sip-files00090.txt'
6cacae07e75b8e394644d830164cf866
080ff59f0ac1e7e11f5280445a4fea376602f7f1
describe
'8293' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJW' 'sip-files00090thm.jpg'
0c73abe4d667b1f6d0080187125b9aef
c5f0baa6108760650854d36639a84c2781e875c7
describe
'700597' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJX' 'sip-files00091.jp2'
07b9949ce52fdb3e5c84e317ee1e8e4c
8de7f73d991cb33ced27cb31eaf06617a07ecefc
describe
'166672' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJY' 'sip-files00091.jpg'
3f6adb8850676d26551c016aed447788
24fa21f988b1e5c1d588b0656c0609794d75dda8
describe
'119494' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLJZ' 'sip-files00091.pro'
56e9fa667154c9e442f196344c176a73
d123f4b4700decea8471c711ec19d38919908dee
describe
'40746' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKA' 'sip-files00091.QC.jpg'
d50142e5489d58c521e2e57db1e9ef2d
f61e7bd682878f63bce922636ac0a9ca78fbfead
describe
'5629368' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKB' 'sip-files00091.tif'
f213ebf09ed5899d29d6aaf6fd07b34a
0f18c92572c1fb1d6ea1339b383ddc2da2777e35
describe
'5003' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKC' 'sip-files00091.txt'
5932c02a165d2a55a9dad87a47d6dc45
39a0607cb315821b5bb6860708239cd3be643f89
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKD' 'sip-files00091thm.jpg'
91eda0cc1704ff5f829ff680f7bf4805
24454f4ee495405a58e0b592b69fa08aead6c4c4
describe
'708565' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKE' 'sip-files00092.jp2'
77896a1eac0fb9279c149d574adeca89
2ec20c0d606df97e482f2373802b84020ed47dbe
describe
'159403' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKF' 'sip-files00092.jpg'
87699f5987e0d096587e0d18bb00e354
89c3278f4a76b2aa524c8a9ac82bb459c4b967ca
describe
'112452' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKG' 'sip-files00092.pro'
5bbf7d02ee773f4874042f545ac5a904
3cbead1dd69e30f7cee6699adbbaa37585f18499
describe
'38531' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKH' 'sip-files00092.QC.jpg'
d0d61980ad6269ad2899f00f8c4e37c2
d9a0c80d78640c31a9ae994e8c0c022608af3130
describe
'5692564' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKI' 'sip-files00092.tif'
18595a24a334bc9df4fa2c15ea74c718
d69cbe08ffdab3dc34defeb1b968fca8c6bc9556
describe
'4649' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKJ' 'sip-files00092.txt'
e3736b326a12c525b1a5d0a73f4c4c66
039b268ff19d4f7981018460058aac77b13fa7c6
describe
'8590' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKK' 'sip-files00092thm.jpg'
4c369f281218af311b6b7623430dda54
2d346646fa4574c7e80adce935d4feafed75e7cf
describe
'694582' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKL' 'sip-files00093.jp2'
85b183607b0b51172ce02518546cf78e
c0644ff3693233b9d2fc5d8d8ea21638369276dd
describe
'163643' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKM' 'sip-files00093.jpg'
804bf773d74cbb6ed4c281caa2cae65c
64b153bd9079df0756fc879ee322bf818f35a9ec
describe
'86823' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKN' 'sip-files00093.pro'
6fb41c1dac016b503bea02a1d1b47472
6c7ef72fcc69cf334fce358172a53fd1efe2467e
describe
'38922' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKO' 'sip-files00093.QC.jpg'
d4192ef8ffff935e412422852f2ecde4
c968bb167f1510699792044ad4e500a3c9355714
describe
'5581312' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKP' 'sip-files00093.tif'
b967e1b544e8f46bf4ce4be610f73af9
324ef8823b6df3dae909fbfe26847a1bb0f64ec9
describe
'3610' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKQ' 'sip-files00093.txt'
ee198c0619378bd4a74c35f8170abeed
3ad66b315d090fc2a0517379cc6220dc290b0d27
describe
'8644' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKR' 'sip-files00093thm.jpg'
d56aa3d32d92540f709a7c38339022d7
e49c71a3fec8f5f5444ce10633d928bab189d19f
describe
'720433' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKS' 'sip-files00094.jp2'
3da7eb651feef5eac29ffa1173bdfae9
b31acd9624f95cae7e2ff283a63ada525da9b6dd
describe
'143008' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKT' 'sip-files00094.jpg'
5d44875c5b663dc5c74a23f852f9dfb4
c8486c6a1cad72f49d93d445114e2ff622682ede
describe
'72240' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKU' 'sip-files00094.pro'
26c8daf4683e50bcedd7e29277a9924d
70eb20d7592724e7d8084b6df720f0284226d063
describe
'34973' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKV' 'sip-files00094.QC.jpg'
c32d87f9de402cf7e35c9a533bd5140a
0e4c37006cfee668620261ee47e7ee62761f1f9b
describe
'5787832' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKW' 'sip-files00094.tif'
7333ede46406eebb1d2cc7a8a6c39bce
ca6b954deac56a2e0ac1250e720573b5665399e2
describe
'2970' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKX' 'sip-files00094.txt'
a838674ed0886dcd15bfabf2432f4625
c0148dca73f451a31fc240f4078458e1b27f6232
describe
'8003' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKY' 'sip-files00094thm.jpg'
8d5ca9e96203254001f6b92fc48f2d31
89075744e17ff6fab4fa6298507950285c24333a
describe
'704603' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLKZ' 'sip-files00095.jp2'
6f732c8898e3d516114619ebdbb8f1f3
6a30884f3c4bd01e2edbafd51f624c40c4cafe44
describe
'156510' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLA' 'sip-files00095.jpg'
abdf66336da6919eee478f785b96826f
41985cc7382fa6aa437258aa42614ddcd7268a12
describe
'103102' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLB' 'sip-files00095.pro'
c0237b13c800fb37d20d72333398e154
0dcae694a841d79a262806b0b5b7f14a89ecc235
describe
'37486' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLC' 'sip-files00095.QC.jpg'
38a3794924f5ddf37e025823b81473a6
ee3f33688f8d13039cc05b6b374fa1e4939884b4
describe
'5660300' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLD' 'sip-files00095.tif'
78c71993ffeb370422c708e6353342b2
e2afc62393891bc115cca9d19ddf8081e8ba2f0c
describe
'4294' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLE' 'sip-files00095.txt'
1ac5195fbf8167febed88324fdd27b9f
c4475f2a89240f64657f88112841ad08e143a019
describe
'8375' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLF' 'sip-files00095thm.jpg'
9360f81d4cd6f7362cc6b5e53b693ada
05da3400f1968200d9df7aca8da833818b6a9853
describe
'717335' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLG' 'sip-files00096.jp2'
16e0686187357fe304d049ee01e7eda6
f57bff320c726e699e5698bc000ca6d26f4b6ad0
describe
'176515' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLH' 'sip-files00096.jpg'
80ba567a60dd486ff4904249a61b5da1
c7e1875308d4093d4134540397011e56aee05671
describe
'110244' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLI' 'sip-files00096.pro'
6f161974e7250173e3acf67f90c5fd2c
9548cad25265f1e88af9bbd1b4d7bc82d18cdf97
describe
'41554' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLJ' 'sip-files00096.QC.jpg'
2e3b041497d10b79987da5ecab8606f9
395af81e848a59c8fa4a0da217a6806cba3f4c9a
describe
'5763328' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLK' 'sip-files00096.tif'
cc85c320f719003adff7daa9505dad7e
999ad42b536bea810f733e1cab7b853fae36968d
describe
'4944' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLL' 'sip-files00096.txt'
fbec44eadef493ce1696b00c179b6f8d
1bfd55c56bf4d8f0ca27abf034392bacf8dd91a1
describe
'9165' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLM' 'sip-files00096thm.jpg'
37589da94c7dc6acb2c7cfbdf0373f4d
5a99ab7eb5403ba7aad026ea0b847e2e16309fe1
describe
'700480' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLN' 'sip-files00097.jp2'
f4d32837abc376a0fae4ad159cf1af50
7b08776b58f3ad5e52f3122b6b02f2a9c4d71375
describe
'201288' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLO' 'sip-files00097.jpg'
2fb27e2f4a43d8269965b5f6ed799e11
27c9d7441415c020022ab7dd1055da182ad3ab9a
describe
'1452' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLP' 'sip-files00097.pro'
727ad56717b0e6fcafb7874555608cf3
e0739eaaa870a59bd537cdaa01376282b693eeab
describe
'44098' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLQ' 'sip-files00097.QC.jpg'
8023dafdfa79fe5d5a0a9e7c39320acd
de53689d805bb236b0470c1e01dee15f4eee0f32
describe
'5628604' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLR' 'sip-files00097.tif'
adfdd9edb01a559e0cf835b5cc6779b7
4e7abe881766fb5f25f6d761553e57a8b7099fd0
describe
'244' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLS' 'sip-files00097.txt'
4e3e889d0fe5b379d5a9cf19f53cf093
1dbf19a31604ccf5f326d0c6c72f231631aa9452
describe
'9752' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLT' 'sip-files00097thm.jpg'
c1a8edcad6e6c864a2b8b17da1c35cec
7e3a42dda170e262b08ce7f2083ffcc4acdc7b5d
describe
'720437' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLU' 'sip-files00098.jp2'
460509a97ab4446e20a2ba21944817b5
30b89c92ddf296b7b61571746c5f08f9804dad78
describe
'164465' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLV' 'sip-files00098.jpg'
3e404690eedc57e38a84be0badf9b961
b17aca0c21f7b21779418f664f2144877dcbd0ea
describe
'124397' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLW' 'sip-files00098.pro'
a3ce151720792d6c6e46109e57bfe070
0da7a4915c9a9315e912505c524fa98a56f78a77
describe
'39597' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLX' 'sip-files00098.QC.jpg'
b44bed16800ec76ddcbb14abea2be65b
5d159d09c0d9b453bc5100614f95d18390626113
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLY' 'sip-files00098.tif'
a14238e6a9174d9d85a8543073e93a97
95aad164496a2c21dc793600c1146d4df1c028d7
describe
'5102' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLLZ' 'sip-files00098.txt'
861376a1bb7ecca942bd65ad45072635
7f7cdd9fe5e43bc15ef2bcd264ae0035ed334af2
describe
'9087' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMA' 'sip-files00098thm.jpg'
0ed117a6083a8d2dd59212c9d5e53824
cbd3926894779eac489070daffd9dd065c94b85a
describe
'696582' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMB' 'sip-files00099.jp2'
422eca3a07adc15e7c6d05cb1930818f
14c7ff2b0b8ef907f8847ca038b0000eae708258
describe
'171891' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMC' 'sip-files00099.jpg'
80aecd79210d623eb035ecf7321c7407
32dfbb9b8e36453d45ea7d33f755b5ec0a4a129e
describe
'109371' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMD' 'sip-files00099.pro'
08726aa6b2ca48efc5153987a9f6686c
85bd05189cc66794dbe5adf4633ebeeed99ae1d7
describe
'42285' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLME' 'sip-files00099.QC.jpg'
560b725cb8fe68dd2bd1c26b807b08c8
764dd045832abe4233036e7545208d1d81b8f5f6
describe
'5597472' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMF' 'sip-files00099.tif'
69529ac63862301d12d095b806dd2f78
687429053a37af8ca5987fec5235536e36c44117
describe
'4520' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMG' 'sip-files00099.txt'
036637e6fe4906669dd1aa098d66ba4a
f3db4d8d4aaea35cc03631f96cfd96dfd056ac39
describe
'9602' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMH' 'sip-files00099thm.jpg'
12c18b703dc2d14d0f689ff3013bbf93
9866f66adc88a2e75ef01387923ab959dc171db4
describe
'698616' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMI' 'sip-files00100.jp2'
e0deb8dc87b5b2fb98aa1012d7af8d0b
8412c7cd60dcfa0b12dfaaa9d655986df00a1138
describe
'179618' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMJ' 'sip-files00100.jpg'
7ae6a15a9fddb206bdc5ab501d440197
0de0798be44fa12390cb0b1811e14dc09adae9bd
describe
'92936' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMK' 'sip-files00100.pro'
800988acabcb67c6b6e4184ed76c522c
b70a968adf027148d1d456ad4958e57a9d99054e
describe
'43993' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLML' 'sip-files00100.QC.jpg'
85b36ff0ff932cc1bc52fb0c13712b27
6b2ef43edb6381a3b8c811878f9703ce68df960b
describe
'5614024' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMM' 'sip-files00100.tif'
9fadcab0e003e29be7dc47b11b1e22a2
516e31223ef4282581325d39e63024693e5a9a67
describe
'3888' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMN' 'sip-files00100.txt'
5bd3ab5c8e07adc084be49b540b2f228
b5cd8159a947ee445f64db12c8cc2f35e72d606c
describe
'10090' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMO' 'sip-files00100thm.jpg'
472b21e503bb158d940d2d9a221fbf45
375b2736b42ef370166e21d2a88d3d00191a2620
describe
'688666' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMP' 'sip-files00101.jp2'
af6aadaa5ac3cea1d59a6212ffbc437c
5b2e42fda4caed9152e67ad5c7ee3347844a9b08
describe
'174470' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMQ' 'sip-files00101.jpg'
290c2cc3f0c79b7ea3d52b5aa723c296
401caf0913aa811a0df3e5800eb35b4de37f6fab
describe
'76634' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMR' 'sip-files00101.pro'
405b1775d555a92958fdc60a8a55f494
0e859c9e7ad6a2d7db16c2564aed7e422fb462cd
describe
'44101' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMS' 'sip-files00101.QC.jpg'
0c45ebb2e1f6db812bdda9907cb8629a
ebdda8c2465a3734ebb4fa3dbbc2c437e4cad301
describe
'5534892' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMT' 'sip-files00101.tif'
cd8f10f4ab55f46ad9347dbfa7a263b5
bd5c2bc7d9cb25087fe5565df591b9e59dcf35fa
describe
'3143' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMU' 'sip-files00101.txt'
cfaff1453fc34699906bd00f676e12f7
db47c5c46c7dcddbb574c561f4a3e2710c3081f4
describe
'10249' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMV' 'sip-files00101thm.jpg'
dd1f8a51840cfaab5597dd6c4fe1563f
2143a25c410c7ce6a0202a1c1d6b1866dd35408f
describe
'700613' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMW' 'sip-files00102.jp2'
7cec66494b88e5d888cbed2049d51cd7
76d1b196363a48eac28563381453e7b0a7220cbb
describe
'126021' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMX' 'sip-files00102.jpg'
9c1d6e3f0d152f2b2cf537db7cf8063f
d508fb8b3ff20d146051b8c81154c88e94b949a5
describe
'83339' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMY' 'sip-files00102.pro'
79abb0b37b880e740b06862203307d92
c905e27879511743125a986f0a9aa9f4ae7fb540
describe
'31603' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLMZ' 'sip-files00102.QC.jpg'
12545e0d637142a4faebd92f33a607c9
1bb4989a6206954c12361da3e7d47a8c1751e16a
describe
'5627864' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNA' 'sip-files00102.tif'
f6e470cff3ac1d5ecf145d6c9c5daaed
0d2ad8a7616f4dfe502d797fd188277656ec3ff7
describe
'3776' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNB' 'sip-files00102.txt'
c9962435240157b14e426948b4483cfc
821d19138019e63caf85b2f63484d23c5635a5e0
describe
'7616' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNC' 'sip-files00102thm.jpg'
7bb6907198093826dee3bf7e8ea91c41
3c55165da96f3a4b62e2217f527580d087e2e463
describe
'692313' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLND' 'sip-files00103.jp2'
b0b9159d6b88349410c8d8d0e3776616
d4e029cd0533e59578592f706aabdad31df578f2
describe
'183286' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNE' 'sip-files00103.jpg'
e06eef53f7e334b334df273d076b8b16
30dacdb8c785b5cab6eb861992bed1e2d4c348f6
describe
'20757' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNF' 'sip-files00103.pro'
60d1d892c4f36bfdcad236a9cc6a1f2d
dda97a788893ad68f6289b4b5591a61a1a13d05c
describe
'41108' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNG' 'sip-files00103.QC.jpg'
324eb6ebbe60c3ddf34899f5f0e9c393
832e7892ddf5062995ac9bf265bc96a2671c1de0
describe
'5563252' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNH' 'sip-files00103.tif'
e6c243720f97e2f20ecb2a62bd83a968
41dee30c829ddb5c28b1feabb44c16622b959e04
describe
'937' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNI' 'sip-files00103.txt'
040c0423975f6aaf38f93bdd4df6f7f7
5430e4d6e6ea62057dcbf3a9a719c70ba37cc482
describe
'9054' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNJ' 'sip-files00103thm.jpg'
7d6f0587e8ba99d8c01330e91ebfb799
32fc70c8dbba04fecd4840f6803b3ca22bf48bf2
describe
'702515' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNK' 'sip-files00104.jp2'
8e3816f98b4d86effde88098d68da456
b5d75b3aad49480a88ca87913037108167a14c26
describe
'179557' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNL' 'sip-files00104.jpg'
6f4bb394c46f716ad88d0d4ca9df18ed
5f9a846b7569fc042548bacd2eded91bf69c2896
describe
'131426' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNM' 'sip-files00104.pro'
07bafe761e66a60bc359190f59a68997
9be787e0a2f80fa8bb5058e54f8fac391c1d5543
describe
'42229' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNN' 'sip-files00104.QC.jpg'
f5f538aa23394c267d5dd01730120bf7
c33863384b4383ab1b1e58a4658ab1ca3a99f8e1
describe
'5645584' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNO' 'sip-files00104.tif'
c0a87dbb3098838adc81a93b36a88bd1
f5154bfe1b5b820bbb210747b3cf9071602f3271
describe
'5346' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNP' 'sip-files00104.txt'
6c8d8443116a9bce5139680219a1a8df
b4ddd23d84e87ae20d5bd5dabe639650276d69cc
describe
'9324' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNQ' 'sip-files00104thm.jpg'
be986f388bc477a4698cc5f1975196e4
c0ae952dafe212127adf975767e4eddc7855b2a1
describe
'696634' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNR' 'sip-files00105.jp2'
f899bf8baf4be5211df66eca3cb7b778
d5e2a64407985cdc00755ae276b8c3ef293316b7
describe
'183818' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNS' 'sip-files00105.jpg'
da96143586690f286bb2b534c6685d0a
669e95c0928d3beb5b1eee1a6d4a3dffe1ba5001
describe
'135211' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNT' 'sip-files00105.pro'
a834b2f13320cd565d7b68cd46af59bc
8ff9b502b83a85e4a7a8e5d528f4f27b643082f8
describe
'44118' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNU' 'sip-files00105.QC.jpg'
5ae72b04edf8947e510fa51da0d0a327
fadb59c0f0decd8f5d77829c3e7cb1b82756745e
describe
'5597760' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNV' 'sip-files00105.tif'
474b2ffe41da55292f5dae7d388e05da
7555f125f512cd9f78d5cf1b2545969d1aca88d1
describe
'5565' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNW' 'sip-files00105.txt'
c2905ebd728f5d3f13d79add29753936
6ed9ab9bc271e663f051f922b92acf28fe974f4d
describe
'9240' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNX' 'sip-files00105thm.jpg'
2cf326e08e5cd0ac8bec7b760bc61e47
bf7736dba1ad5a401c350eed8d362a6e819605e2
describe
'708502' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNY' 'sip-files00106.jp2'
0e1edb037634b3f1daf81b920fadfe1b
e4d8f258d0fa3e4722b7aeeceda6e733ce7b2f9c
describe
'145741' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLNZ' 'sip-files00106.jpg'
c52854aa18125bbcf7a92c01edcd0d37
9094334dffa9bd92f050a2d6371a45f5ace699e6
describe
'46501' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOA' 'sip-files00106.pro'
e3419c5b432506c5c81ce3841c459d03
4074f07223d7436b3a69726adf38824afa939a35
describe
'36089' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOB' 'sip-files00106.QC.jpg'
7ef3176ca08f4d4c34fd742b070dd98d
ca52b29fc6cc665b646d2c2a41ca81c8be7283e1
describe
'5692276' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOC' 'sip-files00106.tif'
044a4304c567d5c05b2300c2bbf4fce2
8a407b8592024070fc8eaf65cb5bf68657d82420
describe
'2515' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOD' 'sip-files00106.txt'
23f14b13b5fc7e2296a4e6a61f02615b
2b877074cdd388b9b9902e53686c47fed2c2b4b8
describe
'8415' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOE' 'sip-files00106thm.jpg'
cc159101753658ee61e13f3e25e93d29
d15a830fc21efca702e1908443cf92e6f65135eb
describe
'690708' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOF' 'sip-files00107.jp2'
46acccdb167f86bd658035e8bfdce499
7c071bf121a0d31f4e396fedb38150c6f5b5194d
describe
'162454' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOG' 'sip-files00107.jpg'
a73200d5aeae024cc9a30614c28f27ea
eb9a53c44a56fa5cc2502c1fcf87acf73ec45ad7
describe
'91834' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOH' 'sip-files00107.pro'
9610a8d31affbba7b35c832e18cd8059
31103580ffac47675dc68edda35448b9dabc6802
describe
'38826' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOI' 'sip-files00107.QC.jpg'
db6bf5bb2bda83bf7e5cd11c6cdf7405
77c75743e45ce1296cc10133ccfb05f89ae5f03d
describe
'5549132' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOJ' 'sip-files00107.tif'
22a3b7f71443c21a49eaeaba5b381901
fbf1ef85cee9b0e79db1ff7288e4d86af690d0c9
'2011-12-13T06:54:40-05:00'
describe
'3759' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOK' 'sip-files00107.txt'
c6fa2f6296ebc04df893b44f75a466be
676d8e55c1754e1bbf22f76366d66433e5b63d11
describe
'8807' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOL' 'sip-files00107thm.jpg'
3c71a3f97d4d3e88430d7ba825887cf1
21442f769132db8878106cd9744f828427088b05
describe
'688719' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOM' 'sip-files00108.jp2'
9277352fd8de07fa6c1fe0582e1dda20
77ee7abe9519f8afbd7c8319d372b5f457360a17
describe
'192583' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLON' 'sip-files00108.jpg'
a3dd9205a95d1e413188ae7cedc6f320
7517f43b6ded20c5fe5f30f159eb5a35bf70765d
describe
'137785' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOO' 'sip-files00108.pro'
c567705417f3d0717d1c1f0fb5b7cd07
4a776212b887977ba3b8644cc513207324b45e49
describe
'45814' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOP' 'sip-files00108.QC.jpg'
731c931286dc9f13cd856850ccecbb1f
8e61aa2593c1bf6622e568c85a4607eab15092f4
describe
'5534444' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOQ' 'sip-files00108.tif'
568a32fcede6237d99d4f8b11226ad5b
34c95617587b02d583273e50b106daf833f2de0a
describe
'5623' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOR' 'sip-files00108.txt'
16f631417281e66377c94b80d6719f3c
4db00d85ef1e126812899c2cffe36aacbfc13318
'2011-12-13T06:57:02-05:00'
describe
'9789' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOS' 'sip-files00108thm.jpg'
9df3ba23eb0183bba67a91fe7aa68836
d09fb8413844b2b15a6408b94961ed5d334f4d64
describe
'700621' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOT' 'sip-files00109.jp2'
21474165c930539cf11884d497341f99
f4ffa33e545c6a71adb04c4b5782b1d065c8ca35
describe
'162116' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOU' 'sip-files00109.jpg'
6db8007e223023be1a9694bc74da244f
932b1c7a522724c23b4fbaa7938ce1cdffbeb5fc
describe
'95228' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOV' 'sip-files00109.pro'
31246ac5f88eb3612746d706bd98ea6c
b3f81153a275be5287f4a60619fc4382b36957a4
describe
'38129' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOW' 'sip-files00109.QC.jpg'
f3c4ffa903ac1134c4d78b6fa9dd2a3b
3b010df73af10614affcd49bcc5354f5014694c8
describe
'5628300' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOX' 'sip-files00109.tif'
c68dd3f10df00b18ff2b5b2d48607255
8d3f8af50bdda8e67daacda7521097314a6f72dd
describe
'3893' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOY' 'sip-files00109.txt'
0987565d360315e68132ca2722239b17
722e90756d33b50d95b11f0f75dc8879fa0be503
describe
'8905' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLOZ' 'sip-files00109thm.jpg'
d2d8b8d27363c3c3fc805ffb562df40d
fa69202c7e6a883ea5166290cd95a7710714e3b2
describe
'692667' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPA' 'sip-files00110.jp2'
55af4dd985d7e76287adcd97b7c48d3d
6e45ea98fc52eb4b2b5c2916acf3b35681f44909
describe
'171834' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPB' 'sip-files00110.jpg'
429b6e22c1feec779df509569e8410f2
31065178323244d9d2247f8a7bd2eccc8084687b
describe
'81284' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPC' 'sip-files00110.pro'
1bbbf71b1cefea605c1add4edc5cb093
92862afd1cf6b8e27be08a30fc3d590e4fb34370
describe
'40634' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPD' 'sip-files00110.QC.jpg'
5d8b22f7b09c310f57804fb7e6b3ff60
8aafe6b0cdbeca1e0005ad5094eea1ea48fb8fc5
describe
'5566072' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPE' 'sip-files00110.tif'
ba7d0f5075a5ae69b46f02a024c2ca01
5a6d82a1dc081b5426985b74875881d4e4271f56
describe
'3841' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPF' 'sip-files00110.txt'
c1a3f3d8b26f6b4c6752e4b22a526d96
0b5b2060b2122761ebb9a3888076d8b1e95b1589
describe
'9367' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPG' 'sip-files00110thm.jpg'
b0ea724428a8e2db7c2e680f892a30f6
9f9b1391bd2774a40925e299293558e279fee3a9
'2011-12-13T06:54:22-05:00'
describe
'700593' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPH' 'sip-files00111.jp2'
91ee6e3acb806641f64e6ba6df66cc45
5be4774a135e413c2864370f17ffa0c40bfb4844
describe
'169485' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPI' 'sip-files00111.jpg'
d7abd2f745eb7446b1af71ae14d40d6c
a47ddb0cee211bcbb6912aef31ba3d2e203fd5f5
describe
'78634' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPJ' 'sip-files00111.pro'
dc485e4ccfcb183e810364c6951fcf25
f1096c876ac76eb574966080f593850f2eca26ee
describe
'41299' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPK' 'sip-files00111.QC.jpg'
c9ae258717844704bb08c63f7e1d3aa7
130ac4c2dc2b461094fb7632e9276aac91f9619c
describe
'5629120' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPL' 'sip-files00111.tif'
f8dcc94f4a05ee9b7503918297fdc2ac
5bc4b4aa705dc686ee500252c537d39b9713fcab
'2011-12-13T06:55:50-05:00'
describe
'3191' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPM' 'sip-files00111.txt'
2e444d8e644d17939fbb6bd9d70f8bbd
872ea6848caddc83f085bdcb18ea09f30a5494df
describe
'9495' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPN' 'sip-files00111thm.jpg'
66620ca64dabb8a8fc1bcfc5ac876c03
17a1b0b200fd60c6773e817563750d1a2b4ad091
describe
'712498' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPO' 'sip-files00112.jp2'
157dacf0a7ae36a6efdeb5597a526924
8c8252d5e48375788dd6505060590075c0d5a013
describe
'175548' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPP' 'sip-files00112.jpg'
4b3b24d380635bf9542069e0ff5323a6
3b2bb5b8869905a2e4a0f34057c279a2cc96e640
describe
'130463' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPQ' 'sip-files00112.pro'
dac6a2d304afe7dee6ee1fd5f0609a16
4237939c9e242eedb35d795da0617ecd20c45a4f
describe
'41311' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPR' 'sip-files00112.QC.jpg'
062826436f3c418becfb56192535d8ea
5c325f8d10cdc0cf10f5a8f05b75a956fe421079
describe
'5724968' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPS' 'sip-files00112.tif'
300b87a3195a1a9b3f5b14c1e942e1a6
132b2b883ce8e398552bee282f4f935f87d9dd80
describe
'5377' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPT' 'sip-files00112.txt'
f6e6e5c90173dc6ca1298c15913d6bc3
7463c7616d483ce47a257e46a73806cbc06a3132
describe
'9029' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPU' 'sip-files00112thm.jpg'
b4e46df2d37dd572be5f2d254e58d686
aaaa193bbd180ecb6a0cdbf2e45b75ea2cefb80d
describe
'700568' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPV' 'sip-files00113.jp2'
54c94c7bf78c09a9993a18e5a18f501b
f00616823b8459d03e0fdde075783ea054976f90
describe
'182046' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPW' 'sip-files00113.jpg'
4f74dbe66b80bba7912c58e7307219f2
a517247cbd8074923e75993df2b961ce0652b1d3
describe
'130453' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPX' 'sip-files00113.pro'
168114dd442f63333547bc83549fbdf9
a4d7b01e7a24ce5e12ec0a684499d771886086b0
describe
'43288' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPY' 'sip-files00113.QC.jpg'
ea886098ca9ec9c596e2e4cc16bc7270
ccac4fe0b96b5ba3e3de0805570f6a136fcea768
describe
'5629384' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLPZ' 'sip-files00113.tif'
f9eb06bcdaab8cb2253944a172b486ee
49d4950b5d31220ce9bb4a177cec0ba83e88d9d5
describe
'5343' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQA' 'sip-files00113.txt'
2a08d5ad0978d2eb57ad52ebf923e15c
09746102a60c27b2af6f707e4eaf6eeb9a1c782c
describe
'9378' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQB' 'sip-files00113thm.jpg'
4518b896568d84136ed64c0955ad07ef
5e6fdf54d9c3b86fcf473b29c4eab577dc38d0a3
describe
'720352' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQC' 'sip-files00114.jp2'
90d25e3eee0e0c4324e622c41f0ece5e
c4cc0e7de888dd830c3de0b0c75e09302e1d9ae0
'2011-12-13T06:56:07-05:00'
describe
'162290' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQD' 'sip-files00114.jpg'
8afb5c61cecc79303f8483e1722936a1
3733ab01f3094cc4d03159dcc91144537b8a414e
describe
'75766' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQE' 'sip-files00114.pro'
74a07e31910f4421b1be4fe449e707bd
96dfdc2b79f3d59e721df82e16d44f06e81872f5
describe
'38592' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQF' 'sip-files00114.QC.jpg'
a893c63997072f2c1db3712396c1527e
5a7ca5673b822a09d03e26c6e8395585e7aa6fb9
describe
'5788024' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQG' 'sip-files00114.tif'
6defd164294ef5c230a75dcb0eade8a4
4273105992715d933fc9aac999a32831b00d5558
describe
'3082' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQH' 'sip-files00114.txt'
40c8394f002c92f060951eb09cb28c36
8e265f4309d58f48ab1dab2aa2ca1d7b25fcb2bd
describe
'8725' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQI' 'sip-files00114thm.jpg'
0e0b2659652fe138f4c25ea30fc83444
cbabb69db0fa283b3dd5b88c58f86dc9805d5e73
describe
'698637' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQJ' 'sip-files00115.jp2'
9582f32da1f6cf795b59a4465748bd00
bfd6cc1325b0f0e1ae28d52e4863af3b9f456ca4
describe
'175515' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQK' 'sip-files00115.jpg'
a80266ebf1bcacf81368022b5125f2c1
55eb0e046994393cb5c086b32cf1e40f1f07e2b2
describe
'109579' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQL' 'sip-files00115.pro'
3255dc384da6d037f638fe8eb88ac225
a48d70c2a56cc1b2f7b50f7a191e1b4437b6a087
describe
'42497' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQM' 'sip-files00115.QC.jpg'
af0ce45416a8d95b0191765d1530260b
933c117e946bff3a898dfc59954bffb57c6bfb9f
describe
'5613660' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQN' 'sip-files00115.tif'
29b33952ac7337a0228e0af377daff1a
d29838744e0d9c6ba3b47c2a9f58b6a202d24434
describe
'4992' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQO' 'sip-files00115.txt'
c622ed241ef4859f238bc47a6dd3b863
783fea3e547e8a02d372e55d17b364f2cb4cc5b6
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQP' 'sip-files00115thm.jpg'
add492dbef0c8af1ebbffd85164383ee
65f2b9eaf63981e5848966b97c6fed61a8d998e9
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQQ' 'sip-files00116.jp2'
73b86d1497f7a5873975936bed58b959
dfede58466dcfbc490d51b7ed70a4fe03fea489b
describe
'181508' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQR' 'sip-files00116.jpg'
7c387948ea3f96f0acf27c20bef9c7a3
0b59fd443a200e60e2e95702aa7cc8c3dd4619b6
describe
'135644' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQS' 'sip-files00116.pro'
2e1e8a23b29825abc9097c05446aaa6a
e29dd7a70ea4a2e2a8a7c3087f84836a4cb427dc
describe
'43406' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQT' 'sip-files00116.QC.jpg'
b3a621784c221f3afb7ba656b31d92d0
43f36660b05d5f124990457dc7844badd8c02c60
describe
'5693304' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQU' 'sip-files00116.tif'
1716d715eaed4f979e2acdc982a59e80
99282e1477cb42191bf0591661b9c42a73d052e3
describe
'5548' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQV' 'sip-files00116.txt'
724ae77dd069f698e2aa09df76567844
349f6b7e4a952f3f54953d83c9b00c5f820dc969
describe
'9479' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQW' 'sip-files00116thm.jpg'
10dee91d58e12520a8fa48f2e23e601d
864b0b819d42391c87b3d0691a62cea80864a9ae
describe
'736768' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQX' 'sip-files00117.jp2'
1a24aed88990aac5059355d9dfadd6a1
c6ce2a52c7f4eb9598b63baef6c39f63d88d6fc2
describe
'153832' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQY' 'sip-files00117.jpg'
fac79a8a8775ff843631f986d1bb5c83
184414a3391b6e040a25e01b96e9ff2aac986c0c
describe
'100165' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLQZ' 'sip-files00117.pro'
10438b0ad49361e3fc3cd093a7829509
27d956e1cd5cec921947b749b8dd4cd4b05597ac
describe
'36996' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRA' 'sip-files00117.QC.jpg'
a27f2dd57ef202e41aed54c5c043d3e3
a5a07f022aa808a156870061b6054e6d8a1cffd1
describe
'5918360' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRB' 'sip-files00117.tif'
322765515fe4b7b3b14ba854219e657c
a6802d670ec3a3ce0ab0eace2c59f0ce0fd4bb8d
describe
'4488' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRC' 'sip-files00117.txt'
099ab9e57dc9074fd7f67727079ea1f1
3e2aaaa6fe430df30d7b274fe499d011a0568fd8
describe
'8534' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRD' 'sip-files00117thm.jpg'
ccbdcc7f07e7732d6f75024ca54cef5a
b479a0e7e068854eba35de42284af3acf564df4f
describe
'720482' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRE' 'sip-files00118.jp2'
b63a6bd8720579807cfb0b71ac9e64df
c3ae3633b20fd9747176ac437fb931469630bd40
describe
'168018' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRF' 'sip-files00118.jpg'
b5bd8af22ec5ef316ae6b22988e34d28
91b603454a38749597c638d07f601bc3eb667b5c
describe
'125792' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRG' 'sip-files00118.pro'
29891942daf73a5c4619a1e71cb6cb05
d05b01cb8de72800d2984cc9565b82c19d48b2f4
describe
'40030' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRH' 'sip-files00118.QC.jpg'
951875e6459c4866cfce4847621d3c88
6f69f3502f59ecae49f4ce7b6d8604fce2c67bca
describe
'5788156' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRI' 'sip-files00118.tif'
e681f63516718a940c19d2f1ba246a9f
4c012340c6ecdaaca4deb3f406a3b34682f84dbc
describe
'5140' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRJ' 'sip-files00118.txt'
2c6022ac248ebbb57126037680eb0791
3c1cdc4a75ccc8a77249bfe36ecaec8ff1011095
describe
'8746' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRK' 'sip-files00118thm.jpg'
2979b2ddee930d5e75bb00931594911e
391025c5a31b31f5ae3865c605e7d2204b43820a
describe
'736807' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRL' 'sip-files00119.jp2'
f9bbc11d5b8460143ca84f20ad930c87
e2baf4dc25c157bdb15e3b9876d9d2d4af3a851e
describe
'163754' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRM' 'sip-files00119.jpg'
10b0e32ce87e3d10aa9ef23d39b66489
8c38234a5255056ab5be9d785467f24eeca79a34
describe
'70189' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRN' 'sip-files00119.pro'
46cc6d7a9a3faab5c09224c25d7825f7
0058d1e85cb9b7e14870dd8770eaf0add4b2a4ee
describe
'38845' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRO' 'sip-files00119.QC.jpg'
ef4739f11e298ac7e61cc46ea875aebb
063bc73ff1d9f1f7ec47ef6157b4e72212044339
describe
'5918208' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRP' 'sip-files00119.tif'
1cffea2ff84587decf0767416c965bd8
c661fc2dcbb64106628462719cbbd522316b4760
describe
'2883' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRQ' 'sip-files00119.txt'
11df1075b37f77323f0b0155692b1064
8a1c6b98e308d4410899474771d3ba309b0b466a
describe
'8978' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRR' 'sip-files00119thm.jpg'
76d23ea4ea8eb147eb90b0c9d89d97d1
185036870b203515c00c8861f172649da6477c57
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRS' 'sip-files00120.jp2'
83cf2df2badf32fe42f6bb89e2d0bd6d
305889e53eadf955c148ca5a5f0bdb7031d917f4
describe
'174208' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRT' 'sip-files00120.jpg'
8471cd156d20ec35ffc6e35e9cbe0579
1bf4a48d69f2a912757ae3cd358b2cf579d3d0a0
describe
'71678' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRU' 'sip-files00120.pro'
ec6f33723a934b12c1afc5d41d5865ce
445b60b9e878a116461ac97fa47829bffc4ce434
describe
'40388' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRV' 'sip-files00120.QC.jpg'
b578ecc3be634f8ce274d1a36bc57e32
5348604ef9ea1ddc6bb1c839dbe9138c7eda60e7
describe
'5787632' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRW' 'sip-files00120.tif'
799a7b102da04bd7ad61969fec6db0fa
faa678d1cc0880659cbc76b1c54ac00c3fdce25a
describe
'2940' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRX' 'sip-files00120.txt'
34fae6a1740d90d680471e02edec1786
995451f53d1b9868561165853b40192526c0c1ab
describe
'8981' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRY' 'sip-files00120thm.jpg'
0234e0900f306320992bc7355dd03ee8
7e75973270063830186479ec7de49ab3e20c226c
describe
'720401' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLRZ' 'sip-files00121.jp2'
74f4dc4ab7264a1cd05ce86c1484fc2f
828a79113205dac772e561178f7026694b5df672
describe
'171266' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSA' 'sip-files00121.jpg'
0c00e34938ff68099c91746f2cb06341
e0c38ed4153db98cdd35fdb7ff7d5b660749dd6f
describe
'132293' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSB' 'sip-files00121.pro'
77667dd8efb40b779b19812180e66b23
f0cc6f083f376b325ff4c970d79188e091543add
describe
'41338' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSC' 'sip-files00121.QC.jpg'
7d21496237cd2a3b4da8a7801243d4f6
1093abe424df65e78dd46ef5d11a6268f900eef8
describe
'5788060' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSD' 'sip-files00121.tif'
c8fecdcbdce9eadbb15f0b4d186a2bc3
2c31a24988aaf87d304ecf1e3958e34e03b749df
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSE' 'sip-files00121.txt'
93d7e4956d10b5615bcaa9b4ffae64cc
604dcf2d33ed304391005dabd223bad68da1f662
describe
'8812' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSF' 'sip-files00121thm.jpg'
cb15e215f1660ee9db361c153e38a8f9
2955bbd0573444fd80695f85180e603e870495e4
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSG' 'sip-files00122.jp2'
69436eb67a967c58aecf852a1528d735
d136cf0fc10e444b023a4d3f601d002bcdf36fea
describe
'148364' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSH' 'sip-files00122.jpg'
86ef9b491924249cb698d704602c6ea5
12035d643063fdfd8c5cca8f3bfb5c4dfa5176f9
describe
'102155' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSI' 'sip-files00122.pro'
083dccd2cd596324252f8a5ded3061d6
4b03d5f0eedbbd30119cc606a93c3eeb1ddebd3c
describe
'35159' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSJ' 'sip-files00122.QC.jpg'
770243ed8f54df32b51d8d2d31c51de0
33afdec43c22f21a694b5cfd03a8db8b6a2603af
describe
'5787436' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSK' 'sip-files00122.tif'
7bd4fb0309cf16ae090cf2ded232dc26
de2ab59974be1444c5702865d5bc39ed96f70b4a
describe
'4203' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSL' 'sip-files00122.txt'
8e640d1c84508a743cb9f9092339d26a
31f1d7b55856ef7c9ae5c873a1ed7c40257b9a87
describe
'7775' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSM' 'sip-files00122thm.jpg'
c407ea9d3eee84a7e9c4794f46703246
ffcf87df6dfcf11719f2b9c2460dfa1d4d153e86
describe
'732452' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSN' 'sip-files00123.jp2'
a9c53bb4c17875d4de9b6115d6f33caa
011b42c02691f2a360f31c381c6d35797f1c8568
describe
'169098' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSO' 'sip-files00123.jpg'
6e43dd1fdb1cc3cbb658ee9b708d7c0b
f80709c190719347c677fde0591baa17de65776c
describe
'126639' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSP' 'sip-files00123.pro'
681457b43d4d15b21a0c0109e04748ee
4276ad1132472ae29284309fefe82ae7eee8f229
describe
'40065' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSQ' 'sip-files00123.QC.jpg'
b87b324c20a859afa7dd405a21d2fa4a
60ecc29fc90df1ee825880170bc6bd6b3c45fdef
describe
'5883352' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSR' 'sip-files00123.tif'
14e62187a172c61c0821ea36d3f82de0
24e0922f19d8dca6b1e1ddff42d15eb4bf64c710
describe
'5353' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSS' 'sip-files00123.txt'
05b7e563fbd593459fe369e0aa2b9914
4cffd651a682db2c22f21ffe3e54ad1d5c86acb6
describe
Invalid character
'8546' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLST' 'sip-files00123thm.jpg'
497bd79e20f7ab882d4f4dd48cbad3e9
e69037a98b018c120e22fc74c2c6500102386c43
describe
'711750' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSU' 'sip-files00124.jp2'
2d7649cbc5586a8c052cc6ede8924873
bc46f7dacc46ec7ea9c583d93244757f74cceec3
describe
'165842' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSV' 'sip-files00124.jpg'
3eb0ddca637d979c902acbf3d11a1b33
b997b59325e26f508c77f7177e612b5edefb4c7c
describe
'56965' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSW' 'sip-files00124.pro'
62b56fa96f8fd226cb5e6cfe1805efc8
3f04147503666a5b38ea2aa3f5ee28fbc8a24f7a
describe
'38830' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSX' 'sip-files00124.QC.jpg'
a2223e1c4ccc0ca45a9661f06874801b
6df3b33eee8743fb6982a7ed77587928c53c48ad
describe
'5717656' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSY' 'sip-files00124.tif'
f37c02ff2522825df68fd2cc23432a93
34f407e2c42f55a31d0fe118393163d4fa4ea36e
describe
'2296' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLSZ' 'sip-files00124.txt'
3a92e32b6a0317e5648691bfe524c03e
94291cd25fbd3df881531aa59cda7b99f8b2c813
describe
'8763' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTA' 'sip-files00124thm.jpg'
0fa696bad3a4be6bed188b9a9ed8d8d5
4cf4d8d2da320e517048c68a5ff291ba121f80b8
describe
'700550' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTB' 'sip-files00125.jp2'
ab1b70dff57a1b39e9482b6f1f85fea9
1abf034efc9ae3c626a5807fa9d3be4d41b1b8eb
describe
'175885' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTC' 'sip-files00125.jpg'
379e1bcd494781f93801055dfe7f0005
a7654bfb39f6462425fac1dd00eca7f82fd83dac
describe
'126031' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTD' 'sip-files00125.pro'
5031c3a1b4c1dc132deedee48b53e3d7
8c92c9f171d8b625f72e8f705680624fd5f1ed0a
describe
'42000' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTE' 'sip-files00125.QC.jpg'
3dc1ec92d3d898d95d0e2d8b9fe3d87a
cc01869c3b91fd3dde654cae55ece7acc720710b
describe
'5629400' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTF' 'sip-files00125.tif'
5dda5fc64832c23a2690fdcd995aa84a
a5d40f6d4b589a6138f3fcaf470aa40fbb236534
describe
'5437' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTG' 'sip-files00125.txt'
e506b45d19549d541aed8d6cbf3f5964
dad134ef4dd24d9c6e7209f20886a5150bd517de
describe
Invalid character
'9527' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTH' 'sip-files00125thm.jpg'
09f366ce4c3fe88b6329f3b303ee6d7c
6aedce74edc792bd306d5a321620ffb4d6100fcc
describe
'698530' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTI' 'sip-files00126.jp2'
da6ff5853dbf9160f18be2a2697367bf
5df266d88a0f028331602de106c940fe9277b7cd
describe
'186517' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTJ' 'sip-files00126.jpg'
47cee7b0c1b5b916783a616636ae6e79
3d6c7adba0ff4756cc062e9d4c650c6b74f59066
describe
'998' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTK' 'sip-files00126.pro'
0286d7387eed7c41aa45735815028e4c
bf40f8d79964b46d677759b97914fc2521843760
describe
'42970' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTL' 'sip-files00126.QC.jpg'
cada4b4747618427ba8a91708f4b7195
84d79fa09f2dde7e9cc956bf5102fea23ca2173d
describe
'5612952' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTM' 'sip-files00126.tif'
407b91f85948b6b2fb395151b7585506
e426134f1b2af825bab3e71aa2ac633176736818
describe
'198' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTN' 'sip-files00126.txt'
5a37905125aa66dc633ec90b2bdbc258
165f5b8b916ac56ad84baa4aba06344518dcb844
describe
'10065' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTO' 'sip-files00126thm.jpg'
a7c27f2aab2decf70e3067346a98b29e
db8bea3d706cc1723898239b7a820dda2c21e2a6
describe
'701183' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTP' 'sip-files00127.jp2'
272620fe64220e4eeb102c276a7772e7
e53daa9d97cc952c8b4da8b79d63fb2e77bb8e41
describe
'143520' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTQ' 'sip-files00127.jpg'
549d3dc2f217f21eff950361b12aa900
f0c85aea6c29390cbce97f611daa543e550c8230
describe
'90468' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTR' 'sip-files00127.pro'
bb369f829b97b0b432835a1dd2752952
27a391eb3baffbd1e3dda138d05d56c2ab9e0821
describe
'35248' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTS' 'sip-files00127.QC.jpg'
c9d54083db0c2b54f1d952c8b44d437f
ce17e62239d67ebe6cc1f85772026eaf23e707fa
describe
'5632900' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTT' 'sip-files00127.tif'
853352f4a622816f1cc29d06a1280446
fdef90cc9d670de382134231919602d3e2e0c8da
describe
'3999' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTU' 'sip-files00127.txt'
a2bc6f11688f804e1754ff616f3728aa
2115b8495bb781a14dd970a55dc5c80c3da99d59
describe
'8242' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTV' 'sip-files00127thm.jpg'
0b470b6c8d0ad281fa1724eeb1adf881
8734f90d2ff4f1f8aa431d9aa6b5459da82a898c
describe
'728634' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTW' 'sip-files00128.jp2'
a3f1260c1aa870a6ba226e662aa72d56
6e12af2fe301910d97085a8123c6408757c965c3
describe
'128459' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTX' 'sip-files00128.jpg'
ba08df913ce9f4041dddc2b8ad653e88
1c8279503be92ff14cc7777bfb0d857dc13dcc54
describe
'87606' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTY' 'sip-files00128.pro'
247339859e06b499129f6dd0ba6fa6b7
8bb96d0f9cd9fc73891450403f18fcaeeb94259a
describe
'31874' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLTZ' 'sip-files00128.QC.jpg'
94247583f8b224df95945ce7498d7ab0
f70c15a00580bdbef341e363b05d33af81ec88f0
describe
'5852148' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUA' 'sip-files00128.tif'
ab83819e102065461d59ca1a65b0a064
a3d25ccc63e64cff0317195d6e0c862ed6048554
describe
'4150' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUB' 'sip-files00128.txt'
35a5b8ba238cc7160741adc0fa54706e
845f8402ad186a8fb78251919704e2d6c14f891b
describe
'7692' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUC' 'sip-files00128thm.jpg'
3872dfa9c28e1d10c935bd800ebe3277
adccb189de90df6a31ad0960a8687c1b87f3e898
describe
'720466' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUD' 'sip-files00129.jp2'
57fe1141dd7a6f74c67771a4eac728c9
cb7dbb83a3324318335cf5fa8e98dcb695f0b74c
describe
'144686' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUE' 'sip-files00129.jpg'
8eefc2446730eae8c855ac73f12aa0ec
b078822fa240aa5e344c78961063786c8d0f2367
describe
'62950' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUF' 'sip-files00129.pro'
d92beaa2bfaacc4606bad4b8217df814
e155dc8f83ec116e66473905f96315e493015dc8
describe
'35479' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUG' 'sip-files00129.QC.jpg'
5a67f3afdf37cd42cb1e61a98f68395b
a6a3b9c05322fd7450123f1dd9c98a4fbbf2cf0a
describe
'5787900' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUH' 'sip-files00129.tif'
8ce1d52418dd347e5685e90da38cb49c
0f11c23772493848db4f783f52c9b0f5315d510e
describe
'2642' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUI' 'sip-files00129.txt'
6a37ae30585329243f713a605eb809e3
856ecd938ac7f2477c8c8093075ec28dce90e1bc
describe
'8331' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUJ' 'sip-files00129thm.jpg'
73bbeb50ab98ff1e37abe9871f295af0
687db69e6100c5065163e7e3ea7824bfdfb781b1
describe
'720481' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUK' 'sip-files00130.jp2'
fbdf1988c4a7ff212d435317b03b15a7
3a910b765f608528f8b94df0b2905f8d13671286
describe
'147669' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUL' 'sip-files00130.jpg'
c9390c055550f7def34dc6558a83c439
9a1a276d0532b748474b6304d60595e574ef8efe
describe
'57850' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUM' 'sip-files00130.pro'
3059b00afa868b59a35535825053b61b
406446db07e4ec1898ceeae62f1a57feb38ca65d
describe
'36666' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUN' 'sip-files00130.QC.jpg'
69140c7a1e71107d9412879149bcda1c
23e8f7c7406d34d251d79b3d15942549f61f01f5
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUO' 'sip-files00130.tif'
9ef911866ed5b9ea42d530e92aba1b8b
a371c8364039beffa05f5260c2590e69c18e3949
describe
'2728' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUP' 'sip-files00130.txt'
6778092eb3bfc96438361de00e24827f
cf134b155126e2001bfa822cb58274189f8156de
describe
'8689' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUQ' 'sip-files00130thm.jpg'
a76fb0ef1bbfd0bf6e1601402c637810
994182db1c0876e53f894a36f9de7816b858c75e
describe
'720467' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUR' 'sip-files00131.jp2'
73f05a5c9452fe38dc4a7d8b3bce4f28
ab1245f42f399b6cfdc50aaba65cd4a251ef4ba1
describe
'112478' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUS' 'sip-files00131.jpg'
711f32949ef434f13d6e40f12af75e9b
eed8dfee79d9211ddba6cc57f34cc393b52ab9c7
describe
'57657' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUT' 'sip-files00131.pro'
d3336aabb3e72042f780cd34d1eafb94
60f56253b2e75468f45656901dcbc91abee97a11
describe
'28218' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUU' 'sip-files00131.QC.jpg'
bc217687a194ede8d0d9416ab53d5c46
a3a6ee4f69c4abe2bd700fa21b488bdc267cec4f
describe
'5786828' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUV' 'sip-files00131.tif'
e76f4b60280228ac32a52f970bca43f4
4701a0c7cc539c92351022699c8b28f481ada429
describe
'2686' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUW' 'sip-files00131.txt'
790fc2ab3044fcb6492680360cf4ad61
6d1800861a30b8af2e8c0086194443c0395c53c9
describe
'7160' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUX' 'sip-files00131thm.jpg'
4c66b034fdcb04a61e2c49a6ff23f49a
50fa6618987b273c6e4f04ea797dc2499ff93952
'2011-12-13T06:56:41-05:00'
describe
'748798' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUY' 'sip-files00132.jp2'
cf39d9dc57c0585232ef5a95d6e9a1f6
832681f88cb559c705e4ad38dbfb9a6ddb50b2fd
describe
'166748' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLUZ' 'sip-files00132.jpg'
440ef4452b7404a7871de7c0174335b7
1b1dc9b8ab1ba062d830d9e2aa7b7a0d76943347
describe
'60440' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVA' 'sip-files00132.pro'
3b0d3661e1016aa5a1dcfd969bdeeb42
a4b768b79851eb7ce740d38028000bb758712561
describe
'38816' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVB' 'sip-files00132.QC.jpg'
d91bb89a035aacb1f5def1e2a821592b
6217480c87897154c521497bde6376d82f4765e6
describe
'6013904' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVC' 'sip-files00132.tif'
271e4911e6e020dc031cc3ee09510f8b
c65f7168a5cfd544a92c4e308149f1d30918a47e
'2011-12-13T06:56:09-05:00'
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVD' 'sip-files00132.txt'
9478cf6421c2c10ca53a112f6e9861f3
ac457a2fcd004a671a3a9612b29bce28df7dc574
describe
'8886' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVE' 'sip-files00132thm.jpg'
e9edc6162a077e5ae4e4aeda6e70ef6f
b41756208b5cedb3db9b50647198683434811abf
describe
'692612' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVF' 'sip-files00133.jp2'
ec6d054ffc767941c2cff6ad633ddafb
d7386ea2831c130fc5151f7cc1196cad2ec278c5
describe
'164584' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVG' 'sip-files00133.jpg'
9e19d83bea5402fbe341e931f59ef35c
81843148c3ac0429adec9d485a1e99adfaecba87
describe
'75501' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVH' 'sip-files00133.pro'
d156c27513783bd417641d4ae9751ef9
ffb0b33469aee094f07684e07a6b80fe9590e985
describe
'38866' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVI' 'sip-files00133.QC.jpg'
df89d8830e308886db62e25b7d426fd7
653157f28ece66de32f38b34a5fb409efee92c6c
describe
'5565348' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVJ' 'sip-files00133.tif'
82b7c569766d0738eee34549b5189149
2ea67080f19cf17ee8c37cb1c68ec9328d79d20f
describe
'3097' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVK' 'sip-files00133.txt'
2b3a30fd87622f4871a2dab1b14921ac
e368f8e84ed692d404b627e6e0beb3e904865c89
describe
'9247' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVL' 'sip-files00133thm.jpg'
566d4090cea0f8897f81791f0af6b125
c5897d995e440342e88153e8a823cf3796c0b929
describe
'741716' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVM' 'sip-files00134.jp2'
e71727cadfd69407c55aceeea5153b85
86879741f766c6e357e1f0e4470300c30714a013
describe
'132042' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVN' 'sip-files00134.jpg'
779d0f280145f9f342d33a3f2b8c8855
eaaa6acafc90740ee0ea9edfb9019e33ffeadabd
describe
'88185' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVO' 'sip-files00134.pro'
52bd76ad88bb94cc01624673ead729c7
af1f6b2d7f569c6d51ddef83eb085bf0ba68707b
describe
'32386' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVP' 'sip-files00134.QC.jpg'
64fdcb4da780392bb7742bc0478c24da
a756c1d443b81efb35aced13af1acba7ff3bd084
describe
'5956364' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVQ' 'sip-files00134.tif'
db1d09e1813d5a13a62710d95eca2ced
60fab8aafca072b387d465019b66f1bfbb016fa4
describe
'3757' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVR' 'sip-files00134.txt'
3645f95288488702fd81303f304cd319
02544748c5be54e3f3ce66c11017e2f609cf86af
describe
'7518' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVS' 'sip-files00134thm.jpg'
5f5bb91de93621854a3cb0c6a673bda9
ce4d0d76eec458b5a8a1848fcfbd91244fd126a6
describe
'704807' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVT' 'sip-files00135.jp2'
f0dbe43b54f1b5857ba50d7468fdf6fe
f90775623ad456b28e32bb6671ab3a73380d4351
describe
'185114' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVU' 'sip-files00135.jpg'
2fe311a3e75be4e8a7213bacf1c06460
507d1b7facee0c4a397799e886e2c1c85bf9062c
describe
'48430' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVV' 'sip-files00135.pro'
fc300bd438d0187130404b2fe413ff49
59ff847b8a9dc70a5dc110fbd92de983b621f18f
describe
'45113' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVW' 'sip-files00135.QC.jpg'
fc6b23de838f3b2ffcac0bf97fa58cd8
190cbf9410c2e4b46296ab890f7ec73dece2ee4e
describe
'5661804' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVX' 'sip-files00135.tif'
c3522248a0a28cd39dac957487a83b9e
8eac628cd5a7ba0e1d4f0315b95a05b62817009a
describe
'2103' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVY' 'sip-files00135.txt'
20eb5b6f4d246b359e9505b7337ebba3
f067aa17e5d6eb8413cc0232f4783b2d3d26eec7
describe
Invalid character
'10226' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLVZ' 'sip-files00135thm.jpg'
c5dc82d59cfac3ee1e822ceab4ab9a02
5a69444bcf48e2341c68253f86a77609ce962eed
describe
'743348' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWA' 'sip-files00136.jp2'
5e24aecb030502c9f5ab042fabccd67b
d4ddc59e076387efc273632b3ba9bdc6aab48d0d
describe
'171257' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWB' 'sip-files00136.jpg'
e0aa3c94fa84ca0c4935a2e18f63ed8c
506055b8a447acc136e346423a604ecab363f317
describe
'129090' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWC' 'sip-files00136.pro'
15da1893f975fee29e240639e48f179d
446b1d18378e23b2ae5bf26bf4c48fa0edebd2e2
describe
'40253' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWD' 'sip-files00136.QC.jpg'
3555ba3c2824a3a7e0b03e8d41fad55f
a95405745efa940baf79700132170ededae453de
describe
'5970672' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWE' 'sip-files00136.tif'
a577b27577bea456ba1c06052d966793
605d07d686d345b254adcdf0b96fcd515fc0c3fa
describe
'5257' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWF' 'sip-files00136.txt'
226ea41819d8ba16ccbc018f963c5a6b
f2bb5b2719c3d4bb5ea1e410be5048e9e20465ae
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWG' 'sip-files00136thm.jpg'
8a5bbe748e3a2d0018c4a8c771365f83
befcb3a99e87edc5f427920864defb41098afcdc
describe
'720188' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWH' 'sip-files00137.jp2'
f193a2b71050eed7dfd61aa0a229b2fe
41c49c4079df17cbec402467a7cade132fd3aa05
describe
'144714' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWI' 'sip-files00137.jpg'
6af83f4c9a9305752f8115d54047f196
f91481827e50400ba65464f1915208c65a254d71
describe
'36434' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWJ' 'sip-files00137.pro'
427a5fc9180b3b0bee520b724b0e8ec2
267aa4467344617b736c930de3c2357880ec00e0
describe
'35223' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWK' 'sip-files00137.QC.jpg'
f14aa671b627c17d4f36c971867c8e9d
3e9f387c391457cf91c9b3d292d223831996c10f
describe
'5786292' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWL' 'sip-files00137.tif'
8d60ebd8a83ace6305218a9e8293ae36
6cbc9e1d030a4bdde794d49473ffc58c79d1f849
describe
'1497' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWM' 'sip-files00137.txt'
f29ba2390bfdf33b9221afd1ee2b5881
68fcb88bafdb60f21f77385fae2aed7be044e8f7
describe
'8203' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWN' 'sip-files00137thm.jpg'
d191cda0df6b50507f1713b69d65d6a6
51874df9ff2e7411e31d6d390efadb4edb9ba48e
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWO' 'sip-files00138.jp2'
dfa4bee1fa59527fdc4873753224aac3
ac4b250e8cf0d16e945deead3a54c536ad6c47ed
describe
'152109' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWP' 'sip-files00138.jpg'
64e83ee0e466e7cf5e4835b496b9f841
42fe06de1d0f1a6d25ec76923eb8c03072f7d281
describe
'61499' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWQ' 'sip-files00138.pro'
a77b7367979b20e7d98177ff24a10b0c
62a43c0455c20c8e970e73d64ea26d2a20f00e75
describe
'35173' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWR' 'sip-files00138.QC.jpg'
81c65eac999562fcff7f384c4814f953
b36ab13dd0be0c37831ad8c6082d1e117c000a19
describe
'5787308' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWS' 'sip-files00138.tif'
b98656cdbecb34903fda9b04ebf6e7fc
8f10c058164fa59c7035e58bc24ea1003b2a0aee
describe
'2906' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWT' 'sip-files00138.txt'
0101eeb4c8c9d7903b8c3da29df340d8
c4ddb3a986ec428ca95f9f64deaefef574d51692
describe
'7854' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWU' 'sip-files00138thm.jpg'
04c84a65b270a449bff0b9cd8a8934a5
7e27250a6375d7c181f9bc63ac479b0c38f1d798
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWV' 'sip-files00139.jp2'
51574676bb456035390fc5d723eef669
52732a099e9e27939da5a1365824b319c9ef55a9
describe
'194248' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWW' 'sip-files00139.jpg'
a47b8e4963f306dfc274cb09fa4963e2
a247c018dbdc77c9ac41867ac8ead2601a9204c7
describe
'1853' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWX' 'sip-files00139.pro'
977f1cd532652d80e7e5b48cebd7b357
4580e85fb3a7ec1cad4340a3ddad40401e998c1f
describe
'43823' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWY' 'sip-files00139.QC.jpg'
2336a75ebce1876d3ab9d637444caea7
fc7b115e4851e8b3f65fdd80801670cd32b57019
describe
'5788800' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLWZ' 'sip-files00139.tif'
5d7812c5cd23505549e895468827ab99
d44397b84c927b29aac92ddfa4f441f6f7f672fc
describe
'324' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXA' 'sip-files00139.txt'
9d2c31c4c2dd2e39441717279f9607f4
26ccf75c7888a072c97282cbeccdf97e041fb24a
describe
Invalid character
'9890' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXB' 'sip-files00139thm.jpg'
215364f6422af400e6e6c29d09afc690
887f5095373c26da11f563f7b9cafabd435366cd
describe
'710504' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXC' 'sip-files00140.jp2'
4522a3310b5fbcd5a752cac940973f8a
fda18f109f0dd0c25793191b71801fb51986ce3f
describe
'175307' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXD' 'sip-files00140.jpg'
d648b4ce6a66bb3cf6dcbdb958b3f588
2c094a3e07b004aba9e73d2b5ef9136ab033ca04
describe
'130077' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXE' 'sip-files00140.pro'
47c5ad8091146d3e8aeb8d6696ec58fc
5d41d7292e084052a259bb7355149e78144cacba
describe
'42269' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXF' 'sip-files00140.QC.jpg'
3e7dbf99c2268f99c5c837da265eeed2
45e6e59be11598365ee74f81bae5e91bf816d3d0
describe
'5709220' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXG' 'sip-files00140.tif'
82a272fe684c01740d12d509b1f201dd
32fab90d593aa40ae6cb7b8527584131b24cfbcb
describe
'5309' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXH' 'sip-files00140.txt'
d10389f5264718f6955cf0886593b5a7
d9d30bd6d7c698d2049f9dccc09f944250fa879f
describe
'9452' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXI' 'sip-files00140thm.jpg'
2cd7c927b6d285ad989f4a9565fbe8d9
5959be6677cfc8577358c2792d366de73be111f1
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXJ' 'sip-files00141.jp2'
b5d006d8c82a5e6d5f760da3b01ab145
571985c3239c386f10349ec659dfa092974754e2
describe
'99892' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXK' 'sip-files00141.jpg'
ae52c5ff5231e03b7fe749223e8ed857
afddc77531b7e8098b5498d641fbbe2dcb51126b
describe
'39276' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXL' 'sip-files00141.pro'
a17feb5879f091b244e141ef6756cbff
9c44829f7a235715a555eb7c2bd1d5c1ebef1ca1
describe
'23678' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXM' 'sip-files00141.QC.jpg'
ff8c1b7f2e6135b3ad0912dfe9c1b9dc
7060183bffd0b40b4ae31ef6421181f8d32db081
describe
'5785456' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXN' 'sip-files00141.tif'
10562f748e69eed8d5abd30dfd95928a
27a0986d3fd2780d56cd024e45fb57e93e5e3fcb
describe
'1641' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXO' 'sip-files00141.txt'
73505bb0e0019bfef126c3a16e75b877
f07aca34c932a8d4e0435015fbec8f07e8b1885e
describe
'5661' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXP' 'sip-files00141thm.jpg'
d2e6913fda6e1dc8ce649436165f64f8
a83d2f0b497461970e8a8c1e048a74e4d170ed85
describe
'728588' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXQ' 'sip-files00142.jp2'
944b6dfd5f5f3220e99ba75ca23c6451
ce7c7f2de13eb6258fd1cd04b4b68feb250eb615
describe
'184588' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXR' 'sip-files00142.jpg'
dc453f2df0d8004f63c4ecaa0319f8d7
069aeca064fb96486a3ad1e4ac4bbdf893563e7c
describe
'20188' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXS' 'sip-files00142.pro'
4d0ec76bfbf83df0cfedbf529411685f
94400354fc3550a4f661133b86f4fc0372495be4
describe
'44812' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXT' 'sip-files00142.QC.jpg'
cc7b8345ee21e09556faa8a11d11f01f
df31e4f919cfdad7bfb243cad1af2961d30c3387
describe
'5853180' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXU' 'sip-files00142.tif'
75fb2fbd31d52495882c009457b8cbb5
4b9956d38df9c613d763f3e4670d3e352b51c3fe
describe
'1086' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXV' 'sip-files00142.txt'
bb04d5173c4c48984f59762e31180fc6
d4fccd0b173ec79e7afdd72388016e6deb923496
describe
'10204' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXW' 'sip-files00142thm.jpg'
9ab666dd6b4d4c40f665f3727fbcc4fc
b37f6deaa055236fc939e16fbde79619feade7a2
describe
'720336' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXX' 'sip-files00143.jp2'
24b6fcf3aa5fe468cf105e362d4ecec4
9303f48562723309fe6890234f0da105570a592e
describe
'181244' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXY' 'sip-files00143.jpg'
5e496f3435ffc9123efcff9a617ec028
e34eda72163e96e3e32bb408d2b0ba6b8aa9a148
describe
'117862' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLXZ' 'sip-files00143.pro'
84f69109516478ae2a5052a045a06af3
7b6ed02d2ab7a686ccc15cb509be0c69ff21d0fc
describe
'43255' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYA' 'sip-files00143.QC.jpg'
6cfc90e3434b5ed21ea28d658072b112
3cd83de219e3a983f42384cfbf5573dccbabf580
describe
'5788684' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYB' 'sip-files00143.tif'
99988525401e485662a0f5c714f6e9c8
66491321d19399fab7eff46c608c812764ed2227
describe
'5302' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYC' 'sip-files00143.txt'
144b666984a32440971b5233a55a3d3c
bdb6ef5526175b6f52d23092680d8559fddf31d7
describe
Invalid character
'9628' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYD' 'sip-files00143thm.jpg'
e9f32b7f57df419324f1c5935071d09d
c1b151356af4654be4ff7e6d41c533954d34862e
describe
'720458' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYE' 'sip-files00144.jp2'
5c7071726c80e61e47ba89102ee61872
ab2ba420e37ed522ce39097a803b8bb9bbe43ea0
describe
'173238' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYF' 'sip-files00144.jpg'
09e6a52a2bd17807acae5d5369ca014e
6de52221862dfa5ac13f94f58e31acf135072ec5
describe
'132632' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYG' 'sip-files00144.pro'
26e29c3d982164c37fea6ada715ef7ba
d4823bd663fc29b2957de863f42512466f443076
describe
'40293' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYH' 'sip-files00144.QC.jpg'
934cb6b7e77f3823906efa9fe0bdbce7
f926a796780352acf652ac99cb4bb81f8a0b793e
describe
'5788160' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYI' 'sip-files00144.tif'
ff254711b2aad504b10545626dc9a785
976fd2170550eadcba079a201d660109ec7148e4
describe
'5417' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYJ' 'sip-files00144.txt'
c1038a5c3f0ba5b4059254009813ee20
75a6101ae12cc714b653b5b9cb628117201876f5
describe
'8778' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYK' 'sip-files00144thm.jpg'
987974f5678785abbb1c32aee30a17b7
cc2f54f4343a71165fc4a3260ddcf54094b20184
describe
'696604' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYL' 'sip-files00145.jp2'
c7cac8aaabacd53597a723138e860bf9
dbec74966061540c9f368433140ead37d9830aac
describe
'183845' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYM' 'sip-files00145.jpg'
dca593a1e1a0015a2134b664bbed6fe5
8e7271d4d61aa99e39c3e02606eaa512c1df99cb
describe
'133139' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYN' 'sip-files00145.pro'
a3aefb5cf03ae2af563f01de597e42ef
747f2afdd673c255b9d8617cbc07cffb014aa5f9
describe
'43907' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYO' 'sip-files00145.QC.jpg'
76d5536e783367e518d2ab9a4b504774
af47c682426fc484ba8c08b64f7f03e16ff37cf5
describe
'5597648' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYP' 'sip-files00145.tif'
2df23298dcadde9748ac6bda2dd98b91
9a10fe782ef3a25ed687b9349ff6e41b1c982e31
describe
'5467' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYQ' 'sip-files00145.txt'
018f0c843a228b6c4dc97538021f1201
d021cd486af9a69770cafcc524f31aff4b2d2e12
describe
'9785' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYR' 'sip-files00145thm.jpg'
fc468bc3509bd02c2dba036a117cbfea
10b77c1089fc3349715b850755adc40e42b96c3b
describe
'720249' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYS' 'sip-files00146.jp2'
405a6ddbb45fefda6e2687663c7545f9
ceba85341b0e818883e926f2010d9ffe5395f239
describe
'118369' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYT' 'sip-files00146.jpg'
77d04af2777a9f8d33cad1ff506170e9
4f9d071c3a0d91ca5a34127bba22e900226ff45f
describe
'76227' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYU' 'sip-files00146.pro'
ff581d1d989adfd360ed3245c3b166ec
15e052ddae87e169a26976b2c26541100a11c2a0
describe
'28850' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYV' 'sip-files00146.QC.jpg'
b48151708a5631a76bcd9b35f1904d90
ccdba26c376f02b30c47503246b375b94d61ab96
describe
'5786672' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYW' 'sip-files00146.tif'
76853e02a801bc27041076331f438578
08e7654bc1c1b139993de5672bc34ac43aecbcfc
describe
'3416' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYX' 'sip-files00146.txt'
33777b5a53bbf9461c1492e00b256c3c
21fa9d1a5476a9b134a1ef08f278ae848334acbd
describe
'6922' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYY' 'sip-files00146thm.jpg'
0b6f85d39b07c97abb82e7ff3249ef5f
99102a4bc5713c1760c93191dd696a3c01a3f94d
describe
'741686' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLYZ' 'sip-files00147.jp2'
ae116475cff01ecdcdf11f8172f860a3
99272ec2dc143ae835012917894bdffdd9bb2315
describe
'158117' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZA' 'sip-files00147.jpg'
214b8440bb76219a6671221919e98eac
6ad9cd07941d527a5f893d77942c1bf778d3d6a8
describe
'28873' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZB' 'sip-files00147.pro'
1e74e292007c8e171de18836aa79c135
a594a3bba40969ccd4cd06a24d3fe264fee1b1b9
describe
'36585' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZC' 'sip-files00147.QC.jpg'
8475a37c5d0e8dabcc5e9d4d73687b79
30310001b2180b3ca5e32fa835ad510517f90381
describe
'5956648' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZD' 'sip-files00147.tif'
49d055349f0f26d46b1d74e3a67e2564
555d9ad1c790b00ab661c0272be6612db5a11c66
describe
'1331' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZE' 'sip-files00147.txt'
2445cd96eae6b930984fe519218cb239
3c8448e28c5b50e0700e3ddb1cf2587078e1ccaf
describe
Invalid character
'8786' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZF' 'sip-files00147thm.jpg'
68f05d81971ca4085a231ac8f6f63a9b
55f82766d09d1d7ad97374dc2e58af3d59879375
describe
'746610' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZG' 'sip-files00148.jp2'
7b347ca1e07be04701e863dab9a5e226
5c3de83fc30d3b65d067432b532b2b8ffa2dc874
describe
'170665' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZH' 'sip-files00148.jpg'
11a870eb2c74882ac0767910781b3a06
13957ebfb5f068f9fbc069b3eff45c01f6ea811a
describe
'125783' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZI' 'sip-files00148.pro'
649a9ef33babc322a3d295f50eb0ab55
469cacab805edd7c7a1e311c4260a031634f8ea0
describe
'40277' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZJ' 'sip-files00148.QC.jpg'
9ef0376332c6acaf00a4df718ef638ce
80795f04df0f68381ca4f22e0a9593aa795ebf7b
describe
'5996868' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZK' 'sip-files00148.tif'
9bb681c42a54067df82c0de222932ea9
ee440790d9b5fc83094b5b7602cae6e218d4512d
describe
'5255' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZL' 'sip-files00148.txt'
04bc6833235d057e0c989eb06bb1510a
f29f96501b5295da60d93f500266099964ef12e9
describe
'8931' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZM' 'sip-files00148thm.jpg'
8d378ea4515f14431cf949868f846455
961aee0899559f6aa9a9506be42b3cd98afbcd2f
describe
'720363' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZN' 'sip-files00149.jp2'
b53fc1f5b910ddf42c8539742bcc07ff
289510b2799dda07152e63b8d43f68098ea4d99d
describe
'176337' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZO' 'sip-files00149.jpg'
f29b052626e1a1ad245b76cb598573ca
4450aea601c7fe85d93358fbe1004147211002de
describe
'133836' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZP' 'sip-files00149.pro'
958a004726c71ac62b39a88e8f89731f
77e9ad89ef753e507f810500ad562d9856a1e804
describe
'41912' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZQ' 'sip-files00149.QC.jpg'
d086c693464126d26c027c0bdcacde1d
6c6e0d47d94508c73d18acc5dec9e2d0edb32a96
describe
'5788444' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZR' 'sip-files00149.tif'
9e1baf82a8643dd0a1c19a13fcbde1e5
8bcd8af6ad7d05e46e409e9e5f089d4da11eb262
describe
'5473' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZS' 'sip-files00149.txt'
26e38ea57ebc2d3b11f8756fd18a652f
b97a91a14db2afdafaff5c54917a09f528ace834
describe
'9021' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZT' 'sip-files00149thm.jpg'
2a501146e40c48863f4f9993e1659edc
b199f289289f0c2d8f8d9d56a9be22072329f7f6
describe
'744913' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZU' 'sip-files00150.jp2'
c9071a14da44ff6abaf6e1bc145a2029
84c9ed6739794fd05af395adbb0a878cfd2fefc3
describe
'162840' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZV' 'sip-files00150.jpg'
01e9ee69fb16df75353d0658ab8ddb5c
4edbed06dc7fee99eb564439ac3f0a936feac4f7
describe
'33533' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZW' 'sip-files00150.pro'
35c3aee41d896d5e6b855f52b8082826
c3488d5b09ccc2872d3d64447d6c3177181afb0e
describe
'38805' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZX' 'sip-files00150.QC.jpg'
0d8f199d3993cda7d4137644a96481cf
3f0981bcbe19c67e1c34c08cc7769a57799307a5
describe
'5982200' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZY' 'sip-files00150.tif'
a20791485d2f6d52bb5f501b7fb5aff8
4d503a69b8a0b4fa2b54fe44f13c2b57b188ce2f
describe
'1363' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABLZZ' 'sip-files00150.txt'
9a276286514a34ef747a0837718b20ab
93417be62d815ba6647c6ff798a93db0a0f06e5e
describe
'9187' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAA' 'sip-files00150thm.jpg'
c459701e245adaf867afd06f1dda1bd6
bfea7405c84241b437cfb398e46abaa63c5f7220
describe
'743324' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAB' 'sip-files00151.jp2'
35f2a199ed5a4bd403fe21af076e2114
dc090205857938a9dc10ba2815606d7c4c1b5f86
describe
'136032' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAC' 'sip-files00151.jpg'
1233a69fc62a6b3eff16f91335df4cdd
1822cd1598f9f13a1eed17a47f8fa19487c24e5a
describe
'95738' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAD' 'sip-files00151.pro'
9f93a0bc560a58b3590d36346849b7fd
c162f6eaeab8aed52967a749649c8da0201823d8
describe
'34059' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAE' 'sip-files00151.QC.jpg'
8b692ee9f0c2888faaf5ce7a27ebbcd8
6093a0fe57764cb8a389c537761e13de3993c1df
describe
'5969620' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAF' 'sip-files00151.tif'
9a8d5c3f4738ebd62e8f1e372a500b9e
d9519e77691ad0815c243f2c2fe89a131986c006
describe
'4013' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAG' 'sip-files00151.txt'
a11c85b3ba996086a19260e966bce4db
59dc7dd603b67daf8ed2d47bb0031df7739e6918
describe
'7562' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAH' 'sip-files00151thm.jpg'
8879385162d5643d336df953b34fbbd5
4328a362b42f21ef3d23eb368aa3feefb8d13419
describe
'720457' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAI' 'sip-files00152.jp2'
fad7a3f48cae8b7daea8c58eb5752010
ca5b40cbc326f2999e5ea7ac1cfb9c3eda8614da
describe
'145677' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAJ' 'sip-files00152.jpg'
d6b45e7f3708e31ca9acffeef78358bc
c861dbc78baffe89698e68e4d6d73ef7c03bdb4b
describe
'53955' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAK' 'sip-files00152.pro'
18834a66d15a0c7c185e030f2bd510c5
198dde3ea524064a114ce3e36f58ea282b4be5cf
describe
'37218' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAL' 'sip-files00152.QC.jpg'
234bef5a695da8e38899420531d54463
8bcfce3406185289b7c5955e471e63c5cdd23ee4
describe
'5788508' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAM' 'sip-files00152.tif'
685c4e5a7cc9db68e4a7c1ebbb128d4c
78633b5b6d77e71584c79d2a7d3e23960ffea4e1
describe
'2403' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAN' 'sip-files00152.txt'
015b06a32e7297291b1eaf55e45a8585
a23e519da277cab2bd635a365be978dd772b8e51
describe
Invalid character
'8897' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAO' 'sip-files00152thm.jpg'
875c8082a6532aa0131dff0539ebd23a
6ceadb346fda8a3238044825d5f7bfbf54fbe843
describe
'720426' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAP' 'sip-files00153.jp2'
baf8acf07d22133f45ca2624d51f598c
af17f3ef23da15a1645d2c6a273022db56e2b3a7
describe
'155358' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAQ' 'sip-files00153.jpg'
9aa57f333bc2c213bf0ef2c540d93187
a423a7ce21cb58952181931716136b1e23a41455
describe
'19205' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAR' 'sip-files00153.pro'
64c35bf8af85609349d1fe3a62c2e209
c789ecb723f5d4a04b4a85ed97656970cd86a06b
describe
'40099' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAS' 'sip-files00153.QC.jpg'
012dab98ef9177f9ffaf123d5cc76c55
65814a81dfcead60142ecb0e904cb4efe5620e0a
describe
'5789268' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAT' 'sip-files00153.tif'
3df1f37a75348efbaf24601f3cafdbf7
63010b253ec1faaf41fc5e4cf82f83c08cac3703
describe
'851' 'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAU' 'sip-files00153.txt'
105ff3e216d14f44adc33c85087d02a8
b406d735b6b25636b129d734aa09923dd4e7a63b
describe
'info:fdaE20080515_AAAAFMfileF20080518_AABMAV' 'sip-files00153thm.jpg'
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Al

New YORK

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’

Y

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aw
=
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say
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XX
©

COPYRIGHT 1892 BY CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY.

*

















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































LITTLE FOLKS’
STORY ALBUM



NEW YORK
THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO.

31 EAST 17TH ST. (UNION SQUARE)




Copyricut, 1892, BY
CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY,

All rights reserved,

THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,

RAHWAY, N. J.








RE Ess

SLOiney

EOWKs.

ALBUM.

SS

“NAIL YOUR COLOURS TO THE MAST.”

= HE commander of the
(eas — ae first ship in which I

went to sea used to say
222°, to each of his midship-
men when they joined
“Nail your colours to the
mast, my lad, and fight
under them ”— meaning
that he was to maintain
his principles, if they
were true ones, at all cost, however teased,
bullied, or otherwise annoyed they might be by
their thoughtless messmates. What the com-
mander said to us, he said also to the ship’s boys
_ and lads when they first joined ; speaking to them
always as an affectionate father would to his sons.
Among the latter was Dick Harlow, a fine young
lad who joined the ship at Portsmouth when we
first fitted out. Though bright and intelligent, and
evidently good-natured, I never saw any one more
bullied and badgered than he was by the men
forward. I had often opportunities of observing
how he was treated, and was struck by the cool
way in which he bore it all; and though occa-
sionally the colour rose to his cheeks, his brow
remained as smooth as ever. Not a word of



complaint or retaliation escaped his lips. I was

for some time puzzled to know why a part of the
crew—for it was only a part—had singled him out

for scorn and ill-treatment, and it was not until he
had been sonie time on board that I discovered
the reason; and sad it was that such it should
have been. Dick had a Bible, given him by his
dying mother, and that Bible he read diligently
whenever he could find an opportunity, or, rather,
make an opportunity, for Dick was not one of
those fellows who declare that they like the Bible,
and yet excuse themselves from reading it by
saying that they cannot find time and opportunities
for doing so. Dick, however, would not have
opened his Bible when he was on the look-out or
engaged in duty ; he would have considered that it
was wrong to do so. When Dick had first come on
board, the commander had said to him,“ Nail your
colours to the mast, Harlow, and fight under them.
You understand me? remember that.”

“Yes, sir,’ answered Dick, touching his broad-
brimmed hat ; ‘‘ by God’s grace I hope to do so.”

The commander smiled. “You are right, my
lad ; put no confidence in yourself.”

“J don’t, sir,” answered Dick. “I know that if
I did I should often be steering a wrong course.”
10 “Nail your Colours to the Mast.”



The knowledge of this was the secret of Dick’s
strength.

Our ship—the Fora, a fine corvette of eighteen
guns—had been some time in commission, though
we had not met our enemy, when Commander
Crawford received orders to carry dispatches of
great importance from Gibraltar to England. He
was to do his utmost to avoid an encounter with an
enemy. The day after sailing we were becalmed ;
and there we lay on the smooth ocean, the ship
rolling from side to side until the yard-arms almost
touched the water; while the sun, from the unclouded
sky, sent down its beams with intense force on our
decks, making even us, accustemed as we were
to the warm temperature of the Mediterranean,
glad to seek the shady side of the deck. The
commander paced the poop, anxiously looking out
for a breeze, knowing as he did the importance of
making a quick passage. He did not look im-
patient, for-he had the habit of keeping his feelings
wonderfully under control.

Hour after hour passed away, and not a “ cat’s-
paw” played over the surface of the shining water.
For what we could tell, the calm might last for
several days. We had no steamers at that period in

the navy, or we might have wished ourselves on

board one, much as we might have disliked the idea
of serving in a “smoky steam-kettle,” as we learned
afterwards to call them, when the first few men-of-
war steamers were sent afloat.

Although the commander did not whistle for a
‘breeze himself, most of the officers and men did.
It was amusing to see them puffing out their cheeks,
as if that would have brought a wind had they
done so ever so much.

Happening to go forward, I saw Dick sitting in
a shady spot—for he was not in the watch on deck
—perseveringly reading his Bible, notwithstanding
the interruptions he received from some of his
shipmates.

“Let the saint alone,” said one; “he’s looking
to see how he can get the wind to blow;” and
similar remarks. Then one fellow would pretend
to tumble, and roll against him so as to fall over
the book ; and one, more ill-disposed than the rest,
at last gave him a box on the ear, while several
cried out to him to “stand up and fight, like a
man,” and the rest shouted, “ He hasn’t the heart
of a chicken!” when they saw him sitting quiet,
without taking notice of the remarks which had
been made.

I felt, I own, very much inclined to order the
men to let Dick alone; but I knew, for his own
sake, it would be better not to interfere, hoping, as
. Many others had done, that he would live out the
abuse.



All that night the calm continued. Next morn-
ing, just before sunrise, while the first lieutenant
and the watch were paddling about, with bare feet
and trousers tucked up, washing decks, the look-
out shouted, “A sail, on the larboard beam !”

“She wouldn’t be there without a wind,” observed
the first lieutenant. :

‘A few seconds afterwards we saw the long-
wished-for “ cat’s-paw.” playing over the ocean.
Quickly finishing the work we were about, the sails
were trimmed, and in less than ten minutes they
were filled by a breeze from the south’ard, and the
ship began to glide through the water. Hammocks
were piped up, and the commander made his
appearance on deck.

The second lieutenant went aloft with his spy-
glass, and on his coming down reported that the
stranger was either a heavy corvette or a frigate.
Whether friend or foe, it was impossible to say.

Every stitch of canvas the ship could carry was
now set, and her speed rapidly increasing, the water
foamed and hissed around her bows with a pleasant
sound. On we flew, hoping to keep ahead of the
stranger, although, from the courses we were re-
spectively steering, we neared each other. About
noon it was seen that she was a large ship, and by
the cut of her canvas she was pronounced to be
an enemy. Her size, however, was such that,
under other circumstances, the commander would
have hove to and fought her. Whether he could
avoid doing so now was from the first doubtful.
Still, ever mindful of his duty, he did his utmost to
escape a contest. :

The sails were wetted, the hammocks slung
below, and the men turned into them with shot in
their arms, and every other device was resorted to
to make the ship move along.

The officers looked as if they did not like this
running away, and the midshipmen expressed their
hope that, after all, we should have a battle.

Suddenly the commander, who had been keeping
his eye on the enemy, shouted out, “ Pipe ham-
mocks on deck again !”

We thought that meant something; still we
stood on. The enemy was on the larboard quarter.
Presently we saw her keep away ; a puff of white
smoke issued from her bows, and a shot came
flying towards us, falling into the water not five
fathoms off.

On this the commander ordered us to beat to
quarters ; the larboard guns were trained aft, and
we commenced firing, though our shot did no
damage to the enemy. Our sails were all the time
kept standing, so that we did not deviate from our
course.

Thus we ran on, receiving the fire of the enemy
“Nail your Colours to the Mast.” faders, II



.and firing in return ; and at length one of her shot
struck the main-yard, which it severely wounded,
and cut away some of our rigging. ,

The commander now gave the order, “In with
the studdin’-sails !”

We then knew that, being convinced that escape
was impossible, he was determined to fight. Sail
was rapidly reduced. Now hauling our wind, we
fired our whole broadside at the advancing enemy.

I must not describe the battle—it was the first I
had been in. Much as I had longed for it, I felt
very sick as I saw several of our poor fellows
knocked over. In a short time the enemy ranged
up upon our beam, when we perceived that her deck
was crowded with men, who began firing away at
us with musketry. Our men were falling fast. I
won’t say that they showed any disposition to
desert their guns—British seamen never do that—

but they could not help seeing that the result of _

the battle was doubtful. Soon afterwards, on
looking up, I saw that our colours, which had been
hoisted at the masthead, had beer shot away. The
next instant, however, I observed some one ascend-
ing the rigging, with a hammer slung by a lanyard
round his neck, and the colours under his arm; a
second glance showed me that the seaman was
Dick Harlow, his face as bright, and his look as
cheerful, as if about his ordinary duty. In spite of
the showers of shot flying around him, he reached
the masthead, and there, coolly hammering away,
he succeeded in nailing the colours to the mast.



As he descended, a cheer burst from the crew; and
firing their guns with renewed vigour, they shot
away the foretopmast of the enemy’s.ship, while
we could see that her mainmast and several other
spars were severely wounded.

In vain she tried to board us ; each attempt was
frustrated by the skill of our commander. Presently
her men were seen going aloft, when, hauling her
wind, she stood away under all the sail she could set.

As may be supposed, cheer upon cheer burst
from the lips of our crew. Much as our brave
commander would have liked to follow up the
enemy, had he not been compelled by the stern
necessities of duty to avoid a further contest, all
sail was set, and we once more stood on our course
towards England. -

The commander immediately sent for Dick
Harlow, and, taking him by the hand, said, “My
lad, you did a gallant deed just now, though you
did it without orders.”

“Yes, sir,’ answered Dick, touching his hat;
“but. you told me always to nail my colours to the
mast ; and I guessed that then was the time to do
so, that the enemy might understand that we were
not going to give in.”

I need not say that from that day forward not a
man on board dared even to sneer at Dick; and,
ever doing his duty in the sight of God and man,
at an early age he became the captain’s coxswain,
and, in course of time, a warrant-officer in the
service. K.








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































12 A Night on the Hillside.



A NIGHT ON THE HILLSIDE.

WAY ONG, long ago,
a . there lived two

ate little girls, called
Bel and Fan.
They were twins,
and were at first
so much alike
that to distin-
guish them their
’ nurse tied Bel’s
sleeves with blue
ribbons and Fan’s
withred. Asthey
grew bigger, the resemblance was not so strong.
Both had thick fair hair, large eyes, and the same
~ complexion, but Bel was taller and stouter, and
had not such a fine nose as Fan. Indeed, Fan
was the prettier of the two, only rather thin.

They never thought, however, of being pretty at
all; for, whatever their faults were—and they had
many—vanity was not one of them.

They lived with their uncle and aunts in a
Highland valley, among great wild hills. Such
a lovely wild place, full of rocks and trees just
made to be climbed, and the twins were excellent
at climbing. Their uncle was the proprietor of
the whole place, which was called Glenmorven.
The twins had a brother, called Tommy, and a
small brother and sister. They had been a long
time at Glenmorven—ever since they had been sent
home from India.

Glenmorven was a charming place for children
to live in—there was so much to see and to do
always. There was a clear trout stream rushing
at the foot of the field below the house; then there
were the hills, full of rocks and caverns and hawks’
nests; the great fertile garden; and last, though
not least, the sea-shore bu! mile and a half
distant. There were ponies to ride, and pets to
feed, and boats to paddle in, and fish to catch—in
fact, the list of occupations would be an endless
one. Enough; it was the most delightful place
children can imagine, and the twins were very
happy there.

They had had a governess for awhile, but this
particular summer, the adventures of which I
mean to relate, she had left them, partly because
the twins were getting too much for her, and
partly because her brother, the lately appointed
minister at Dunard, wanted her to live in his
manse. So the twins were at present. enjoying
a long holiday. They were perfectly free to
follow their own devices, as their two aunts were



very much occupied with their own affairs, and
they had outgrown the authority of the old Scotch
nurse who ruled in the nursery.

One day their aunts toldthem that their parentshad
arrived in England, and might soon be expected
at Glenmorven. The twins had not seen their
parents for so long that they could not recall their
features in the least. They knew that the pretty
presents they often got, the sandal-wood boxes and
carved ivory toys, came from them; and in the
time of Miss Murray, their governess, they had
written letters, beginning, “My dear Papa and
Mamma,” and ending, “Your dutiful daughters.”
But they. could not be expected to love such far-
away parents ; and the news of their approaching
visit, though it excited them a little at first, was
soon forgotten.

About a week after that the twins were up on the
hill making a dam, or rather, enclosing a pond,
where they intended to keep fish. After a time,
they felt hungry, and suspecting it was near dinner-
time, raced down the hill.

When they reached the avenue, they saw a dog-
cart, with a lady and a gentleman in it, standing
before the large green gate.

“ Here, you little girl! open the gate, will you?”
called the gentleman ; and as Bel held it open, he
threw her a sixpence, and drove on to the house.

Bel was very much astonished—not athaving been

‘told to open the gate, but at having a sixpence

thrown at her. Dirty and untidy as she generally
was, everybody knew her, far and wide, as Mr.
Farquhar’s niece, and she felt rather offended.

“ T wonder who those people can be, Fan?” she
said, showing the sixpence, which she immediately
flung to the ground contemptuously. ‘ Just fancy !
They threw that at me as if I were a beggar! They
must be Sassenachs.”

“Yes, I am sure they are. Very likely those
English people that Aunt Kate was visiting last ©
winter. That was the dog-cart and mare from
Dunard Inn, so they must have driven over the
hill.”

“ Let us go in by the kitchen, Fan, that we may
not meet them.”

Accordingly they went round by the back, and
found all the servants in an extraordinary bustle.
Nurse, who happened to be there, carried them off
in haste to the nursery, for she said their father and -
mother had just arrived that instant “frae the
Ingies,” and wanted to see them.

So it was their father and mother—Colonel and
Mrs. Farquhar—who had passed them on the road,
A Night on the Hillside. - 13



having come by a different route than was expected,
‘and having driven over the hill.

The twins felt much embarrassed at having to face
them, but when dressed nicely in white dresses with
coloured sashes, and their long hair combed out,
they looked so differently from the tinker girls





“What a lovely place this must be to live in !"
a Mrs. Seton.

“Oh ! itis well enough,” returned Mrs. Farquhar? ;
“but I should soon be bored to death here. I
hope the colonel will not insist on my accompany-
ing him here for the longer visit he speaks of,”



“(| WONDER WHO THOSE PEOPLE CAN BE, FAN?” (p. 12.)

in torn frocks, that they hoped their parents would
not recognise them.

Their father, a tall man, with a sunburnt face,
kissed them as they entered the drawing-room, and
then Aunt Kate said—

“There’s your mother, dears,” and pushed them
' towards a beautiful lady lying on the sofa—oh ! so
beautifully dressed! who kissed them languidly.
The other children were in the room, too, all dressed
out in their best “bibs and tuckers,” in honour
of their parents’ arrival.

Colonel and Mrs. Farquhar stayed fora few weeks
at -Glenmorven, during which time the house was
nearly full of visitors ; and the twins tried to keep
out of sight and out of the way as much as possible.
Their father had always a kind word for them, but
of their beautiful mother they stood in great awe.
As Mrs. Farquhar was very short-sighted, and very
much taken up with the visitors, she might never
have discovered the wild ways of her little daughters,
but for the following incident :—

It was two days before that fixed for the colonel’s
departure, and Mrs, Farquhar and a friend of
hers, a Mrs. Seton, were strolling by the bank of
the river.

“While your children are here, Charlotte, I
should think you would wish to return.”

“Oh, Leonora! I wished so much to speak to
you about my girls, but have never had an oppor-
tunity. The colonel won’t let me find fault with
his sisters, but I must say that the education
of Isabel and Mane has been shamefully
neglected.”

. While conversing, the ladies had arrived at the
banks of a strearr _ dich crossed the path. This
was the same “ burii” that came down the hillside.
Though now only a streamlet, in winter it was quite
a torrent, and had cut deeply into the sandy terrace,
so that its banks near the river were many feet
high: It, too, had its little grassy meadow in the
summer-time, and this place was one of the twins’
favourite playgrounds. They had built a little hut
against one of the steep banks, and here they often
played at keeping house. Near the hut a peat fire
was now burning, its smoke curling gracefully in
the still air. Over the fire an untidy childish figure
was bending. A few paces off, another child, the
remains of an old straw hat on its head, was wash-
ing some objects, which looked like potatoes, in the
stream.
14 A Night on

the Hillside.



When she came suddenly on this scene, Mrs.
Farquhar had recourse, as usual, to her eye-glass.

“Took here, Leonora!” she exclaimed, “here is
something very interesting, I declare. I think it
must be a gipsy encampment.”

On examining the supposed gipsies more closely,
an unpleasant suspicion entered her mind, and she
would gladly have turned away. But too late ; for
just then the child at the fire raised her head,
and displayed the rough hair and very grimy face
of Bel!

“ Heavens! Isabel,” exclaimed her mother, “what
a fright you are! What on earth are you doing?”

Bel stood up, dreadfully startled, and very much
inclined to run away. .

“Tam only roasting potatoes,” she stammered,
“and Fan is washing them.”

Mrs. Farquhar turned pale. Mrs. Seton laughed
good-naturedly. Meantime Fan had also stood up,
letting her potatoes roll into the stream.

“There, Leonora!” exclaimed Mrs.. Farquhar,
pathetically, “you see what training my children
are getting here!”



Mrs. Farquhar with all particulars about Madame
Savan’s school.

When they were out of. sight, Bel and Fan
returned to their potatoes. But Bel’s had burnt to.
cinders, and Fan’s had been carried away by the
stream. :

So their little feast was spoilt.

Next morning the twins were sent for to go to their
mamma’s room. They felt rather frightened ; but
they need not have been, for their mamma sent for
them in order to give them some pretty presents she
had selected for them out of a box of things she
had brought from India—sweet sandal-wood fans,.
baskets, and some ivory toys. She told them she
had brought them some trinkets and some more fine:
dresses, but these she would not give them at
present, as they were thrown away at Glenmorven.

The twins were delighted with the fans and.
baskets, and spent a great part of the day in sniff-
ing them to enjoy their sweet smell.

Next morning every one was up very early to be.
in time for the steamer. Mrs. Seton and her maid:
were also going, so there was quite a large party

“Oh! I assure you, I don’t feel the least ' to convey to the shore.



S WRN
SSG |Q|Q__|_GAQA
SSS

-















“(A GIPSY ENCAMPMENT.”

shocked,” said Mrs. Seton. “When my sisters and |

I were young, in Ireland, we used to play about
just the same. A year or two at Madame Savan’s
will soon. put all that to-rights.”

The ladies then turned away and resumed their

The twins went to the shore to see their parents
off, and could not -help shedding a few tears as.
they watched the steamer lessening in the distance.
But their tears soon dried, and by the time. the
steamer had disappeared they seemed to feel happier

walk and conversation; Mrs. Seton supplying | than they had done for a long time. Now they
A Night on the Hillside.

could play how and where they pleased ; now they
could ride whenever they felt inclined ; now they
could climb trees again ; now they would not require
to be always trying to keep out of sight, nor
be forced to slip in and out by the back entrance,
feeling as if they were culprits. No; now they
would feel at home again at Glenmorven, as they
thad done for so many years. For the next week
or two they were indeed perfectly happy. All their
- old liberty was restored, and to make up for their
late discomfort, their uncle and aunts indulged them
in every way.

The surprise and distress of the twins were great
when, one unhappy day, a letter came from their
mamma to say that, thinking Isabel and Frances
now too old for a governess, she had resolved to
send them to school; that she had found an ad-
mirable school for them at Brighton, and that she
had already arranged with Madame Savan that
they should go to her at once. She wished them,
therefore, to start for the south by the first steamer,
under the care of a servant, unless, indeed, Aunt
Kate, who had promised her a visit, could come
now and take charge of them. She herself would
meet them in London, and get their necessary out-
fit before going on to school. '

Mrs. Farquhar had all this so well arranged, that
the only matter to be discussed was whether Aunt
Kate could possibly start on so shortanotice. But
seeing the despair depicted on the faces of the twins,
Aunt Kate resolved to go—for she could not bear to
think of letting them go alone—so far, and among
strangers.

Poor Fan! poor Bel! so this was the end
of it all! For this they had rebelled against Miss
Murray! Were ever children so unfortunate? All
they wanted was to be let alone; and now they
were to be sent off to a hateful school, to be made
to learn music and languages, and stuff of that sort,
whether they would or no. ;

It was at breakfast-time that this dreadful letter
was read, and as soon as possible the twins slipped
out into the garden. They went down to the far
corner of the orchard, and got up into a pear-tree.
This tree was called the umbrella-tree, because its
lower branches were thick and strong near the
trunk, forming delightful seats, while its upper
branches drooped all round, and hid any one who
might be sitting there. Here-the twins seated
themselves and began their lamentations.

“ Oh dear ! oh dear!” cried Bel; “itis too cruel
of mamma to take us away! Why couldn’t she
leave us here?”

“Oh ! what shall we do?” sobbed Fan; “ it will
be much worse than having a governess ! Oh, I wish

‘we had been good when Miss Murray was here !”

15

“If we could only miss the steamer,” said
practical Bel, after reflecting a little, “that would
give us, at any rate, a week longer here. Let us
think of some plan.”

“Oh, Bel, I’m ready to do anything! Let us run
away to the hills, where nobody can find us.”

“But we might die of hunger, Fan, and our
bodies would be found like those of the Babes in
the Wood. No, we cannot do that.”

“Well, let us go off in the boat to old Rory, who
lives in the island. I am sure he would hide us
and give us food.”

“Yes, Iam sure he would; but do you think we
could row so far, Fan? Besides, the people on the
shore would see us and tell where we had gone.”

“Why, then,” said Fan, after a pause, “I can
think of nothing else, unless we go to the Big
Cave.”

“That's the very thing! Fan, we'll go to the Big
Cave! They'll never be able to find us there ; and
I think we had better just set off at once and look
at it.” -

So the pair, without loss of time, jumped down
from the tree, and set off up the hillside.

The cave was pretty far off and rather difficult
to find, for a number of large stones had fallen
down from a steep cliff above it, and nearly hidden
the entrance—one of them, indeed, had almost
blocked it up. The children had been there but
once before, and then had not examined it atten-
tively. Great, therefore, was their disappointment,
when they-at last discovered it, to find it quite
different from what. they had expected. Its sides
were dripping with water, and a little stream ran
through the middle of its floor. They felt certain
there must be lizards there, if not serpents! No,
it would not do to hide in, even for a few hours ;
they must think of something else.

Down the hill they slowly came, in a very melan-
choly state of mind.

On the hillside, a little way above the stables,
was a large sheep-pen, or “fank.” Near this stood
a ruinous hut, or bothy, used by the men who
watched the sheep when they were gathered for
shearing or other purposes. When the twins came
to this hut they stood still and looked at one
another. ° i

“I declare, Fan,” said Bell, “ here is just the
very place we want. Let us go in and examine it.”

On going in they found that the floor was clean
and dry, and there was a heap of straw in one
corner. The door, indeed, was rather off the hinges,

,and of the original two small panes of glass which
formed the window but part of one remained ;
but the hardy twins found the place delightful,
and made up their minds at once that it would
16

A Night on the Hillside.



do. So they resolved to hide themselves here
the night before the steamer sailed, and not make
their appearance until they were sure she was
gone.

As they had read many tales of “ barring out” at
school, and remembered how the boys had supplied
themselves beforehand with provisions and other
things, they resolved to do the same, and to
begin at once to lay in their stores.

They became quite cheerful over their project ;
and as soon as they got to the house, they went at
once to the pantry and removed all the candle-
ends they could find in the bed-room candlesticks.
They then went to their hut near the river, where
they had a box of matches, a frying-pan, and some
other little things that might be useful; but they
did not dare to return to the. hut on the hill that
day, for fear of attracting notice.

They had no difficulty, in the course of the next
few days, in collecting provisions. Oat-cake and
meal they easily got from cook, as they were in
the habit of coming to her for food for their pets.
There was always a large quantity of potatoes
kept in an open out-house, so they easily got a
basketful of them. Sticks and peat were not
forgotten. :

At last, the last day before the sailing of the
steamer arrived. Bel and Fan had finished all
their preparations, and felt restless and anxious, and
kept wandering aimlessly about. They went to
their aunts’ sitting-room, and found them busy
making up warm cloaks for the travellers. As soon
as they went in Aunt Kate called out—

“ Now, children, do keep away; don’t you see
how busy we all are here?”

So they went up-stairs to the nursery, and kissed
and said good-bye to the children, for they felt that
they might not see them for some days. Then
they wandered out again, but felt no inclina-
tion for their usual- play, and at last resolved to go
and visit the horses. They found the ponies quite
near the house.

“ Fan,” said Bel, “I think it would be very nice
to have a last ride after tea.”

“T think so, too, Bel, and then perhaps we would
not feel so dull.”

So at tea-time they told-nurse that they were
going to take a ride up the glen.

During tea, when nurse was not looking, they
kept putting bread-and-butter into their pockets,
until at last nurse, who was angry at having to
go down-stairs to fetch more, said—

“Ye are mair like greedy gleds than young ladies,
and ye’ll ha’e to mind yer mainers when ye go to
scule.” .

When tying on their riding-skirts and making



ready to leave, they felt a strong wish to go and

kiss their uncle and aunts, for they began to feel

quite low-spirited and disinclined to carry out their

plan; but their spirits revived when they found

themselves cantering merrily up the glen. The

evening was very hot and still, and soon it began to

grow dark. The twins thought it was time to-
return, so they rode slowly back.

At some distance from the stables they dis-
mounted, and led the ponies up the hill in the
direction of the hut. On reaching it they un-
saddled and unbridled the horses, and let them
loose on the hillside. The saddles, Bel said, would
make excellent pillows, and the riding-skirts would
do for blankets.

It had become so dark that they had to feel their
way inside the hut to the corner where the straw
was. Here they sat down, hardly daring to speak
or breathe, for fear of being overheard.

After a time, hearing no sound but the noise of
the “burn,” they became a little bolder. It was
very tiresome sitting still there in the dark, so
they thought they might as well lie down. They
arranged the saddles to put their heads on, lay
down on the straw, and spread the riding-skirts
over them. Unfortunately, they had not thought
of providing any shawls or cloaks. As they were
lying down, Fan said—

“Don’t you think, Bel, we might eat some of our
bread-and-butter? I am very hungry, for I hardly
ate a bite at tea.”

“Oh no,” said the prudent Bel, “we must not
begin to eat sosoon. You see, we may have to stay
here for a day or two ; sometimes the steamer is a
day late.”

Fan lay quiet for a time, and then began again.

“Oh Bel! I wish we might light a candle, it is so
very dark.”

“We dare not light one yet, for fear the light of
it should be seen, but when it gets later we can do ~
it. Here, if you are frightened, lie quite close
to me, and we can then put one skirt over the other,
which will be warmer.”

Both were silent for a time, until Fan called out
suddenly and hysterically—

“Bel! Bel! what noise is that ?”

Both sat up and listened, but found that it was
only rain pattering on the roof. The night had
quite changed, and it was now raining heavily.
The girls lay down again.

“ Bel,” said Fan, in an anxious tone, after a pause,
“ what if mad Christopher should come across the
hill, and should come in here? You know nurse
often told us we should be sure to meet him if we
ran about on the hills.”

“But we never did meet him,” said Bel, calmly ;
A Night on the Hillside. 7



“and I am sure nurse only said that to frighten
us, and to keep us from going too far away.
But really, I think, Fan, we might light one
of our candles now,” she continued ; “it is such
a bad night, I am sure no one will be out; and
I think we might eat some of our bread-and-butter
too.”

Fan quite rallied at hearing these proposals.
Bel got up and groped about until she found the
match-box and a piece of candle. The first two or

three matches she lit went out, but on Fan holding .

up a skirt to screen off the draught, one burnt long
enough to light the candle. When it was lit, they
discovered that, with all .
their forethought, they
had forgotten to provide
any kind of candlestick.
However, they managed
at last to fix the candle
on a projecting piece of
stone in the rough wall ;
then Bel hung up one of
the skirts overthe window
to make all safe. After
this, they shared between

them the _ bread-and-
butter that was in Fan’s
pocket.

They felt, too, that they
were really heroines,
spending a night alone
in this lonely hut. They ¢
"had actually begun to #
doze, and had forgotten
the hardness of the





shivering with cold, and they had now but one
skirt to cover themselves with. Each by this time
had secretly resolved that she would not pass such
another cold wakeful night in the bothy, but go
back to the house some time to-morrow: making
sure first, of course, that the steamer had taken its
departure.

They began, indeed, to be very miserable, for
sleep was impossible. Fan felt inclined to cry, but
Bel tried to comfort her.

“If we can only manage to stay here till the
steamer sails we shall be all right; and I am sure
it must be near morning now, Fan; and besides, I
don't think you would
care to go home now,
while it is so dark!”

“Oh, no! no!” said
Fan, with a sob; “we
might meet mad Chris-
topher, you know.”

At that moment there
was a loud knock at the

door,
“Oh! oh! it’s mad
Christopher!” shrieked

Fan, crouching up into
the corner; “he'll kill
us! he’ll murder us !”

Bel, losing all presence
of mind, began scream-
= ing too.

The door was violently
= pushed open. The girls
=== s_— covered their faces and

23: shrieked with terror.



saddles, when Bel sud-
denly started up, saying
something cold had touched her hand. Bel had
strong nerves, and was not a bit afraid of ghosts ;

but she had heard of polecats that came to steal

the chickens, and she thought that this must have
been the nose of one.

The candle was just going out, so she got up to
light another.

“Oh, dear me! what shall we do when the
candles are done?” she groaned; “the draught
makes them run down at once.” She had hardly
lain down again when she felt a cold drop on her
face, and discovered that the rain -had soaked
through the roof and was dropping down upon
their bed.

So'the twins were obliged to get up, and drag
the straw, saddles, and all, to another corner of
the hut.

After arranging their bed anew, they lay down
again, but not to sleep. Poor thin Fan was

““ COLLECTING PROVISIONS "



“Bel! Fan! my poor
children!” exclaimed a
kind voice they knew; and looking up, the twins
saw their uncle, dripping with rain from head to
foot, even his grey hair quite wet.

“ Don’t be frightened, dears,” he continued ;
see it is your old uncle. Thank God! you are safe,

(p. 16).

“you
”

, he added, gravely.

“Oh, uncle! dear uncle! we were so frightened !
we thought it was mad Christopher! we'll never,
never do so again!” they both cried, getting up and
running to him, and clinging frantically to his wet
coat.

He kissed them warmly, and then said: “ Re-
main ~here for a minute, my dears,” and went to
the door. Here he shouted to some one at a
short distance, and then returned, soon followed
by the coachman, carrying a lantern and some
shawls.

“Here, children, wrap yourselves well up in ee
warm shawls.”

B
18 A Night on the Hillside.



Bel was rather frightened when she noticed how

very white Fan looked and how she shivered ; but
she shook just as much herself, though she was not
quite so pale.

“What are those things in the corner?” asked
their uncle. “Ah! saddles, are they? Well, they
and the riding-skirts are safe enough here till
morning. But it was fortunate for you, girls, that
when you covered the window you forgot to do so
to the door ; for it was the light shining through its
chinks that guided me here.”

The repentant girls were carried through the rain
to the farm-yard, where their uncle stopped a
moment to leave word

Then Aunt Kate went with the children to their
room, to see that they got quickly into bed, and
while helping them to undress, she told them of the
dreadful alarm they had all been in, quite believing
at last that some terrible accident must have
happened. Bel and Fan began to cry anew at
hearing this; and they wondered very much how
it was that they had never thought of the distress
their disappearance might cause. -

All this trouble came from-the twins trying to
avoid obeying their mother’s orders, and forget-

| ting what they had been often taught to repeat :
_ “Honour thy father and mother,” or, in other words,

“Obey your parents.”



that they had been
found—for all the
Glenmorven people
were afoot seeking
them on the hillsides
or by the river—and
then the party went.
on to the house. - Not
a word of reproach
did their kind uncle
utter for all the
trouble and anxiety
they had caused him
from the time nurse
had announced that
it was far past ten
o’clock and that the
twins had not come

Ta tl
ii HA i
Ah uth a i
A a PH

i th

home. Bel and Fan
could have borne
scolding and _ re-

proaches—indeed,
they had quite ex-
pected them—but this . :
kindness and forbearance quite overcame them,
and filled them with remorse.

“Oh, uncle! can you forgive us? we are so sorry!”
sobbed Fan, as he carried her along.

“ Of course I can, dear ; don’t distress yourself so ;

much. Iam only too thankful to have found you.
It was a little mistake, and I see that you are very
sorry for it.”

As they neared the house, they met some of the
servants, anxious for news, and in the hall nurse
and their aunts were waiting to receive them.
Aunt Margaret took Fan out of Mr. Farquhar’s
arms, and nurse took charge of Bel. Then their
aunts took the twins into the warm parlour, took off
their wet shawls, and then kissed and embraced the
girls tearfully. If they had at first felt rather in-
clined to scold them, the pale and tear-stained faces
of the children made them change their. minds.



IN THE ‘BOTHY.”

Aunt Kate now
kissed the children
and said good-night ;
and they were not
many minutes in their
warm beds—oh! so
different from the
damp straw and hard -
saddles — when they
fell sound asleep. So
sound, indeed, that it
was only with diffi-
culty and a good deal
of shaking that nurse
could wake them next





























morning.
But though they
felt very stiff and

sleepy, remembering

last night, they were
- determined to be very

good to-day. So they

got up at once, were

quickly dressed,
| breakfasted, and ready to set off to the shore. All
the people about the place had come to bid them
good-bye ; and when they got to the village, the
inhabitants were all standing at their doors for the
same purpose.

A little crowd even followed them to the shore,
where the boat was waiting. “Aunt -Margaret
kissed them, their uncle lifted them into the boat,
helped Aunt Kate in, and then followed himself,
to see them all right on board the steamer ; and so
they started for school.

School-life, after all, was not so bad as they
expected, and when, at the Midsummer holidays,
they again returned to’the highlands, they were
able to laugh at the remembrance of their
fright in the bothy, and wonder how they could
have been so foolish as to have tried to shirk their
duty.




The Results of Playing Truant. 19





THE RESULTS OF PLAYING TRUANT.
PART I.

EAR me!”
cried
Freddy
Faulkner,
“1 wish
there was
no school
to-day.”
Freddy
had his
bag full
; of books
‘and din-
wi, ner ‘bas-
AE ket, which
his kind
mother
had put
into his
hand just
“as he had
expressed
the very
. indolent
wish which opens our story.. Mrs. Faulkner’s only
reply was, “ Make haste, Freddy, or you will be
late. Mind you study hard, my boy.”
' But Freddy was no sooner out of his mother’s
sight, than he threw himself down under a tree, and
exclaimed, “I wish I could stay here allday. It is
too bad to have to go to school such a bright
summer’s morning! I wish I were a robin, then I





should not have to sit in a close musty room, with
nothing but maps to look at. How I wish I lived on
an island like Robinson Crusoe. Then there would
be no school or schoolmaster to plague me, and no
compound division sums to worry me. It will be so
warm and tiresome in school ; it will be no harm if I
do not go to-day. If mother only knew how much

_I should enjoy a day in the woods, I am sure she

would not mind this once. It is so cool and
beautiful here, I am sure she would not mind my
enjoying myself.”

So Freddy reasoned, trying hard to make wrong
appear right. It was a lovely scene upon which
Freddy gazed, and a pleasant sight enough to one
whose conscience was at rest. The bank on which
he now wandered was covered with foxgloves,
and near was.a deep pond spangled with water-
lilies.

“How lovely to dabble my feet in this cool
water!” and Freddy at once took off his shoes
and stockings, suiting the action to the thought.

“So you are playing the truant !”

Freddy sprang upon his feet with a bound, to
face a boy some years older than himself—a boy
who lived in the village, but with whom his mother
had forbidden him to associate.

“Hullo, Faulkner ! won’t you just catch it!
I go to tell the schoolmaster.”

“Jim!” cried Freddy, in the ‘greatest alarm,
“you never would be such a sneak. I’m sure I
would not do such a mean thing to you for the
whole world!”

“Tt was only my fun, boy ; I think you are a

Off
20

The Results of Playing Truant.



plucky youngster zo¢ to go to school to-day. But
you don’t mean to stay here all day? What do you
say to going fishing with me and my brothers ?”

“T should like it very much, Jim; but I don’t
think my mother would let me go.”

Jim gave a great coarse laugh, and cried out,
“You young innocent! Did your mother give you
leave to be in the woods this morning. Come
along, and make a day of it. You need not go home
till night.” ;

Freddy hesitated, and then putting on his shoes
and stockings, prepared to go with Jim. Freddy
had taken the first wrong step, and now found it
hard to turn round to the right road again.

Jim’s brothers welcomed Freddy boisterously,
and declared if they were Freddy, they would run
away from school every day. ’Twas folly to be
shut up ina close room all day.

Freddy so enjoyed himself, that for a ieee time
he ceased to think how he had obtained such
pleasure.

When they had reached what the lads knew to
be good fishing-ground, the boat was pulled on
shore, and Freddy lay full length upon the grass.

“No one will pass and see me,” he thought.
“T must be a good way from home. But oh! how
hungry I am. I don’t think Jim or his brothers
brought anything with them to eat. Shall I
have to share my dinner with them? I could eat
that and more myself.”

Just then Jim came to where Freddy was lying,
and said, “ Come, a boy, help me to make a fire
to cook our dinner.”

“T am so glad, Jim. I was ae thinking how
hungry I was. But I did not see any provisions
in the boat.”

Jim seemed to think this speech of Freddy’s very
amusing, for he again laughed boisterously.

Freddy was very pleased at the idea of cooking
and eating their dinner in the open air. He had
read of such pleasures, but to.partake of them had
~ been beyond his expectations.

The fire was burning brightly when Tom and
Sam—Jim’s two brothers—made their appearance:

“ What luck ?” cried Jim.

For answer, Tom pulled from his cap several
large potatoes, which he threw into the fire. Then
Sam drew out of his pocket a fine hare, which he
proceeded to skin.

Jim had run towards the boat when he saw the
hare, and now brought forward an old tin saucepan,
into which Sam threw the hare. And then he de-
liberately drew forth some onions from his other
pocket.

_“ Now for some water, Jim, and we shall have a
dinner fit for a king.”



Freddy felt-he should like to ask them how they
came by the potatoes, hare, and onions, but he did
not like to. He remembered having heard these
boys were not honest, so he secretly resolved not to
eat any.

“Now, youngster,” cried Jim, “let us begin on
your dinner whilst ours is cooking. Share and
share alike—that’s fair, eh?”

Freddy produced his basket, and the contents
so rapidly disappeared that Freddy had very little
chance of securing even a small portion of it to
himself.

“T must eat some of it,” he thought, “I am so
very hungry; besides, it smells so good I could
not resist.”

So Freddy ate, and even laughed heartily when
Sam boldly showed how the dinner had been
stolen from a crusty old farmer in the neighbour-
hood.

Freddy spent the afternoon much as he had
spent the morning—lying lazily on the grass. He
lay for a long time, and then began to think it must
be getting late.

“Oh dear!” he thought, “I hope those boys will
soon come back and row me home. It will be late,
and mother will be frightened ; besides, she will
know I have not been to school.”

Freddy now began to be veryuneasy. The ban

had been gone a long time, and there was no sign

of their appearing.

“We are going ‘land fishing,” Jim had said to
Freddy: ‘You wait here till we come back.” __

But now it began to grow dark, and Freddy was
terribly frightened.

“T will try and row myself back,” he cried,
desperately. “The boys must have gone off and
forgotten me entirely.”

Freddy rose to his feet, and was rejoiced to see
the tide had risen so as nearly to float the boat.
“T will sit in it, anyhow,’ he said ; “if the boys
come back, I will persuade them to come off at
once.”

But the tide rose higher and higher, and still no
boys appeared. Freddy saw the oars were in the
boat, and he -thought he could manage to row
himself, if the worst came and he was left alone
much longer.

“ Hie, there! stop!”

Freddy looked towards the spot from whence the
cries proceeded, and saw the three boys running
furiously towards the bank of the river, and two
men shouting and running after them.

Freddy was too frightened to know quite what
he was doing, but he caught up one of the oars,
and giving the boat a push, he managed to set it
floating towards the middle of the stream.’








































































































































































































y
i,

, : CL We “yN y ,
PLING HUGE?

PREPARATIONS FOR DINNER. , (See p, 20 )


22 _ The Results of Playing Truant.



Then Freddy heard the three boys crying wildly

to him to come back, but he was unable to do so,
for the boat was drifting faster and faster away
from the spot where they stood. Next, he saw
the two men come up and roughly seize the boys.
One, Freddy saw, was a policeman !

“Stop! stop! you young thief!” the other cried,
shaking his fist in the direction of the drifting
boat.

But Freddy was now terrified beyond measure.
If he had dared to return, he had now no power
to doso. The boat was rapidly floating with the
tide.

“Oh, mother! mother!” wailed Freddy, “how
frightened you will be! Whenever shall I reach
home?”

Alas! poor Freddy, it will be many a day before
you see your fond mother again.



PART II.

_Not once did Mrs. Faulkner lie down the night
succeeding the day Freddy had played the truant.
When tea-time passed and no uaeady, Mrs.
Faulkner became alarmed.

“ Susan,” she said to her faithful servant, “go to
the school-house and see if Freddy is still there.”

But who shall paint her consternation when
Susan returned with the tidings that Freddy had
not been at school that day.

Freddy’s mother sat listening with an aching
heart throughout the night, hoping every moment
her boy would return.

The next morning she did receive tidings, but
only such as made her more and more anxious for
her boy’s safety.

The news was brought her by a policeman, who
had the three boys—Freddy’s companions of the
day before—in charge for robbing a farmer.

“You say my boy is a thief!” cried the half
frantic mother.

“T don’t know that he actually stole, but he was

with them who did,” replied the policeman.

“‘ And where is he? surely not in prison ?”

“ Not he, ma’am ; but I am almost sorry he is not,
for then you would know he was safe. Now, I
cannot say what has become of him.”

The policeman then proceeded to tell Mrs.
Faulkner how Freddy had been seen drifting
along with the tide in an old leaky boat; that
though some fishermen had gone in Pern
nothing had as yet been heard ce tpe boy or

- boat.

We must now leave the hone pean mother to
see what had become of Freddy. :

When Freddy found himself drifting with the



tide, he was so frightened that he let the sculls,
with which he had been attempting to steer the
boat, fall from his nervous hands. :

“Oh! what will my mother think!” wailed
Freddy. “Mother! mother! shall I ever see you
again?”

Freddy threw himself down into the bottom of
the boat and cried as if his heart would, break.
Then he fell fast asleep. When he awoke it was
morning, and the boat was rocking gently on the
sea, but no land was visible. Outwards, onward
drifted the boat, and the sea-birds came flocking
and uttering harsh cries, as they circled round poor
Freddy’s head.

’“ They are mocking me in my sorrow,” thought
Freddy. “How hungry I am! shall I die of
hunger, I wonder, as I have often read of ship-
wrecked sailors doing?”

Freddy was only a little boy, and his faner
made him cry.

Towards noon Freddy saw the sails of a ship.
At first he shouted, but no one heard. Then he
waved his jacket, and at last, to his joy, saw a
boat being lowered from the ship.

When the captain of the ship heard Freddy’s
story, he first ordered some food to be given him,
to which Freddy did good justice.

His hunger satisfied, Freddy ventured to ask the
captain when he thought he could send him
home?

“I cannot put you ashore, my boy,” replied the
captain kindly enough, “my ship is on the way to
China, and we shall be away four years /”

“ But I must go home,” almost shrieked Freddy,

ee mother will not know what has become of
me.”

“T am sorry for you, my boy ; the only cians
for you isif I should meet with a vessel home-
ward bound, and then I. would put you aboard.
But do not hope too much from this ; the chances
are I shall not meet with a vessel, and then you
must go the voyage. I am without a cabin-boy,
and as idleness will only make you think more of .
your troubles, I shall expect you to work whilst you
remain aboard my ship.”

«“ Four years /” was all Freddy could say. It
seemed more than the poor, miserable, home-sick
boy could endure. How bitterly he was being
punished for his one day’s playing truant !

Freddy covered up his white face and cried, oh,
so bitterly! Then for many days Freddy was very
ill. Ashe lay allalone in his dark cabin, he thought
he must die. How Freddy longed to lie in his

‘mother’s arms, and hear her Da to God on his

behalf. s
But Freddy did not die ; he became quite well,


—

The Results of Playing Truant. 23



but he found he had to work very hard as a cabin-
boy. Poor Freddy would much rather have been
at school, working even compound division sums,
than having to obey the orders of any sailor who
might need his services.

As month followed month, and no homeward-
bound ship appeared, Freddy gave up all hope of
being sent home.

I must not forget to tell you of one very exciting
adventure Freddy met with on this voyage. They
were nearing China, when Freddy one morning saw
the captain looking through his glass a long, long
time.

He saw the mate go up to the captain, and heard
him say— ~

“ What is it, captain ? Be ‘

“There is a vessel chasing us,” said the captain,
in a low voice ; “don’t alarm the men, but we must
make the most of a fair wind.”

But it was no secret long, for suddenly one of the
sailors sang out, “Sail ho!”

The sailors now all saw her, and seemed to
know in a moment what it meant.

Freddy saw the sailors collect in a group, as they
looked very anxiously at the approaching vessel.

“What is it? Why are the sailors looking
so frightened and anxious?” asked Freddy of an
old sailor who had often been kind to him. “ Per-
haps it is a vessel going to England, and then
I should go home.”

“Not it, boy. That be a pirate ship. Let her
only come alongside. of us, and there will be no
going home for any of us.”

“What will they do with us?” asked Freddy,
with trembling lips.

“Murder every mother’s son of us ! -! Dead men
tell no tales. They would never risk letting us go

and telling of them, and so getting them punished:” .

“There it is!” cried all. the crew, as with one
voice.

Freddy looked, and saw it was a black flag which
the pirate ship had hoisted.

“Tt be only three or four miles away from us,”

. groaned the sailor who had given the information
_ to Freddy.

“Can we not get away?” asked Freddy:
“Tf we can outsail her we live ; if not, we-die!”
Freddy could ask no more questions, for now
every one was busy doing his utmost to keep the
good ship from falling into the hands of the pirates.
The wind had freshened into a gale.
You should have seen how the men flew to obey

_ the captain’s orders.

The captain looked anxiously at his masts. They

were bending like whips already. It seemed a-
‘miracle they did not go overboard. Never before





had the captain so much canvas on in so heavy a
gale.

“She gains on us!” Freddy heard him say to
the mate; “we must carry more sail. Get on the
studding-sails!” he shouted.

It was fearfully dangerous work for the sailors,
but they sprang up the: shrouds like cats.

Then there were a few moments of deep
suspense.

The captain looked on eagerly at the advancing
pirate ship. “Courage, boys!” he cried at last ;
“the ship no longer gains on us.”

What an hurrah went up from every throat ! The
ship flew on, and the pirate ship after her. Then
Freddy heard the captain say the danger was over
—the pirate ship was so far astern she could no
longer be seen.

This was the most exciting adventure Freddy
met with on his long voyage. He had full expe-
rience of storms, and was very nearly shipwrecked.
He saw many strange places and strange people,
but all the time his heart ached to see his fond
mother once more.

Mrs, Faulkner had heard no word from Fred¢ey.
The vessel which carried a letter from him when
he reached China, was lost.

One night Mrs. Faulkner was sitting alone,
thinking sorrowfully of her lost boy. “I shall
never see him again—he is dead!” she thought.
“Rover! Rover! what ails the dog?” she cried.

The dog which had belonged to Freddy had
suddenly set up a loud bark, hough till now he
had been quietly lying at Mrs. Faulkner’s feet.
Then she heard Susan open the front door, and
the dog barked more furiously than ever.

“Mother! mother!” In another moment two
arms were round her neck, and the mother’s tears
were falling in showers upon> her boy’s face.
Rover jumped upon him, barking his welcome.

When it became known in the village that
Freddy had returned, there was great excitement,
and every one came to bid him welcome home
once more.

The first night of Freddy’s return, the mother
and son sat together long into the night—Freddy
on a stool at his mother’s feet. Very few words
were spoken, but Freddy knew his disobedience
was forgiven.

‘Once his mother said to him, “ God aways
works the best way, my Freddy. Perhaps nothing
else would have saved you from falling into evil
ways. You began your first false step by playing
the truant. Who knows whether your bad com-
panions of that day might not have led you on
to commit worse sin? They are in prison now,
for being concerned in a burglary.”
24

Pretty Polly Pippin.


































a

cried, she
never com-
plained. If

you laid her
on her back,
or on her face,
if you made
her stand, or
tried to get her
to walk, it was
always the
same, she
neither mur-
mured nor
fretted, she
wore a bright
and smiling
face, looking
straight at you
with her ear-

nest but rather.

staring eyes.
She was not
the least like
her mamma.
Her mamma
was dark afd
pale, with an
anxious little
face, and, I
am afraid, an
anxious little

heart. Her mamma too was very particular,
even fidgety, when things were not exactly to

het liking.

HE had blue eyes, and golden hair, and
meee. rosy, dimpled cheeks. She was cer- | this beautiful doll-baby of hers.
JO tainly very pretty. Then, too, she was
good—she was very good—she never

SAAMI

Tai

SS

PRETTY POLLY PIPPIN.

fi}



‘WHAT LONG TALKS THEY HAD TOGETHER” (J, 25), °





In short, she was a perfect contrast to this baby,

’ The baby was three months old, the mamma
was ten years; er name was Ella, her baby’s,

Polly Pippin.
Preity Polly
Pippin she was
always called.

Ellahad her-
self given her
the name, and
certainly if
ever a baby
doll deserved
to have the
word “ pretty”
applied to it,
this baby of
Ella’s was the
one.

Ella was, as
I have said,
very unlike
her child; she
was not very
strong, she
constantly,
poor little
mamma ! suf-
fered pain, and
as she had no
sisters, and no
playmates, she

‘was often both

sadand lonely.
That was

three months ago; but since, on her last birth-
day, Polly Perkins arrived, all was changed. The
amount of good the doll did the child was in-
Pretty Polly Pippin.

25



calculable—she gave her something to love, and
also something to work for. Ella made all her
doll’s clothes ; she dressed her and undressed her,
and took her out walking, and at night she slept
with her arms about her.

What long talks they had together—this mother
and child! Of course the mother did all the
actual talking, but then the child looked back at
her with such sweet, smiling eyes, in reply, that
no further language was

night-dress, when, raising her eyes, she saw the
monkey Jacko sitting amid the foliage of a thick
tree which grew close to the window.

Jacko was watching her intently. From Ella to
Polly, and from Polly to Polly’s clothes, he looked,
and to judge from the expression of his face he was
very much interested in what he saw.

“Oh! you are a funny monkey !” laughed Ella.
“ So you want to watch me putting my baby to bed.”
But she little guessed



necessary. In short, they
understood each other
perfectly, and not one
trouble came between
them, until Hugh, Ella’s

brother, arrived home
from school.
Polly Pippin was three

months old at that time—
this means that she had
been three months in
Ella’s possession, for of
course the time when
she was wrapped up in
silver paper in a large
warehouse counted for
nothing in her life.

She was born on the
day when Ella’s grand-
papa walked into a shop
and said—

“Do you sell dolls
here—real, large, hand-
some dolls, suitable for
birthday presents ?”

Then the silver paper oe t}
was pulled off Polly s fi
Pippin’s face, and she i i
was born.

This happened three
monthsago. Well, Hugh
came home from school, and hearing that Ella had
a pet, he was quite determined that he also would
have one. So he brought back with him—what do
you think? A monkey!

Oh, how Ella laughed when she saw it! She
even forgot, so absorbed was she in watching its
antics, to put_Polly Pippin to bed.

Never was there a monkey possessed of so many
tricks—so altogether funny. Ella and Hugh spent
a delightful evening following this new pet from
place to place. |

It was quite late when Ella ran away to her
pretty bedroom to undress Polly Pippin.

She had just taken off her dress and petticoats,
and was putting on her handsomely embroidered









OH) 1H aT
a



ft








i a i
nH a Hi ee
a a ca

JACKO AND POLLY PIPPIN.



what was going to fol-
low, or what trouble she
would soon be in.

In the morning Polly
Pippin was gone! Pretty
Polly Pippin was no-
where to be seen.

She was not in her
mamma’s bed, nor in her
own pink-lined cradle.
She was gone, and so
were her clothes—her
nice little shoes and
stockings, her blue silk
frock, even her hat with
the daisies round it,
which her mamma had
made for her only yester-
day. All, all were
gone !

Poor Ella indeed was
in trouble ; and her real
sorrow was so great that,
to try and comfort her,
everybody in the whole
un house began to look for
a i ae f hl Polly Pippin.

co Her papa looked, and

yy a? in a so did her mamma ; the
igae, 26.) cook looked, and so did
the housemaid ; and so
also did the butler, and the buttons, and the coach-
man, and the stable-boy. Hugh also looked, and
last, but not least, Jacko followed every one, and
went in front of every one, and jumped on the cat’s
back, and pulled the dog’s tail, and ran up to the
tops of the trees and down again, and snatched the
cook’s cap off her head, all in his apparent zeal to
find Polly Pippin. :

But though they searched under the beds, and
Hugh even poked his head up the chimneys, no
sign of the missing doll was to be seen.

Poor little Ella kept up bravely all day, but
when the weary searchers sat down at last without
any result, she burst into tears. “My darling,
sweet baby, I know she’s guzte gone; no, Hugh,








26 Pretty Polly Pippin.

i

I can’t be happy—indeed, I can’ never be happy
again.”

“Tl buy you another doll, Ella,” said her grand-
father.

But this kind offer only made Ella’s tears flow
faster.

“As if I could have another baby like Polly
Pippin!” she sobbed.

And all the time there sat that mischievous
monkey, grinning from ear to ear and watching ;
as grandpapa looked, suddenly an idea struck him.
Was it possible that Jacko had anything to say to
the mysterious
disappearance of
Polly? “Ella,”
he said, “what
was that funny
story you told me
about the monkey
last night?”

“Oh! I don’t
want to think of
it,” sobbed Ella ;
“T had my baby
at that time.”

Then grand-
papa went out-of
the room and
called Hugh to
his side, and
whispered to
him that per-
haps Jacko was at
the bottom of the
mystery. “ Those
creatures are al-
ways getting into



“Tt is time for bed, Ella,” said her mamma.

And the little girl prepared, slowly and un-
willingly, to.go up to her lonely room, no longer
brightened by the presence of her darling doll.

“ T will come with you, Ella, and tell you a story,”
said grandpapa, who noticed how pale her little
face was, and how wistful and sad her dark eyes
had become.

“What shall the story be about, grandpapa?
shall it be about the stars?” asked Ella, as, up in
her own room, she nestled down into his arms ;
but then looking out of the window, she uttered a
scream.

Seated on the
thick limb of the
tree was Jacko,
and in his arms
— yes, resting
comfortably in his
arms— was the
missing baby, the
lost baby-doll, her
own darling Polly
Pippin.

One by one he
was gravely re-
moving, first her
frock and then
her petticoats, and
putting on her
pretty nightdress,
pressing a loud
smack every now
and then on her
rosy lips,as he had
observed Ella do
the night before.

mischief,” said “Don’t _ stir,
26 5 :

grandpapa ; “they “WITH HER LITTLE ARMS CLASPED TIGHTLY ROUND HER PET.” Ella,’ whispered

are also very grandpapa. “I

imitative, and you know how Ella described his ;

watching her last night when she undressed her
doll.”

“ But where has he put her?” questioned Hugh ;
“we have searched every hole and corner.”

“Watch Jacko, but say nothing to Ella on the
subject,” was the wise counsel of grandpapa.

This Hugh did, and not only ‘Hugh, but the
stable-boy, and the coachman, and the groom,
and the cook, to all of whom he confided grand-
papa’s idea; but though they watched, they saw
nothing. The monkey was very quiet and pleasant,
not at all as ill-natured as many of his race, and
yet he was so funny in his grimaces and antics,
that even Ella, notwithstanding her sorrow, could
not help laughing at him more than once.



thought all along the monkey had something to say
to this; but stay quiet, or he will run away with
her again.”

And then that clever grandpapa stepped softly
to the open window and very quietly and cautiously
stretched out his hand before the monkey had
time to see him, and snatching up the doll-baby,
he laid her, safe and uninjured, in her mamma’s
arms.

“Oh! how I love her! how glad I am!” sobbed
the happy little girl, And that night Ella slept
happily again, with her little arms clasped tightly
round her pet.

“T don’t think we can keep Jacko,” said grand-
papa.
AUNT PENN.
Chatterbox Hall. 27



_CHATTERBOX HALL.

DOWN the village lane they went,
On simple pleasures both intent—

cs To watch the cattle in the fields,

~’ Or pluck the flowers that summer yields :

Sister and brother, Maud the fair,
And Roger of the long brown hair.
They bound with daisy-chains the hours,
And loitered in the woodland bowers ;
Then climbed the hill that fairest day
Climbs ever on its westward way.
But what strange sight now meets their gaze,
And holds them silent
in amaze?
’Tis not the splendour
of the skies,
Where evening weaves
its crimson dyes,
Nor the broad beauty
of the plain,

The mellow light on
fruit and grain.

Beneath their feet a
palace vast

Caught the rich glow
the sunset cast ;

A thousand windows
flashed and gleamed,

A hundred towers with
banners streamed ;

And stately avenues of
trees

Made leafy music to
the breeze ;



For such a sight was worth the pace;
And soon amidst the multitude

They found themselves in conflict rude.
Now died the song, and then arose

A clatter as of chattering foes,

A strife of tongues that knew no shame,
That hushed, then swelled in one acclaim,
Then in a thousand voices fell:

But what was spoken none could tell.

The palace gates swept open wide

Before the eager noisy tide ;

A lofty hall, of splendid art,

ee eee An pearcdeto view, in
every part

pderacd with costly
treasures rare,

And hung with paint-
ings rich and fair.

But ali these marvels

When from a thousand
mirrors gleamed

The evening splendour,
and there seemed

A thousand suns, in
ruddy light

Down sinking to the
verge of night !

Such art contrived the
brilliant scene,

It might ’mid sunset

of the eyes

Were lost in radiant
surprise,

a clouds have been.



While spacious gar-
dens’ every bloom
Mingled in fresh and sweet perfume ;
And yonder, where the glistening lake
Allured the deer their thirst to slake,
A fleet of boats in gay array
Upon the tranquil water lay.

But, hark! the tumult of a crowd
Comes on the air ; and clear and loud
Ring mirthful voices; childish bands
Are trooping gaily o’er the lands,

From the bright west and colder east,
As summoned to some royal feast ;

And as they near, join company,

Like babbling brooks, in wildest glee.
Beneath the palace gates they throng,
While like a whirlwind swells their song.

Maud started at the wave of sound,
Nor felt beneath her feet the ground ;
She ran, and Roger joined the race,

- “SILENT IN AMAZE.”

But sank the suns, and
sudden gloom
Filled the long hall, and every room.

Maud shivered, boding ghostly ill,
The babblement of tongues was still.
She turned to Roger : how absurd !

She could not speak a single word ;

Her speech was empty breath ; her lips
But moved. Like one in strange eclipse,
She shrieked her fright, but swift it passed,
Mere air, and voiceless as a blast

Of wind ; while toddling Roger stared,
And both her fear and silence shared.
The eager children thronging round

Felt the strong spell; and not a sound
Through all the palace vast was heard,
Nor joyous shout the echoes stirred,
Nor whisper crept from ear to ear;

The noisy crowd was dumb with fear—

‘All mute, as though some organ grand,
28 Chatterbox Hall.



That music made to skilful hand,
The listening soul should only tease
With tuneless rattling of the keys.

While speechless still they marvelled,
lo!
The walls with a new brilliance glow,’
In rippling lines of fiery flame
Forth flashes a mysterious name—
““Chatterbor Iall’’—it mocked their
sight,
But conscience told they read aright.
The spell is on their tongues they know,
Bui, ah ! it was not always so.
Reflect a moment, Maud the fair,
And Roger of the long brown hair.
O little maid! O little man!
Speak out the truth now, ¢/you can,
Say, are you not too apt to prate,
From early morn to evening late?
And are you not too loud in speech,









When softer tones the end might reach ?
Here, gathered in this spacious hall,
Are children, chatterboxes all,

But silent every one, bereft

Of voice, no power of language left;

So may they learn more wise ‘to be,

To chink about the things they see,

To meditate instead of prate,

To treasure words and use them well,
And so at last escape the spell.

The silent stars, and silent hours





‘WITH DOWNCAST EYES AND LOOK DEMURE,”







‘FIVE LITTLE MAIDENS PACING ROUND.”

Sped on their course, and silent flowers
Slept with the silent dews, till day
Again rose on its silent way;

And silent all the children woke,

And never one the silence broke;

Yet with the glad returning sun,

New blithesomeness of heart they won;
And hither, thither, now they ran, ;
The wonders of the place to scan.

Maud peeped a tiny room within,
Wher, lo! there gently dropped a pin,
From hand unseen, upon the floor;

And sitting there were damsels four,
With downcast eyes and look demure,
‘That nothing from their task could lure ;
All motionless and siJent they,
Nor dared they cast a glance astray.
These little maidens when at school
Forgot to keep the wholesome rule,
And whispered oft to one another

_ That lessons were a useless bother.

' Now here they sit—no noise, no riot—
Listening intent, and very quiet;
So still that they “say hear a pin
Drop on the floor” —no stir, no din—
And they must count a hundred such
Before their dinners they can touch!
Maud shuddered, and within her vowed
She ne’er would talk in school aloud.

She turned, to give a larger space
To thoughts that clouded now her face;
But saw outside a spectacle






Chatterbox Hall. 29

More strange than common words can tell :
Five little maidens, pacing round,

With eyes fixed ever on the ground; .

A rich and radiant dress they wore,
And on their flaxen heads upbore

The lofty cap that mortals now

Place on the fool’s majestic brow—

Cap ancient, honoured in the past;
Thus, ranged in file, now slow, now fast,
They strutted round the soft green lawn
Till nightfall from the rosy dawn !
These were the little tender dames
Whose sorrows vanity inflames;

They chattered much,:but all of dress, |
Such whims as many must confess,

Of silks and satins, belles and beaux,







Ribbons, and all the dainty shows







That foolish thoughts enslave; and here
They pace—nor dare they sigh, “ Oh,dear!”
In stately silence—a procession

That never seems to mean progression.

While Maud these curious sights explored,
Her gift of speech not yet restored,
Young Roger, of the long brown hair,
Crept slily down the kitchen stair—
And first tried to call the cook,

As if delay he could not brook ;
°Twas vain ; all inarticulate,

His words refused the case to state.
Then suddenly he saw each plate
And empty dish assume a face,

With look of scorn or smile of grace.















‘(THE COFFEE-POT WAS MOST POLITE,”





“A DREADFUL MONSTER MET HIM THERE.”

The coffee-pot was most polite ;
The cream-jug blushed, though silver bright.
So wishful seemed the most to serve him,
The spectacle did quite unnerve him.
He turned and fled, in silence all,
But prostrate fell, a mighty fall.
Now near at hand a youngster strayed,
By years of bolder metal made ;
He saw, and curious to know more,
Rushed quickly to the kitchen-door.
A dreadful monster met him there,
With upturned nose and polished glare ;
He seized it, hurled it on the fire,
And held it down in vengeful ire.
Twas but the kettle—brazen thing !
But hark ! it now began to sing ;
O wondrous melody !—that song
Simmered the corridors along,
Till all the spacious palace heard ;
So sweet was never song of bird.
“ The kettle sings !” the children cried ;
“ The kettle sings !” was echoed wide.
The spell that bound all tongues was gone,
The power of speech again was won !
For the kettle, you know, never chatters,
Its singing is duty well done ;
And if ever the lid clitter-clatters,
You can stop it as soon as begun.
Not selfishly bragging or fuming,
It sings for our solace, you see ;
So hurrah for the kettle !—assuming
We all shall be glad of our tea.
30

Dad Ryan’s Luck.



DAD RYAN’S LUCK.

A STORY

CHAPTER IL

































RERE y’are, sir!







'] This way to see





Mademoiselle
Frascina! Only
two-pence to see
the best tight-
rope dancer in
,| the world! Better
| come, sir! it’s

SN the last perform- |

ance. All right.
‘iqy) IV begin very
hv] Soon!”

‘| This was said
by a very rough-
looking man, in
gorgeous attire.
His costume
consisted of a tight jersey of red flannel, with very
wide yellow stripes, black breeches fastened on the
outer side of each knee with a large yellow bow, his
stockings matched his jersey, and he wore low shoes
with huge buckles. On his head was a small skull-
cap of red, black, and yellow ; altogether he made
a most grotesque figure. He stood at the entrance
of a large tent, situated in the middle of a field—at
least, it could scarcely be called a field, ‘there was
so little grass, only here and there a small green
patch to relieve the monotony of the large bare
space. His present occupation was to try and
induce passers-by to patronise the entertainment
shortly to commence within the booth. He ap-
pealed to their senses by alternately beating a
drum, playing with his mouth on a peculiar instru-
ment_constructed of reeds, and shouting at the top
of a very unmusical voice. When, however, he
caught sight of a gentleman looking at him and his
surroundings, as if hesitating whether or not to
approach, he went out of his way to invite the said
individual in what he considered very coaxing
and refined language. His voice he deemed an
instrument better adapted to the outward ap-
pearance of this new comer.

“T really think it'll be worth founmpenee to you,
sir,” said he, smiling cunningly, as the gentleman
offered him the twopence. “You see, sir, we’re
obliged to make it as low as we can, you see, sir,



because the people that come here in general .

couldn’t afford to pay more than twopence. We

|

'

| the performance was about to commence.
Pay here, please. |





IN FOUR CHAPTERS.

don’t often get the like o’ you, sir. A gentleman
did come the first night tho’, sir, and he gave me a
sixpenny-bit, and a little something for myself ; but
he was such a one as we don’t often see.”

“Come, come! How much do you really want,
man? Will sixpence satisfy you?” asked the
stranger, and without waiting for a reply he left
the man and the sixpence, and went into the

| entertainment. 2

At last all the seats were occupied, the music
ceased, and the ringing of a bell announced that
The
audience were seated, as it were, on a bank, each
bench a little higher than the one before it, thus
giving every one a good view of the centre circle,
which was strewn with clean sand: Immediately
before the bell rang, however, two men came in,
laid a piece of carpet down quite in the middle,

‘and that done, whilst the bell was still ringing, a

tiny little boy and girl appeared through an
opening left on one side, and ran hand-in-hand
into the area, amidst a perfect uproar of applause,
which they acknowledged by bowing and kissing
their little hands. The little girl could not have
been more than eight years of age; she looked like
a sunbeam, with her sparkling blue eyes, her golden
ringlets falling on‘her little bare shoulders.

A striking contrast to her was her little dark-
haired companion, with his large eyes and white
face. Perhaps it was his dark green costume
which gave him such a ghastly appearance, for
everything on him was of that colour—even. his
shoes—and fitted so closely as to show that he was
nothing more nor less than a little mass of over-
developed muscles. There was a look of purpose
in his young face ; but his expression was not at all
an unhappy one, on the contrary, he appeared to
take the greatest possible interest in what he had
to do, whilst the look of tender, loving care he
bestowed every now and then upon his little fair-
haired companion was perfectly bewitching. The
entertainment was much diversified. It consisted of
walking on ropes, dancing, and gymnastic feats of
the most daring kind, in all of which performances
the little girl showed herself possessed of the most
wonderful agility, courage, and grace, and the boy
of very great muscular strength. They were the
sole performers. If I were to attempt to give a

-detailed account of what this diminutive couple

really accomplished, I should certainly be dis-
believed, and accused of exaggeration ; to avoid
Dad Ryan’s Luck. 31



which accusation I shall leave all to the imagination
of my young readers to fill. Suffice it to say
that the conductor of affairs, being too anxious to
please his patrons—this being the last per-
formance —had over-estimated the strength of
the young athlete.

“Tt’s marvellous!” said the gentleman, who had
been scribbling in a note-book ever since he had
taken his seat. Almost before he had uttered the
exclamation, a faint cry pierced the air, and the
little fellow fell to the ground from sheer. ex-
haustion, In an instant the little fairy was
kneeling by his side, panting from her late exer-
tions. Two men lifted him, and carried him out
quite insensible, the other child following, and
sobbing as if her heart would break.

' The audience had apparently been struck dumb
at first by the accident ; but now, finding that their
enjoyment had been brought to an untimely end,
they became uproarious ; some of them were even
low-minded enough to grumble at not having had
their money’s worth. They stamped on the ground,
and called out for the little girl to come back. Their
requests were of course at first unheeded, but at last,
finding that they none of them stirred to go, she
was sent in again, her eyes swollen and red with
crying, and the corners of her lips very much turned
down. Children very seldom look pretty when
crying, but she certainly did, although her little face
was fullof sorrow. A kind-looking man brought her
in the second time, whispered something coaxingly
into her ear, and then left her with a sad smile on
her face. She began to dance, and screwed up her
little features into all kinds of grimaces to keep from
crying. Poor little thing ! it was a great trial for her,
but she did her very best. The excitement of what
she was about seemed for the moment to raise her
spirits, and she was greatly applauded for her pains.
This cheerfulness, however, was of only very short
duration, for in afew moments she sat herself down
on thé ground, regardless of all the eyes fixed upon
- her, hid her face in her hands and sobbed. The
man in attendance felt greatly perplexed, and en-
deavoured to induce her to go on again, but this
time without avail. “Let me go to Willie,” said she,
between her sobs; then in the prettiest and most
entreating way possible she looked up at the audi-
ence, and said, “ Please do go away; I want to go
to Willie.” :

The simple request took all by surprise. Although
there were people there of the very lowest type, there
was not a heart amongst them hard enough to
resist such an appeal. They rose with one accord
to go, and never before had an audience left that
tent in so orderly and quiet a manner. The: place
and people seemed to have been suddenly trans-



formed. Many there had learned a lesson from
that little one, they knew not what it was, but their
hearts for the time being were softened, and I think
I may venture to say that not a cross word was
spoken to any of their own children when they
reached their homes that night.

“Come, Nell,” said the kind-looking man, “ wipe
away those tears and come with me to Willie. You
mustn’t let the other men see you, because they are
rather angry ; but you keep close to me, and I’lltake
care of you. ©

Nellie: put her hand confidingly into that of her
friend, and they went off together to visit the in-
valid.

CHAPTER II,

IN one of the many pretty country lanes of Kent,
bordered on either side by fine old trees in full leaf,
stood three vans with little curtained windows.
Seated on the bank near them were three groups of
people. The first consisted of women who were
busily engaged in cooking, one with a baby in her
arms, which, notwithstanding all her threatening
gestures, would exercise its littlelungs. The second
was a little gathering of men, four in number, who
were smoking and conversing eagerly ; and beyond
them, a few yards distant, were a little boy wrapped
in a large great-coat and lying in the sun, and a little
girl engaged in trying to make some curls on his
forehead out of straight hair, and in so doing almost
blinding her victim with her own curls, which, being
long, would find their way into his eyes and tickle
his face ; they tickled him so that he shook his head,
and so undid all her work.

“ There, you naughty boy,” said she, “it’s all come
out again; I’m sure it would have curled beautifully
that time ; now I shall do it up in paper.”

“Oh, please don’t, Nellie dear; you hurt me so
last time,” said he, smiling ; “I don’t think they’re
worth the pain.”

“Did it hurt you? I’m so sorry you didn’t say so.
Why didn’t you?”

“* Because I thought you liked doing it. You are
so kind, Nellie, I don’t think I should ever have got
well without you. How long have I been ill?”

“Oh, let me see,” said she, turning very thought-
ful; “it was two Fridays ago, 1 think; but we’ve

-come such a long way since, and you’ve been so ill,

that it seems to me like a year.”

“Ym sorry I got ill that night.
much money ?”

“Oh yes ; I heard him say the other day that as
far as money went it was the best night he’d ever
had. But he says he’d rather have lost it all than
had you.so ill. Do you know, he says you’re never
to do anything again.”

Did Dad get
32 . Dad Ryan’s Luck.

“Not do anything?” asked Willie, sorrowfully.

“You know what I mean—not to do any of those
things that you’ve been doing to get money.”

“ Why not? I never was ill before, ere I like to
make money for Dad ; I do love him so.’

“So do I. If it hadn't been for him, I don’t
know what Robins wouldn’t have done to me, he
was so angry because some one told him that I cried
and wouldn’t dance after you fell down. Do you
know, Willie,” continued the little girl, her eyes
growing rather dim, “we all thought you were
going to die one night, you kept saying such funny
things. Dad said that the great God was going to
take you away from him because he hadn’t taken
proper care of you.”

“ Poor Daddie! he is so good, isn’t he, Nell? I
wonder what would become of you and me if he
died ?”

“What do you think I heard Robins saying the
other day?” asked Nellie, suddenly changing the
subject.

“J don’t know.”

“That some one’s been writing a lot in a news-
paper about us, and saying that they ought to be
ashamed of themselves, ahd that Dad ought to be
punished, because what we did, they said, was
enough to kill any child. Shows all they know
about it, doesn’t it? They said it oughtn’t to be
allowed in this country ; and last night, when they
thought I was asleep, I heard them saying that
some people were trying to catch us.”

“Oh, Nell!” exclaimed Willie, sitting up and
looking very much alarmed. “ Whatever shall we
do? . Perhaps they’ll put Dad in prison.”

“We'll go too if they do. Dad wanted to go
and tell them all about it, and say how sorry he
was, but the others wouldn’t let him. They did
call him such dreadful names; and that nasty
Bill Jones said he believed Dad had gone mad.
Oh, here he comes! Don’t tell him,” whispered
she.

“Well, Will, lad, how are you getting on? and
you too, Miss Nurse? I think your patient is in a
very hot place.” ; ;

“Oh no, Dad, I’m not. I’m quite cold.” The
man sighed as he looked at the little fellow
shivering on such a sultry day. “I shall soon be
able to work again, now,” said the little fellow,
looking smilingly at his father. “ Where are we
going to next, and what will Nell’s name be? Do
sit down and tell us, father.”

“You'll know soon enough where we’re going,
my boy; and Nell will be always called by her
proper name now.”

“Why did you give her such a long name
before?”



“ Because, don’t you know, that English people,
for some reason or other, will often go and see
any one with a foreign name, when they wouldn’t if
they used their own names,”

“ How silly !”

“Yes. But it doesn’t matter now; it’s all over.
I’m not going to live in this sort of way any longer.
Stay just as you are and listen to me. You tell
me, Nell, if you see any one coming, because they
mustn’t hear. First of all, I am going to ask you
a question, which you must answer, and tell me the
real truth. Do you love me?”

“Oh yes, Dad,” said she, raising her little eye-
brows in astonishment at such a question; “of
course I do. I love you better than any one else
in the world, except Willie,” and as she made the
exception she looked fondly at.the little boy, who
placed his hand in hers, looking very well satisfied
with her confession.

“Then,” said the man, whose real name was
Ryan, “if I were to ask you which you’d do, stay
here with these people, or go away with Willie and
me, you’'d——”

“Oh, don’t leave me!” said the child, looking
perfectly terrified. “I should die if you went
away ; besides, Dad, you told me you promised
father you’d always take care of me, just as if I
were your own little girl.”

“That I did, child, and I'll keep my promise ;
but I wanted to find out first which you’d rather
do, because, you know, I shouldn’t like to take you
away against your will, you know.”

“ But why are you going away, Daddie?” asked
Willie. ‘‘ Was it wicked to do what we did?”
asked he, very solemnly. “Mother never said
so.”

“Tt wasn’t exactly wicked, but it was wrong. of
me to make you earn money for me, when you
ought both to be at school learning, and I ought to
be working for myself like all honest men do.
Now I’m going to tell you something that you
must keep quite secret ; you must both promise not
to tell any one.”

“Oh yes! We won’t tell any one, will we,
Will?” said Nellie, getting as close as ever she
could to Ryan to hear the news. Little girls
always like to hear secrets, and: her face glowed
with curiosity.

“ You know Thursday is my watch: -night. Well,
what I want you both to do is to get all the things
you want together, and tie them into two bundles,
without any one seeing ; then I’ll arrange that you
shall both sleep close by the door of the van that
night, and, when they’re all fast asleep, you must
get up, and come to me as quietly as ever you
can.”

natn Pernt SROEE TERE:






















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































~e





¢
2
4



























“DO TAKE US FOR A ROW,” (See p. 32.)


34 Dad ‘Ryan’s Luck. |



CHAPTER III.
“Have a boat this thorning, sir?” said a good-
natured-looking man in fisherman’s attire.. “ Fine
day for a row, this.”

“Tt’s rather too rough for me, thank you,” said
the gentleman addressed.

“Ts it, sir? To be sure, now, it is a little rough,
perhaps, for people not accustomed to it; but I do
think it’s the loveliest day we have had, as yet, this
summer.”

“Ves, the season’s coming on. You'll be getting
busy again now, I suppose? Winter’s a slow time
for you here.” ,

“Well, perhaps it is a little; but we manage to
make a nice little bit of money in one way and
another—what with fishing and odd jobs.”

“Vou certainly don’t look as if much went amiss
with you.”

“No, sir; I do think ’m about the happiest
man in the place, and so | ought to be, thank God.
Everything’s gone right with me since I took to
this line. I can’t think what ails some folk; they
seem to have all they want, and yet they’re always
grumbling, somehow; but 2 suppose I’m lucky,
that’s about it.” 2

wo “Tn what does your luck consist?” said the

gentleman, smiling.
“Well, it’s just this, I’ve got two of the nicest,
best, and prettiest children that God ever sent into

.this world.”

“You have brought yours up properly, then, have
you?” ee

“Bless me, if I don’t think they have brought
me up more than I have them®!. but there, it’s all
along of my poor dear wife.. They’re just like her,
they are! Do you know, sir,” said the man, his
heart swelling so with gratitude, “ I often think that
they were sent to me on purpose to teach me,
because I was none too good. Here they are, bless
their hearts! See’em, sir? Those two—a little
boy and a girl—with straps across their shoulders,
carrying their school-books.”

This happy boatman was none other than Ryan,
and the children of whom he had spoken so affec-
tionately Willie and Nellie. He certainly had cause
to be proud of themythey looked so bright, and
fresh, and happy. Nellie had on a very broad-
brimmed hat, intended to keep the sun from her
eyes ; but she had thrown it back, and some little
curls found their way out on to her forehead. _ Her

cheeks were so rosy and fat, as, indeed, were her

little hands, one of which was, as usual, in the care
of Willie. He had wanted to carry her books for
her, but she had a little will of her own and would

_ not allow him; if the truth must be told, she had

grown into a very determined young woman. For-



tunately, however, her inclinations generally led
her in the right direction, so that very little harm
resulted. As for Willie, he was almost a head and
shoulders taller than she, indeed was a very big.
boy for thirteen. There were no traces of care and.
hard work on his face now, as suddenly catching
sight of his father on the beach, he and Nellie ram
as fast as they could towards him.

- “Do take us for a row, Daddie,” said she, rush-
ing up and throwing her arms round Ryan’s neck,
as she kissed him; then, seeing a stranger close
by, she’ turned away very red and pouting. She
was a curious child—very affectionate—but she
could not bear to be seen giving vent to her love,
and now felt quite ashamed and cross.

The stranger noticed it in a moment, and felt am
intruder.

“ Good morning,” said he to Ryan; “I shall very
likely go for a row to-morrow morning with you, if
it’s fine,” and he turned to go, but not before he
had taken a very good look at the children.

“Where have I seen those two little faces
before?” said he to himself, as he walked back
towards his lodgings on the Marine Parade. He
thought and thought, yet he could not remember.
He did not know how it was, but he felt more than
usually interested in them, and the more he thought
of them the stronger became his conviction that
that was not the first time he had seen them. His
lodgings faced the sea, and when he was having
his lunch he saw them again, walking along the
parade with their books, evidently bound for
school, and another look at them cleared away all
doubt. He felt certain that they were the two
children he had seen performing in the tent, and
about whom he had written a long article in a news-
paper. He did not stop to finish his lunch, but,
ringing the bell, put on his hat, walked down to
the beach to Ryan, and told him to take him for a
row. The sea being much rougher than in the .
morning, Ryan was not a little surprised, still he
said nothing, but prepared the boat. They had
not been long out before Mr. Wren explained his
reason for having hired the boat on such a rough
day ; he was anxious to know all about Ryan and
his children. As may be supposed, Ryan was not

_a little surprised to find that this stranger was the

very one who had published the account of Willie’s
last performance, and that it was he who had sent
men in search of the strolling company, and had,
in fact, been the cause of the change in Ryan’s
mode of life. He had much to tell, and Mr.
Wren was so interested that they were still in the-~
boat when the children returned from - school.
They pulled to shore immediately upon seeing |
them, and Ryan formally introduced Mr. Wren to
Dad Ryan’s Luck. 35



them. They, however, did not seem to take at all
kindly to their Dad’s new friend; indeed, rather
annoyed him by their very cool reception of the
gentleman. Nellie was even worse than Willie ;
she would not look at him, but kept pulling Willie’s
coat behind for him to come away. Almost for
the first time Ryan felt ashamed of the conduct of
his pets ; but later on he found that the reason of
it was, that for years they had harboured revenge
in their little hearts against “whoever wrote the
article against Dad, and made.everybody think he
was cruel and bad.”



CHAPTER IV.

WILLIE and Nellie were very much surprised to
find that as time went on instead of disliking Mr.
Wren, as they had intended, they grew more and
more fond of him. Every day they saw him on the
beach and had a long talk with him, for having
travelled a great deal, he always had something in-
teresting to tell them. To Willie he took a very great
fancy, he was so struck with the boy’s intelligence
and good nature.

“What is your father going to make of you when
you leave school ; do you know ?”

“ Make of me, sir? Why, nothing but what I
am, I suppose.”

“Youre surely not going to spend your life in
doing nothing?”

“Oh no, sir. I shall help Dad, go out fishing
with him, and help look after the boats; but Dad
says I may stay at school as long as ever I like,
and learn as much as I can.”

“ He’s avery good father to you, I think. So you
like learning, do you? Have you many books?”

“No, sir. That’s just it; you see if I had the
books I’d learn out of them myself in the even-
ings, and then I couldhelp Dad all day. But books
are so dear—good books, I mean. I’ve got little
lesson books and that sort, but I couldn’t learn
much out of them, and they ae us lectures at
school.”

Mr. Wren had a fine library of his own, but, un-
fortunately, it was in his London house, so that he
was not able to help Willie immediately, as he
wished. A month or two later, however, Nellie was
surprised to see, one day, a man with a cart at the
door. He beckoned to her, and produced a large

heavy parcel addressed to Willie. It proved to be
full of books chosen by Mr. Wren from his library,
for his young friend. Such an advent, of course,
caused infinite delight in the little household; the
books, which were of the best character, highly in-
teresting and instructive, were feasted on for months,
nay, years. This, however, was only the commence-
ment of Mr. Wren’s kindness. Whenever he came





to Hastings, which was always at the least twice a
year, he gave Willie lessons, and this he continued
doing until the boy was eighteen years of age. He
had left school some time,.and was carrying out his
former intention of helping his Dad during the day,
and spending his evenings intellectually. He was
not only a very well-informed boy himself, but inas-
much as it had always been his delight to teach
Nellie anything that he himself learnt, they were
now thorough companions in every sense of the
word. Willie was perfectly happy, and would have

‘been content to remain as he was always had not

Mr. Wren suggested that he might use his superior
education in the world, and so improve his position.
He offered him a situation in his own office in
London.

“Daddie,” said Nellie one day, very sorrowfully,
“ don’t let Willie go to London.”

“Why not? Itll be the making of him. A fellow
with Azs brains oughtn’t to be here, spending his
life in things that any one can do without brains.
But come, why don’t you want him to go?”

“ Because—because—only gentlemen go into
offices like Mr. Wren’s, and if Willie is turned inte
a gentleman he'll be ashamed of us afterwards.”

“ Ashamed of us? Bless you, child, Willie’s not
the lad to forget his father, and as to you, who
knows, you might be a lady some day. Willie will
never be ashamed of you, my pet. If he were a
prince, and met you in the streets in rags, he’d stop
the coachman, and say, ‘that’s my sister Nell;’
and right proud he'd be of you. Willie’s got a
gentleman’s heart, and he ought to have a gentle-
man’s pocket to match, and I’ll never stand in the
way of his getting it. Oh no, Nell, Will will never
be ashamed of us.”

But Nellie was not at all convinced of this, and
she made herself very unhappy about it. Willie
accepted Mr. Wren’s offer, who was staying in
Hastings, and it was arranged that they should
travel together to London the following week.
Willie, of course, could not help feeling proud and
grateful to his benefactor, yet there was a weight
within him which he could not remove; it depressed
his spirits, and made him very miserable. He had
always had Nell with him, and she had become so
like a part of himself that he seemed never before
to have contemplated their separation. Could he
realise life without her sunny smiles,
without her rebukes? Her very waywardness he
loved ; and now came up before him the vision of a
solitary life, a dull void in place of his Nellie.

But, notwithstanding everything, Willie did go,
and he had to content himself with writing home.
He wrote to his father and Nellie alternately. One
morning, however, a long time afterwards, two

Cc 2

or. even -
36

The Patient Cobbler.



letters came together, one for each. Ryan did not |
take long to read his, for he was so anxious to see
the effect upon Nellie. When, however, he saw her
turn to go out of the room, he thought this looked
very ominous, and he called her to him in a very
serious tone.

“Nellie, come here, there’s a good girl; you can
tell me all about it. You know you needn’t marry
him unless you like ; perhaps you like somebody else.
At all events, you do just what you like; and I know
Willie will make the best of it, for your sake.”

She turned very red and rather raised her eye-
brows, as if in astonishment at her Dad’s remark.

“JT like anybody better than Willie! Oh Dad,
how can you say so!” said Nellie, quite determined

to despise all doubt.
* * * * * * * *



Three years later, Willie, now the editor of a
newspaper of which Mr. Wren was proprietor, came
to Hastings to claim his bride. It was a happy
marriage, indeed. Dad Ryan of course gave Nellie
away in the church, but in doing so, he thought
himself the luckiest man alive. “You know, sir,”
said he to Mr. Wren, after the ceremony was
over, “it was always a trouble to me, to think that
some day I should lose my Nellie. Of course I
thought she’d get married, but somehow I never
thought it would turn out this way. I do declare
it’s wonderful how everything goes right with me.
I feel so happy, I don’t know what to do with myself.
Was ever the great God as good to anybody, as he
is to me? Bless their hearts! I know they'll be
happy too, for they’re too good to be anything -
else.”

THE PATIENT COBBLER.

He toiled with his weary feet,
And he thought
room,
Afar from the noisy street.
The walls were narrow, the windows low,
But the shadows flickered to and fro,
For an aspen poplar stretched one bough
Across the broken pane.
No shine through other windows now!
No time for tears, or time to lose,
Mending and patching of clumsy shoes,
And much of money to gain,
By golden noon, and by fading light,
He sewed up the shoes both fast and tight,
And it cheered him through his busy day
To see how the leaves would quiver and play,
All fresh from the summer rain.
In the rustle and dance on the aspen bough
He saw a child at his play; :
Little Jim was all that was left him now,
And he dwelt so far away !
A look had come to the sweet fair face
That had cried for light, and joy, and space,
And the cobbler worked in his narrow room,
That his flower in a brighter home might bloom.

0] P creaking stairs half lost in gloom \

he was snug in his little

When the branch was bare, and the walls
were chill,

And the snow-cloud covered the sky,

And the sparrows sat-hungry on the sill,

Little Jim came home to die !

And the cobbler bowed his silvering head,

And touched not his tools or his waxéd thread,
While the sorrowful days went by ;

For ever at sight of his work, he said,
“Broken shoes! What need to mend

Now God has taken my only friend?”

Not till the leaves began to sprout,
And purple and gold were carried about
For toiling folk to buy,
Could he dry the tears that made him blind,
And gazing from his window, find
A pitiful look in the sky.
But the steadfast heart will rise again
From the chastening stroke of sorrow and pain,
And something through that window shone
That made him feel no more alone ;
And he sorted his pile of dusty shoes,
“ For strength,” said he, “was given to use,
And work is ever good and sweet,
If done in our Father’s sight.”
So he sits far up from the noisy street,
And the shoes he mends are strong and neat;
And friends he never thought to meet
Made many a sad day bright.
Something was left out of all his tears
That bade him hope beyond the years,
And taught him to see without murmur or pain
The leaves come fresh on the bough again ;

- And whilst he is waiting with faith renewed
He lifts up his heart in gratitude,
For.life that is calm with hope and prayer,
For the work that gives him his daily food
And a mite for a brother in need to spare.

be
iy

Little Cousin Bertha. 37



ah







LITTLE COUSIN BERTHA.

AKE a walk with me
through the pretty fields,
Sophie dear. I’ve been
going up and down these
straight gravelled walks
till I am tired; and I
don’t like the garden at
all; besides, you promised





the hedges.”

“ But, Bertha, I’m very
anxious to get these seeds sown before mamma
comes home.”

‘* Please leave the rest till to-morrow, and come
while the sun is shining, or let me help you to
sow.”

“No, dear, you would not know how. I’d rather
do it all myself.” : ?

“Well, may I go to the fields without you ?”

Sophie paused; she knew perfectly if her mother
were at home Bertha would not be allowed out alone.
Yet what could happen to her fora short time?

“JT suppose if you can’t content yourself here,
you’d better go to the fields,” she answered, impa-
tiently, “but don’t wander far. Ill be after you
when I’ve finished the seeds.”

Little Bertha ran out of the garden, delighted to
escape from its continement, while Sophie continued
her work undisturbed by the child’s prattle.

It was a bright day in early spring, and a shade
of green had already spread over fields and banks,
though as yet the trees and hedges had not put
forth a single leaf to tell of approaching summer.
Here and there a stray daisy raised its open petals
to greet the blue sky, and seemed to rejoice in the
sunshine.

After taking several races over the short grass,

to look for primroses in



Bertha walked slowly round the bank, searching for
wild flowers ; but not one was to be seen, A gap
led into. the next field, and passing through, she
was rewarded by finding a clump of celandine in
full blow. Having gathered some of the starry
flowers, she turned down a narrow lane, where a
few primroses and violets peeped from behind the
hedges, and crossed a stile to a green hill which
sloped gently to the water’s edge.

“Oh! the pretty river, how I love to watch it
flowing!” exclaimed Bertha; “I’H just go and sit
on the bank to wait for Sophie.”

Soon she spied a large patch of dark green leaves
and golden blossoms of the marsh marigold growing
on the damp margin of the stream, “ What lovely
May-flowers ! I must try and gather a few to- show
Sophie!” And leaning over the high bank, the
child gazed down at the dark river—swollen far
above its usual level by recent heavy rains—and
considered how she could best manage to climb
along the slippery bank, so as to reach the flowers
below.

Meanwhile, Sophie spent a longer time gar-
dening than she had intended, and being much
ifiterested in her work, was greatly surprised to
find how dusk the evening had grown.

“T must go and look for Bertha. Mamma will
soon be home, and we ought to be in to welcome
her.” Hurrying from the garden, she crossed the
first and second fields, and not seeing her little
cousin, called loudly, “ Bertha, Bertha, where are
you?” but there was no reply. Hastily passing
down the lane, and across the stile, the sound of
wheels in the distance met her ear. “It must be
mamma returning. Oh dear! how provoking, and
we shall be quite late to receive her, for I can’t go
back till I find Bertha ; why did she stray so far
e

38 Little Cousin Bertha.



without me. Oh! here’s a boy driving home the
cows, I’llask him. Will,” she called out, “do you
know where little Miss Bertha is?” :

“She crossed the stile about an hour ago, and
went down towards *
the river; I won-
dered to see her
running through
the fields alone,
and hoped no harm
would come to her,
but I had to go
about my own busi-
ness; and that’s all
I know.”

“The river!”

<< =

the water, and be carried away by the violence.
of the current. To confirm this terrible fear, a
few faded primrose and violet blossoms were
scattered on the ground, as if the child had flung
them from her hand
before attempting
her dangerous de-
scent, For a mo-
ment Sophie stood
like one paralysed,
then turned to fol-
low the course of
the stream, peering
into its dark waters
as they rolled on
towards a mill















































exclaimed Sophie,
“TI never thought
of that,” and turn-
ing from Will, with-
out another word,
she hurried down
the hill. On the brink of the river a boy was lying
gazing at the water-lilies beneath him, but when
asked by Sophie, he said he had not seen a little
girl pass that way. The shades of evening were
rapidly increasing, and there was a sound of
rushing water very unlike the usual quiet musical
murmur of the stream. “How high the river
is to-day, and how fast it runs. Oh! I think I
see Bertha at last,” and with a feeling of un-
speakable relief, she darted forward towards a
litttle stunted thorn-bush which grew half way
down the bank; but what was her horror on
coming closer, to see that it was only a piece of
Bertha’s dress caught on a branch, and waving
with every passing
breeze like a flag
of distress. The
blood rushed back
to Sophie’s heart;
trembling in every
limb she leaned
over thesteep bank, :
and gazing down, }
saw the patch of
marsh marigold. It
wasall tooeasily un-
derstood. Bertha,
in her eager desire
to reach the flowers,
would be likely to
attempt climbing SS
fown the steep = ee
Wippery bank, miss =

der footing, roll into








Ky




THE MILL BY THE STREAM.



Au
ee
“ee ct,

&
G 0 ts
WUE E26, (x te SS

“ GAZING AT THE WATER-LILIES.”

which stood at the
opposite side of the



river. Perhaps
=: some one there
mighthaveseen and

rescued Bertha. It
was agleam of hope. Quickening her pace, she was
pleased to see the miller’s wife leave her house and
hasten down to the water’s edge. It would be easy
to call out to her across the stream. But what
could Mrs. Wood be doing at that late hour stoop-
ing over the bank; yes, and drawing something to
land, too? Sophie watched her for a moment in
an agony of suspense, till she could distinguish,
through the dusk of evening, a light-coloured ob-
ject laid on the grass, over which the woman bent
tenderly ; then no longer able to refrain from
speaking, “‘ Mrs. Wood, is there life? is there any
hope?”

“Miss Sophie is that you?” said the woman,
turning round in
surprise ; ‘‘ No, in-
deed, there’s no
hope, the poor lamb
is quite dead, and
must:have fallen in
and been drowned
a long while ago.
Such a sad pity
too; a fine little
pet. But you ought
to go home, Miss
Sophie, it’s very
late for you to be -
out alone.”

Then there was
no doubt, no hope?
Go home, indeed !
No, she did not care
where she turned;




i (a

A

- &S 0 Aas

ro




Little Cousin Bertha. 39



any place, sooner than witness the sorrow she had
«caused. On, across the fields a long way, until
a clump of trees and a little grassy dell recalled
to her mind the thought that she was alone, and
a good distance from home. It had been a
favourite play-place in summer, full of wild
flowers and little mossy nooks; but all that
seemed, oh, so long ago! Seating herself on a
large stone deep down in the dell, Sophie rested
her head against the
sloping bank, and tried
to realise what had hap-
pened.

Was Bertha indeed
gone? her mother’s only
child, her pet and dar-
ding. Little Cousin
Bertha, who had been
sent to them for change
of air after an illness.
How pale and delicate
she had looked at first, 4
and how bright and rosy
she had lately grown.

Sophie was to have A
gone back -with her to
town next week, to spend
a short time with her

==
aunt, but now, oh, how Z GE

ei \ J Yi);75
changed everything \\ Key

would be! Her sorrow
and remorse seemed too
great to bear. And yet,
as Sophie sat there alone
in the dark, listening to
the mournful murmur
of the distant stream,
sounding like a low wail
over the child that had
struggled so lately with
its strong and cruel cur-
rent, one short sentence came ringing in her ear—
“The maid is not dead, but sleepeth.’” Had God
sent the thought to comfort her? It was about a
Jittle girl Jesus had said these words. He loved
and cared for little girls, then. Perhaps He was



Re yeoravion

watching over her now, in this sad hour of trouble, |

and might pity and forgive. She would ask Him.

After this, Sophie’s thoughts became calmer,
and she began to consider what was best to do.
Mother would no doubt be anxious at her long
absence : she must return and confess all.

It was very dark and dreary to walk so far alone,
‘but as she proceeded the moon rose from behind
a bank of cloud, and lighted up the way. Entering
quietly by the garden door, which stood con-

ZZ
yp

4 ig



“RESTING HER HEAD ON HER MOTHER'S KNEE” (#. 4c.)



veniently open, she gained her own room without
meeting any one. All was very silent, and Sophie
wondered if Mrs. Wood had yet arrived, or if she
herself must be the first to tell the sad tidings.
“Tt would be better to wait here a few moments,”
thought the poor girl, “and consider how to break
the news to mamma, for I know she will be terribly
shocked.”

There in the corner stood little Bertha’s bed.
Sophie glanced towards
it, her eyes for the first
timeswimming with tears.
Was it owing to the de-
ceptive twilight, or could
it really be occupied?
Sophie rushed across
the room in an agony of
expectation. A bright
moonbeam from the op-
posite window fell on
Bertha’s head, showing
her beautiful golden hair
falling in soft curls over
the pillow. The blue
eyes were tightly shut,
but a delicate pink colour
was on the cheek, and
the breath came regularly
from the half-closed lips.

~| Sophie gazed long and

=| steadily — surely she
e could not be mistaken,
“The maid is not dead,
but sleepeth.” Yet how
could it be? Had she
not seen Mrs. Wood
draw a little drowned
body from the mill-
stream? Was it all a
horrible dream? She
touched the hand which
lay on the coverlid ; it was soft and warm. Sink-
ing on her knees by the bed, she thanked God;































Ze
LIZ
Lo
Ye
Ly pp

Wy
Ly



i then running down-stairs with a lightened heart,
| found ker mother in the dining-room. “ Oh, mam-

ma!” she cried, rushing into her arms, “how did
Bertha recover?” 4

“My dear child, where have you been?” ex-
claimed her mother; “we were greatly frightened
about you.”

“Oh! nothing happened to me; do tell me of

| Bertha.”

“She was brought back a good while ago by
Farmer Rogers. He was walking along the river
path, and saw her climbing down the bank, in a
very dangerous place. She clung to a branch of
40 es Hurrah for the Snow!



thorn till he came up and carried her home tired
and frightened. We put her at once to bed. Then
your father went to look for you, and heard at the
mill that you had been speaking to Mrs. Wood
some time ago across the river, but she could not
give much information, for her attention was
engaged about a pet lamb that had just been
drowned, and she did not observe which way you
took. He returned to give me even this much
comfort, and is now gone to make further search.

What induced you to stay out so late? and why
was Bertha alone near the river?”

Then Sophie, kneeling down, and resting her
head on her mother’s knee, gave a full account of
the whole matter. “But, oh! mother dear,” she
ended, “I was sure it was Bertha, instead of the
pet lamb, that Mrs. Wood drew from the water,
and you can’t think what I suffered until I found
her in the moonlight on her own little bed, ‘ not







dead, but sleeping.”” > S. T. A. R.































































































































Dec.

HURRAH FOR

HE little birds have ceased to sing,
The flowers have drooped in sadness,
No butterfly outspreads a wing,
Warmed by a summer gladness ;
Dear Nature’s face seems worn with care,
That beamed of late with brightness,
When lo come stealing down the air
Flakes of the purest whiteness.
Hurrah, then, hurrah for the snow!

As light as eider-down it sails
Upon its earthward duty,

And branches stript by ruthless gales
Are clothed at once in beauty.

The rudest, roughest bank or ledge



THE SNOW!

Beneath its wondrous power
Grows lovely, while the ragged hedge
Becomes a fairy bower.
Hurrah, then, hurrah for the snow!

The little rogue who found delight
When springtime brought us blossom,
Now hails the landscape clad in white
With joy-inspiréd bosom. %
Forth from his task young mad-cap hies,
As if delay were treason,
And soon from ruddy fingers flies
The first ball of the season.
Hurrah, then, hurrah for the snow !
JOHN G, WATTS,


Walls with Voices.

4l



WALLS WITH VOICES: STORIES AND LEGENDS OF FAMOUS PLACES,

WARWICK CASTLE.

to journey with our readers to places
memorable in tradition or in history,
) and during our wanderings here and
there, to gather together some of the
stories and legends that cluster around the scenes
we visit ; and for our first subject we have chosen
the famous Castle of Warwick—a stately structure,
about whose embattled walls there linger not a
few strange memories.

Situated on a rocky eminence, and rising proudly
from the banks of the river Avon, this grand old
fortress forms, perhaps, one of the most interesting
memorials of ancient splendour, and of the age
when English nobles held mighty sway, to be
found in the land; and (though it has been en-
larged and altered many times since then) its origin
is traced as far back as the days of Alfred the
Great. It was in those remote days when, as
tradition asserts, the castle was possessed by the
famous Sir Guy of Warwick, that the most re-
markable events connected with it and its lords
are supposed to have taken place.

Sir Guy was, we are told, the second of the
Anglo-Saxon Earls of Warwick, and lived, as we
have intimated, at about the end of the ninth
century. According to the account which has
come down to us, he was aman of gigantic strength,
and, as the ree of countless knightly deeds of
bravery and valour, was renowned throughout the
country. Of his many feats, one of the first
we are told of is that in which he figures as the
slayer of the “cruel and wild beast,” known as the
Dun Cow of Dunsmore Heath. Concerning this
exploit, it is said, that at the time of which we are
writing, there was at a certain place in Shropshire
a cow of enormous size, and that through some
cause she one day became suddenly furious, broke
away from the enclosure in which she was kept,
and, wandering into Warwickshire, began to commit
much havoc and slaughter. Many and many at-
tempts were made to destroy the cow, but all were of
no avail; and in the meantime whole villages were
being made desolate by her, and fright and panic
reigned around. So, at last, finding that all this
destruction and terror still continued throughout
his county, and that there seemed no hope of its
being abated, Sir Guy, taking compassion on the
people, determined that he himself would become
their champion, and would go forth to do battle
with the terrible cow. Arraying himself in a strong
coat of mail, and armed with sword and bow and



N this series of sketches we propose |





battle-axe, he therefore sallied forth one day from
Warwick Castle ; and seeking out the huge brute,
he encountered her at a place called Dunsmore
Heath, and there he succeeded in completely van-
quishing her.

And thus Sir Guy freed the county from the
terror by which it had been so sorely oppressed ;
and, in return for his gallantry, not only were
special honours conferred by the king, but the
latter caused one of the ribs of the cow to be hung
up in Warwick Castle, where, together with other
interesting relics, it remains to this day.

But—passing over many other of his doings,
among which was the destruction of a wild boar

- of “passing might and strength,” and of a dragon

“black as any cole” with lion’s paws, and a hide
which no sword could penetrate—the’ most im-
portant instance of Sir Guy’s prowess was a combat _
with a Danish chieftain named Colbrand, which took
place towards the end of his life; and was indeed
the last of the kind in which he ever engaged.
Let us see how it was that this no came
about.

It is said that some time after he Hea destroyed
the dun cow, Sir Guy took his departure from
England, went to Greece and other countries to
fight against the Saracens, and that he then pro-
ceeded on a pilgrimage to the. Holy Land. In
the meanwhile there were great troubles in this
country, for the Danes, who had landed on our
coasts some time before, were now harassing the
English in every quarter; and, according to the
legend, so successful at length was their invasion
that they succeeded in not only penetrating to the
neighbourhood of Winchester, where the king and
his followers were, but, arriving at that city, were
even enabled to dictate the conditions on which
they would make peace.

These conditions were, either that the English
crown should be at once surrendered to the Danish
sovereign, or, this being refused, that the dispute
should be decided in a single combat between an
English champion and one Colbrand, a man of
gigantic size, who would act as the Danish cham-
pion—and of these alternatives it is needless. to
say that it was the latter which was chosen. Now
arose, however, the difficulty as to the warrior who
should do battle for our side ; and the English, we
are told, knowing that Sir Guy—whom they con-
sidered to be the only one of their countrymen
capable of meeting the terrible Dane—was absent
in the Holy Land, were much astonished that their
42 _ Walls with Voices.



king should have accepted such a challenge so
readily as he had done. And so for some time it
seemed doubtful whether, after all, the combat
would take place; for though the king offered the
county of Hampshire to him who should conquer
Colbrand, not one of his nobles or subjects would
volunteer to go forth.

At length, however—so the legend continues—
the king one night had a vision in which he was
directed to arise at dawn on the next morning ; to
goto acertain gate of the city; and at this spot
he would see, among those who entered, one garbed
asa pilgrim, and having upon his head a chaplet
of roses. And to this person he was to address
himself, as well as to make known the challenge
which he had accepted; for in him he would find
the champion who would be able to lay the mighty
‘Colbrand in the dust. So the king arose as he was
bidden, and waited at the city gate.

It was at about this time that Sir Guy of Warwick
returned to England from his pilgrimage, and being
told of the straits to which the king and his army
had been reduced, made his way to Winchester,
where, so says the legend, he arrived on the very
night of the king’s vision. And it happened that on
the next morning, as the king waited at the gate,
Sir Guy—attired in a pilgrim’s habit, and wearing
a chaplet of roses—entered within ; and need we
say the king at once recognised him whom he
sought. Without delay, therefore, he made him-
self known to the pilgrim ; told him concerning the
vision he had had; and entreated him to become
his champion. Sir Guy professed to be much
surprised at what the king said; complained that,
being worn and tired after his long journeyings,
he was ill-fitted for such a task as that which was
proposed ; and (for in his strange attire the latter
had failed to identify him) he inquired why one
of the country’s great warriors had not come
forward? In sadness the king replied that there
‘ was indeed one brave lord of his—he known as
Sir Guy of Warwick—who would readily have gone
forth against the Dane, but he, alas! was journey-
ing in other lands, and there was now no other
who could goin his stead. On hearing this, it is
said that Sir Guy—though still careful not to make
himself known—became very sorrowful; and at
length, begging the king to’ be of good cheer,
undertook to do as he had asked him.

And so—passing on with our story—the day came
on which, after grand preparations, the combat
was to take place; and then, mounted on the
king’s best charger, and girt in strong armour,
Sir Guy went forth to encounter his antagonist.
And soon the two champions were fighting a battle
such as must indeed have been terrible to look

upon; not until the twilight did the crashing of
their swords and lances cease; and then only
after Sir Guy had been proclaimed the victor,
and Colbrand lay lifeless on the field.

This combat over, and the English rid, it is
said, of the Danes, the mysterious pilgrim who had
thus saved his country at his own life’s peril, shrank
entirely from the honours which were now ready
to be showered upon him—indeed, resumed the
garb in which he had at first appeared at Win-
chester; and for some time he even refused to
divulge his real name to the king. At length,
however, he did after much persuasion, and on
promise of strict secrecy being given, make himself
known to the latter; and then it was that, still
refusing reward of any kind, he is said to have
gone forth immediately from the king’s presence,
and making his way to a cave—now known as
Guy’s Cliff—near his own castle at Warwick, to
have there lived a holy life as a hermit until his
death. ,

Between the period when Sir Guy is said to have
lived and the days of King Edward the Second,
though the castle itself experienced many vicissi-
tudes, nothing of sufficient interest to be spoken of
here seems to have taken place in connection with
it. It was during the reign of the latter monarch,
however, that there occurred an event, in which
the Lord of Warwick was the chief actor, that
well illustrates the tyrannical power sometimes

-exercised in those dark days by the great nobles.

In the court of King Edward there was, in the
early part of his reign, a clever, but unprincipled
favourite named Piers Gaveston. To this person,
notwithstanding that he sought in every way to
lead the young king to ruin, Edward was devotedly
attached ; and so great was the influence which
Gaveston had contrived to gain over him that
scarcely any request which he made was refused.
The result of such intimacy was that, fully aware
of the opportunity for enriching himself which he
possessed, Gaveston took base advantage of it in
every way; and so great were the favours—both
of money and titles—which he induced Edward to
grant, that many of the great barons became highly
displeased and indignant.

One of the most inveterate of those who
had become enemies of Piers was the Earl of
Warwick; and his hatred had been brought to
a climax when, on a certain occasion, Gaveston
had, in giving nicknames to two or three of the
other barons, stigmatised him as “the Black Hound
of Ardern.” It was from this moment that the
doom of Edward’s favourite was fixed, for then it
was that the earl made a vow that he would be
revenged, and that “the teeth of the black hound ”
La SRA on” Not Cate ene ete canta s, tata, me ne



CN ee ea eg ee ee



‘d

Ce ae ee ee ee ee

a

Walls with Voices. 43



should one day be felt by Piers Gaveston! And
such in truth proved to be the case. After many
conflicts with King Edward—who was reluctant to
lose his favourite, and yet dared not to quarrel
with the lords—the barons succeeded in banishing
Gaveston from the country; but he having with
great imprudence returned, was, in 1312, forcibly
seized by the Earl of Warwick, borne in triumph
to Warwick Castle, and thence, after a brief council
in the large hall, attended by several of the great
nobles, where his fate was decided, he was dragged
to a rising mound known by the name of Blacklow
Hill » nearly two miles from the town, and there was
executed in ignominy By. his velentless enemies.
About one hundred :



Yorkists not merely to be victorious, but even to
take the king prisoner and march on to London.
Arriving there, and appealing to parliament to be
now acknowledged as the lawful sovereign, the Duke
of York found, however, that his victory had been
of no avail, for the House of Lords flatly refused
his request, and a compromise—namely, that Henry
should retain his crown for life, and that then it
should go to the duke—was all they conceded;
and to this the latter at last agreed. But Henry
had now an infant son, and his wife, Queen Mar-
garet, indignant at her child being excluded from
the throne, would not accept this decision; and
so, escaping from the court, she soon after raised













an army in the north

































































and fifty years pass



















of England, and sur-











































































by; the scene once











































rounding the castle of

































































more changes; and

the Duke of York at



















we come to the days
in which the castle
attained its greatest
splendour and glory, .
and when it had for
its lord an Earl of
Warwick, who was to
earn no less exalted -
a title than that of the
Kingmaker. Of this
famous nobleman, we
are told that so
wealthy and powerful
was he that it is

Wakefield — whither
he had now returned
for the purpose of
keeping Christmas
—she challenged him
to fight ; and he went
out against her. And
this time the White
Roses werethe losers ;
and the Duke of York
was himself among
the slain ; while, later
on, the queen, on her
way to London, even



computed that there
lived every day at his

partially defeated the
Earl of Warwick at







































board in the different
manors and castles
which he possessed in various parts of the country
no fewer than thirty thousand retainers.

At the period of which we are writing, there was
great dissatisfaction throughout England, partly on
account of the country being misgoverned by the
reigning sovereign, Henry VI.; and partly because
a large section of the nobles and people consideréd
that Richard, Duke of York, who had claimed the
throne, and not Henry of Lancaster, was the
rightful king ; and after a time not only was this

discontent openly displayed, but soon the partisans |

of the two dukes were fiercely arrayed against
each other, and the great Wars of the Roses—so
called because the badge of the Yorkists was a
white rose, and that of the Lancastrians a red one—
were the result. Into this contest the Earl of
Warwick, on the side of the Duke of York, threw
the whole weight of his enormous power; and at

- one of the first great battles, he it chiefly was who,

by the aid of his many followers, enabled the



VIEW OF WARWICK CASTLE.



St. Albans. But both
her victories were
fruitless ; for soon Warwick, joined by one thirsting
for revenge in the person of Edward, the son of the
late Duke of York, compelled the royal army to
return to the north; afterwards occupied London ;
and there amid the joyful shouts of the people
caused the young representative of the White Rose
to be placed upon the throne.

After yet one more terrible battle had been
successfully fought by Warwick, Edward, having
the earl for his main support, and liberally re-
warding him with riches and honours of every
kind, found his kingdom fairly established, and the
prospect of further molestation by the Lancastrians
apparently remote. But terrible events were yet
to come, and, truth to tell, the same hand which
had made him king was even to dethrone him:
For we are told that in the third year of his reign,
after Edward had, against Warwick’s wish, married
the Lady Elizabeth Grey, much jealousy, because
of the many favours and honours which were
44

‘Walls with Voices.



bestowed upon the latter’s relatives, began to be
exhibited by the earl ;
was that the bad feeling, increasing daily, ended
at length in an open: quarrel.

well as the king’s brother, then retired to France,

where Queen Margaret was, and made common |

cause with her ; and returning to England at the
head of 60,000 followers, he actually succeedéd in
first driving Edward out of the country, and then
in releasing Henry VI. from the Tower of London,
where he had been a prisoner, and placing him
once more upon the throne of England. Again,
however, the wheel of fortune turned; for within
six months not only did Edward at the head of

a large force make his appearance, but being |

Warwick, with the |
Duke of Clarence, who was his own son-in-law as

and the end of all this |!



joined by the false Clarence and his 12,000 men
—who in one night treacherously changed to
white the colour of every red rose which they
wore—he forced on the Earl of Warwick the battle
of Barnet; and at that fatal place it was that,
fighting on foot and sharing every danger with his
men, the great Kingmaker perished.

England has gradually altered since the days of
the three earls of which we have told you, and most
of the later Lords of Warwick have lived in more
peaceful and less exciting times than their ancestors.
But the castle still stands—the echoes of the
changeful events with which its history has been
linked still cling to it, though the age of which

it is so splendid a monument is one which, happily,
can never again return.























































































































































































































































































ALNWICK CASTLE,

ATING _ its

back to the
time of the Ro-
mans, its history
bound up with
not a few stir-
ring events, Aln-
wick Castle —
home of many of
the great Percys
of the past, and
now a seat of
the present Duke
of Northumber-
land — possesses,
through the im-







portant part «hich it has played in other days,

more than ordinary interest.

Concerning this stately fortress in its earliest
form little is knowa, though it is reputed to have
been a place of sume note for many years before
the Conquest ; and it is not until about the time
when William the Norman came to this country
that anything of importance is recorded respecting

foundation |

1
1



it. . At that period—though some suppose it was of
rather a primitive kind—it is said to have been
a fortress of no mean pretensions, and to have
formed, indeed, as it did in later days, the principal
stronghold in the wild region which was then the
borderland between England and Scotland; and
its possessor was a certain baron named Gilbert
Tyson, one of the most powerful chiefs of North-
umberland. But Tyson was: destined to be a.
martyr to patriotism, and of him we do not learn
much ; for, fighting for his country at the great
battle of Hastings, he, with many other nobles, fell
there, and soon afterwards his castle camie into the
hands of one of William’s followers, called Ivo de
Vesci, to whom the Conqueror had presented it.
It was by this chieftain that the fortress was much
altered and strengthened ; and it was during the
time that it was in his possession that the first event
of any interest which is spoken of in connection with
it-is stated to have taken place. This was a memo-
rable siege which it underwent in the year 1093.

At the period of which we are writing, Scotland
was reigned over by Malcolm III.; and _ this
monarch having married the daughter and espoused
the cause of Edgar, the remaining heir of the




engl

—

Walls with Voices. | 45

Saxon race of kings, a war had been provoked
between himself and William the Conqueror, which
was carried on with varying fortune for some years.
By the time, however, when William Rufus suc-
ceeded his father, in 1087, the relations between
the two countries appear to have become peaceful,
and but for the latter there seems to be no reason
why they should have been interrupted. But
Rufus was not satisfied with the extent of his own
territory; and thinking that the acquisition of
Carlisle and other places in the north—which were
at this time considered to belong to the Scottish
king—would be of great advantage to him, pre-
pared accordingly to dispossess their owner of
them by expelling the lord of the district.

Malcolm was at this time somewhat advanced
in years, and there were besides other reasons
which made him dis-



doubtless have continued to hold out against the be-
siegers longer. Unfortunately, however, a day came
when, all hope of succour being cut off, it was only
too plain to the lord of the castle—then Eustace,
son of Ivo de Vesci—and his brave soldiers that
further resistance was useless, and that all prospect
of victory was at an end. And at that juncture
it was that deliverance came in an altogether
unexpected manner. De Vesci was just on the
point of surrendering the fortress when a private
soldier came forward and undertook to rescue it
by a daring stratagem, which he was allowed to
carry out. Arming himself completely, this man
rode forth, with the keys of Alnwick Castle dangling
from his lance ; and next, making his way to the
Scottish camp, he presented himself in a suppliant
manner before Malcolm, as if he had come to

deliver up the keys.

















inclined for war;





The king, suspect-

























































still, it can be well



ing no treachery,























understood thatsuch



















quickly advanced to















a proceeding as that



receive them, and













































































of William’s would













not be permitted by
him without vigorous
protest. In order,
therefore, to prevent
hostilities, and at the
same time to obtain
satisfaction, Mal-
colm determined to

then, we are told,
the trooper pierced
him with his lance
andslew him! And
so by this deed the
whole condition of
affairs was changed ;
for not only was
Malcolm thus slain,























payavisitto William



but his son Edward



Rufus, the latterhav-



also received a



ing intimated that
he would receive
him amicably and discuss the question with him with

‘the view to its being settled in a friendly manner. |

On his arrival at the court, however, Malcolm,

with great insolence and disdain, being even refused
admittance to his presence ; and he was further in-
formed that the matter in dispute would have to be
submitted for judgment to the peers of England.
The result of this unlooked-for behaviour was that,
feeling that he had been grievously insulted,
Malcolm hastily returned to his own kingdom in
high displeasure; and it was not long ere he
showed the effects of his resentment. For, gathering
together his army, he, with his son Edward, soon
afterwards crossed the Scottish border, and enter-
ing Northumberland, at length laid . siege to
Alnwick Castle—with what result will be seen.
Though the army of Malcolm was one of con-

‘siderable strength, the garrison of the fortress

successfully defended it for some time, and had
their supply of provisions been sufficient, would

ALNWICK CASTLE,



mortal wound ; and
a confusion arising
throughout the ranks of the Scottish army, De Vesci
and his soldiers at once seized the opportunity

( ; offered, and making a fierce attack, utterly scattered
much to his astonishment, was treated by the king |

their enemies, and then returned to the castle which
they had so gallantly saved.

It was in the following century—in the year 1174
—that yet another Scottish sovereign was defeated
near this castle. The Lord of Alnwick was now
a certain William de Vesci, and he too was
frequently involved in the quarrels which agitated
the kingdoms of England and Scotland. At the time
when this De Vesci lived, it happened that William,
the King of Scotland—called the Lion, because of
his bravery—had through various reasons (more
especially because a portion of what he considered
his territory on the borders of the two countries
hiad been taken from him) become an inveterate
enemy of the English, and at length joined the son
of Henry II., who had rebelled against his father,
and invaded Northumberland; appearing at length
before the walls of Alnwick Castle. Meanwhile,
46

Walls with Voices.



the English, on learning of the advance of the
Scots, had marched northwards, and soon arrived
at Newcastle, from which town they set out one
morning to the relief of De Vesci’s fortress.
on this particular morning a dense fog covered the
country through which the army passed, and this
caused its advance to be a matter of difficulty as
well as of danger; for though it prevented the
enemy from being made aware of the coming of
the English, it entirely concealed from the latter
the precise whereabouts of King William and his
men. It is said that just before the English soldiers
approached Alnwick, some of the number, fearful
because of the mist, wished to turn back; but one
of the commanders, Bernard de Baliol, quickly
denounced such a cowardly proposal, and cried
out, “If all return, I will go forward!” And
at that moment the sun suddenly appeared
and dispersed the fog. Before the soldiers there
rose, to their astonishment, the lofty towers of the
castle; while on one side, in a meadow, was seen
no other than the King of Scotland tilting* with
sixty of his knights. At first, we are told, William
mistook the English for some of his own party
returning to the camp, but their banner speedily
convinced him of his error; on which, nothing
daunted by the surprise, he came forward and
haughtily exclaimed, “Now let us prove, then, who
are ¢rué knights!” But his bravery was of no avail ;
for advancing to meet his opponents, his horse was
slain beneath him at the first charge, and as he fell
to the ground he was taken prisoner, while his
knights, making no further resistance, immediately
threw down their arms, and quietly followed their
sovereign as captives to Newcastle. William the
Lion was soon after this taken to London, thence
removed to Normandy, and cast into prison; and
not until he consented to acknowledge himself a
vassal, and do homage to the English king did he
regain his liberty.

We pass on to the beginning of the fourteenth
century, and we arrive at the time when Alnwick
' Castle first came into the hands of the Percy family ;
it being now acquired by Henry de Percy, a power-
ful noble, having great possessions in the north
of England, and the descendant of a favourite
chieftain of William the Conqueror, who had come



* Tilting was a kind of mock fight, which formed a favourite
amusement at the time of which we are writing. In these contests
the combatants, mounted on horses, and fully equipped with armour,
helmet, and shield, would take up their positions at certain distances
apart, and then at a given signal would gallop forward, having in
their hands lances with blunt heads, and each attempt to overthrow
the other. Those privileged to take part in tilting were called
“knights,” and the enclosure where they engaged was termed
the “lists.” Sometimes galleries were placed around the “lists,”
for the accommodation of ladies and other spectators,

But |



over to this country with that king, the name
of Percy having been derived from a place so
called in Lower Normandy. Of this _par-
ticular member of the ‘house, there is, however,
nothing to tell, except that the castle was by him
rebuilt and altered ; and it is not until we come
to the days of Earl Percy, the fourth lord of
Alnwick of that family, and of his son Henry,
surnamed Hotspur, that any notable incidents
seem to have taken place. Let us glance at one
of the many deeds with which the names of these

' two renowned nobles are so inseparably associated.

Earl Percy, like many of those chieftains who
had possessed the castle before him, was not only
extremely bitter in his hatred of the Scots, but
frequently took a very prominent part against their
encroachments on English territory ; and in these
warlike operations—which were principally confined
to the borderland amidst which Alnwick was situated
-his son Henry joined him at a very early age.
Naturally of an impulsive and fiery disposition,
such expeditions as these of his father’s were exactly
suited to the tastes of young Percy, and greatly did
he distinguish himself in the field. Ere long, indeed,
such was the dashing courage he displayed, that by-
common consent he received the name by which we
have called him, Hotspur.

It was at this period, when father and son were
thus taking a very conspicuous part against the
Scots, that a rivalry which had long existed be-
tween the English house of Percy and the Scottish
house of Douglas became more and more marked ;
so much s0, in fact, that a feeling of deepest enmity
seems to have arisen between the two families.
And the result of all this was such as could only
have been expected in those days. After a
time Earl Douglas led an expedition across the
border against Earl Percy, and the forces of the two
rivals met at length at a place called Otterburn, in
Northumberland, where they fought a terrible battle.
And in this struggle Douglas was slain; while the
gallant Hotspur, who was, of course, in the thickest
part of the fight, was taken prisoner.

Which side after all gained the victory is uncer-
tain, for each claimed it; but whatever the result,
the battle of Otterburn possesses considerable
interest to us, for upon it is believed to be to a
great extent founded one of the most famous
ballads in the English language—that called
“Chevy Chase”—which, however, gives a some-
what different account of the contest, as well as of
its origin’

According to the story which is told in this poem,
the battle came about in this way :—Earl Percy,
being very desirous to encounter Earl Douglas, vowed
one day that he would enter into the territory of






Welle ieee



the latter, and there would hunt in the woods
for three days without condescending to ask per-
mission, for he knew that by so doing he would
provoke his rival to expel him by force. Accordingly,
in spite of the warning of Douglas, who, says the
ballad—

—— ‘sent Earl Percy present word
He would prevent the sport.

The English Earl, not fearing him,
Did to the woods resort,”

and before noon a hundred fat harts were slain.
Earl Percy and his followers—fifteen hundred in
number—then dressed these, and having dined,
proceeded to rouse the deer again ; and soon—

——‘'with their cries the hills and dales
An echo shrill did make.”

Up to this time the English had not been dis-
turbed in their sport in any way, and Percy, wonder-
ing why Douglas had not appeared, was apparently
about to retire, when suddenly there was brought
word :—

“« Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come,
His men in armour bright,

Full twenty hundred Scottish spears,
All marching in our sight,

‘‘ All men of pleasant Tividale,
Fast by the river Tweed.”

And such, in truth, was the case. Douglas
and his men very soon came upon the scene;
challenge and defiance passed between the two
nobles, and then a fierce combat began. Douglas
at length called on Percy to give in; the
brave Northumbrian, however, cried, scornfully,
that he would yield to no Scot that ever yet was
born. But at that moment an arrow from an

English bow struck Douglas, and he fell. Then,
it is said, Earl Percy, forgetting all his past enmity,
“took the dead man by the hand,” declared that he
would rather have lost all his lands than that he
“should thus have died; and cried—



““my very heart doth bleed
For sorrow for thy sake! a
For sure a more renownéd knight
Mischance did never take.”

But while he was thus lamenting the loss of his
rival, a certain Scottish knight, having witnessed
his master’s death, “ran fee through the fight,”
past all the English archers, and (so says the ballad)
by him the noble Percy, too, was slain. Though
both leaders had thus fallen, however, the battle
was still continued ; when the evening bell was
rung it had scarcely ceased ; and in the end, of the
fifteen hundred Englishmen who fought, there went
home but fifty-three, and of the two thousand
Scotsmen but fifty-five—



47
‘“The rest were slain in Chevy Chase
Under the greenwood tree,”
Such is the sad story related in “Chevy

Chase,”* the incidents of which are, however, as
we have intimated, only partially in accordance
with those which occurred at the battle of Otter-
burn. For in reality not only did Earl Percy
survive this latter contest, but in after years both
he and Hotspur took part in many another brave
encounter; though it was in the battle-field that
each at last met his fate.

Our space will only permit us to speak of one
more event in the history of Alnwick Castle, and
with it the present sketch must be concluded.
This was a remarkable retreat which was made
from it during the Wars of the Roses. We are told
that this castle was one of those in the north of
England which was placed at the disposal of
Queen Margaret ‘(of whom we spoke in our ac-
count of Warwick Castle), and that she garrisoned
it with three hundred Frenchmen. In 1464, how-
ever, she suffered a most disastrous defeat at
Hexham; and then it was that Edward IV.,
having given orders that all the northern fortresses
occupied by her troops were to be retakengAlnwick
Castle, among others, was besieged. Now, Margaret
was very anxious to preserve the three hundred men
in this garrison, and so she sought the assistance of
a Scottish noble, the Earl of Angus, who gallantly
undertook to bring them away. And this was how
the apparently difficult feat was accomplished.
Making his appearance before the fortress with
ten thousand troops, as if he intended to attack the
English army which had surrounded it, we are told
that while the latter ranged themselves in line
of battle, he brought up a party of his strongest
cavalry to one of the castle gates ; that through
this the garrison passed out one by one; and that
then each soldier, mounting a horse, and seating
nimself on it behind a trooper, quietly rode away,
and was thus safely conveyed to Scotland, the
commander of the English forces being well satis-
fied. to take possession of the deserted stronghold
without needless fighting.

Though originally built in a very remote age,
and though, as we have seen, repeatedly besieged,
Alnwick Castle, having been frequently restored,
is still in excellent preservation ; and standing as
it does on a commanding elevation to the north-
west of the town from which its name is taken,
its stout walls and clustering towers form a picture
of striking grandeur which is “conspicuous to every
eye, and glitters in every sunbeam.”



* This is from a French word (chevauchée), meaning a raid over
an enemy’s border, From it comes also ‘chivy,” a name familiar ta

' every schoolboy.
-
co

|

Walls with Voices.









|















































































































































































NTH ii}
If













































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































CORFE CASTLE

as the Isle of Purbeck, in
Dorsetshire, on the summit of
a steep limestone rock, are the
noble-looking ruins of the for-
“) tress which we have chosen
for our present subject. To
Alfred the Great the erection
of the earliest portion of this
castle is ascribed, he having
raised a fortified building at
Corfe as a partial means of
protection against the Danes, who were at that
period making raids upon our shores; and it was
by another Saxon ruler—Edgar—that the main
structure was built, the latter king, indeed, so ex-
tending it, that it became for a time one of the
most magnificent strongholds in this country. Thus
the picturesque though shattered walls of Corfe
Castle which yet remain have braved the ravages of
nearly a thousand years, and linked with their
history are one or two rather notable incidents.




N the centre of what is known:



Among the earliest occupants of Corfe Castle
was Queen Elfrida, the second wife of that King
Edgar of whom we have spoken, and it was during
the time that she resided there that the first
occurrence of any importance in connection with the
fortress is supposed to have taken place. This was
the tragic death, at the instigation of Elfrida—who
was desirous that her own son Ethelred, should
reign—of her stepson Edward, then King of
England, an event which is said to have come
about in this way. The unfortunate king, being on
a hunting expedition in Dorsetshire, found himself
one day in the neighbourhood of Corfe, and remem-
bering that Elfrida and Ethelred—of both of whom
he was very fond—were then living at the castle,
he determined to pay them a visit. Accordingly,
towards evening, having by some means, purposely
or by accident, detached himself from his attendants,
he made his way on horseback to the fortress,
Now the wicked Queen Elfrida had long been
seeking to remove her stepson from the throne of
England, in order, as we have said, that Ethelred

ODM

aa





Sie ee Ue i ar

257 patentee anne






i :
j
4



hi
:
;



Walls with Voices. 49



might take his place ; when, therefore, the news of
Edward’s approach, unattended, was brought to
‘her, she quickly saw that the looked-for opportu-
nity had come. So, accompanied by her retinue,
she went out to the gate of the castle to meet
the king; and then, having pretended to give him
an affectionate welcome, she ‘invited him in a
friendly manner to alight, and partake of her
hospitality. But Edward replied that he did
not desire to stay longer, and that it was his in-
tention to return at once, telling Elfrida, however,
that before he departed, he would like, on horse-
back, to drink to her and his brother in a cup
of wine, and thus leave her. Whereupon the
‘wine being called for and presented to him, the
king drank ; but scarcely had the cup touched his

lips ere, by the hand of one of the attendants of |

the queen (some say the deed was perpetrated by
Elfrida herself) he received in the back a wound
which was too soon to proveamortal one. At first
Edward did not fall, but, though much hurt, was
able to put spurs to his horse and hastily ride
away in the hope of discovering his followers ; but
sad to relate, the wound was so deep that he could
only proceed a little way beyond the castle; and
then, fainting with exhaustion, he dropped from his
saddle, and, his foot entangled in the stirrup, was
dragged along until before many hours had passed,
he was no more. So it was that Ethelred became
the king of England, and that the name of the
** Martyr,” was received by his hapless brother.

After the Norman Conquest, Corfe Castle seems
to have been possessed by one of the great nobles
who had come over to this country with William I. ;
and in the reign of Stephen, when that king found
himself compelled, because of the encroachments of
the barons, to attack many of their strongholds, it
sustained a siege by the royal forces ; though its
great strength enabled it to bafile all the attempts
that were made to take it. Next—about fifty years
later—we find that it passed into the hands of the
‘cruel King John, by whom it was used as a royal
residence ; his regalia and treasure being deposited
within its walls, and state prisoners enduring much
‘suffering in its gloomy dungeons.

Rather more than a century after the reign of
John a notable captive, in the person of the then
dethroned king, Edward II., was brought to Corfe
Castle, and for a short period was imprisoned there.
Next we find the fortress forming for a while the
residence of the mother of Henry VII.; and then
no event of any interest seems to have taken place
there until the time of Charles I., during whose
reign it was, in 1643, that the castle was success-
fully defended against attack by a courageous lady,
about whom we intend to tell you.



At the period to which we allude, Corfe Castle
was owned by a famous lawyer, Sir John Bankes,

who was then the Attorney-General of this country.

Unfortunately, at this time serious differences
existed between the king and a certain faction in
the two Houses of Parliament, and at length
Charles found himself obliged to withdraw from
London; and soon, throughout the country, be-
tween those who were on his side, and those who
were opposed to him, a civil war was stirred up. Sir
John Bankes had always been greatly attached to
the king, for to him he owed much of the advance-
ment which he had made in his profession ; it is
not surprising to find, therefore, that now mis-
fortune attended Charles he still remained faithful
and staunch. But Sir John’s zeal was greater than
his prudence; for it happened that, in his indig-

mation against the Parliamentary party, as the re-

bellious faction was called, he on one occasion
publicly denounced some of the leaders of the
latter, and the result of this was that he was, in
1642, adjudged a traitor, his property declared
to be forfeited, and his castle ordered to be
besieged.

In the meantime Sir John’s wife, Lady Bankes,
fearful because of the troubles which she had seen
were impending on account of her husband’s
attachment to the king, had retired for protection
to Corfe; and there she and her children were
sheltered, and lived in peace until the month of May
in the following year. And then it was that the
Parliamentary forces having possessed themselves
of several other important castles in Dorsetshire,
marched towards Sir John’s fortress with the in-
tention of taking that also, though their mode
of procedure at the outset was not by open
hostility—for they were well aware of the great
strength of the place—but by attempted treachery.

In connection with the fortress there seems to
have been an ancient usage, that on the 1st of May
every year certain persons belonging to Corfe,
together with the gentlemen of the surrounding
neighbourhood, should have permission from the
lord of the castle to hunt a stag; and this custom
was always kept up with much ceremony, and
great numbers took part in it. So it was that on
the morning of the May Day in the year of
which we speak, the huntsmen gathered together
as usual, and grand preparations were made for
the day's enjoyment. Scarcely, however, had the
time arrived for the chase to begin ere most
ominous intelligence was brought; and this was
that at various points of the Isle of Purbeck bands
of soldiers were coming in; and that their object
was not to participate in the sport, but that it was

in reality first to attack the huntsmen, and then
D
‘50 Walls with Voices. on



to proceed to take the castle, was soon evident.
Carefully planned, however, as were the soldiers’
movements, they were checkmated, for the news of
their approach spread so rapidly that before they
arrived, not only had the gentlemen all dispersed,
but Lady Bankes, having also received warning,
had given hasty orders for the castle—within which
there were only herself, her children, and a few
tenants—to be securely closed against all comers.

Not a little mortified, we daresay, were the
soldiers to find that those whom they had hoped
to surprise were nowhere to be seen; they had,
however, yet another scheme in view. which they
resolved to test, and this was, if possible, to gain
access to the stronghold under a false pretence.
Accordingly, not many hours elapsed before a few
of the troopers, acting as scouts, rode up to the
gate, and in a most innocent manner actually
begged permission—it being May Day and ac-
counted a public holiday in the island—to be
shown over the castle. But Lady Bankes was
not to be so easily deceived as they imagined ;
and so, in spite of the protestations of the soldiers
that their intentions were perfectly honourable,
the request was promptly refused ; and nothing re-
mained for them, therefore, just then but to take
their departure.

It now seemed very plain to Lady Bankes that
the troopers who had visited her had come on no
friendly errand, and that there was a design upon
her castle she was quite convinced; and so not
knowing how soon she might need their services,
she determined to at once call in some of her
tenants to assist her. But by taking such a step,
though she thus secured herself at home, she
caused much suspicion to be raised abroad; and
from this time forward all her actions were
vigilantly watched, and at last exaggerated reports
having been spread as to the number of men as
well as to the quantity of food secreted in the
castle—as though she intended to thoroughly mann
and provision it—there came a demand from a-com-
mission of the Parliamentary party which was then
assembled at the neighbouring port of Poole, for
the four pieces of cannon belonging to the fortress ;
the pretended reason for this being that the islanders
were jealous because the guns were mounted on
their carriages, and were afraid lest they should
cause them harm. Lady Bankes, however, declined
to give up the pieces; though she eventually con-
sented, in order to allay the islanders’ supposed
fears, to take the guns off their carriages, on its being
agreed that they should remain in her possession.

But not many days passed before very early
one morning there appeared before the castle forty
seamen from Poole—the arrival of whom much

surprised Lady Bankes, who, having been promised
by the enemy that she should not be again molested,
was not prepared for them, and had indeed at the
time only five men in the garrison—and, knocking
at the gate, these sailors produced a warrant from

the Parliamentary commissioners calling upon her

to immediately surrender the four guns. But,
though she was so unprepared, Lady Bankes was
not one to yield to such a demand as this; and
so we find her, early as it was, going out in person.
to the gate, and then and there boldly defying the
‘men; anid, further, bidding them quit the castle
without delay. The sailors, however, seeing that
she was alone, and apparently unprotected, were
reluctant to depart; whereupon Lady Bankes
seeing that they would not move, called together
without further parley her small garrison of five,
and, assisted by the maid-servants, not only
remounted the cannon on their carriages, but
loading one, fired it so skilfully that she effectually
scared the forty sailors, who instantly ran away.
Thus far Lady Bankes had succeeded in saving
her castle and guns from capture; but, knowing
the treacherous character of the enemy, she yet had
many fears as to the future. She therefore made
up her mind to again summon help without further
loss of time for the defence of the fortress ; and so.
an alarm was given, and a guard of tenants and
friends from various parts of the island—numbering
in all about fifty—quickly came to her aid. And
now. began a series of sore troubles that were to
continue for some time. Hardly a week passed,
before many threatening letters had been received
by Lady Bankes, intimating to her, that unless she
discharged the garrison, great forces would be sent
to attack her; next, cowardly messagés were dis-
patched to the wives of the tenants who were in the
castle, telling them that if they did not induce their
husbands to return, their houses would be set on

fire; then a large quantity of gunpowder, which . ©

Lady Bankes had hoped to be able to convey into:
the fortress was intercepted; and, finally, not only
was no one permitted to pass in and out, but
proclamation was even made that no food what-
ever should be sold, under heavy penalties, to. those
within the castle. And so it was, that at length,
though not until threatened by actual starvation,
Lady Bankes was forced once more to agree to a
compromise, which was that the four cannon should

be surrendered, and that she should, in return, be |

allowed to enjoy the castle in peace.

The enemy having thus, as they imagined, re-.

duced the castle to submission, became now less.
watchful over it than hitherto, and having secured
the cannon were apparently unconcerned as to the
doings of Lady Bankes; and of this the latter, who



Be alia tal Cos Ss A oe eat Ds

ee ee
¢

: Walls with Voices.



still greatly mistrusted their promises, soon took ad-
vantage by seeking every opportunity of storing
ammunition and provisions, which, as it happened,
she was able to do without any hindrance. And
well, indeed, it was that she took such precautions ;
for only a short time elapsed before the chiefs of the
Parliamentary party having heard of the resistance
offered by the fortress, dispatched a body of 200
or 300 soldiers, who, after burning four houses at
Corfe, and disregarding the promises made to
Lady Bankes, suddenly appeared before the castle,
and summoned it to surrender. The demand being
refused, they refrained, however, from making an
immediate attack, and so left for a short time. But
they quickly returned, on this occasion in greater
numbers, consisting of nearly 600 men; with them
they brought a formidable array of cannon and
other weapons of war; and now there commenced
a siege such as Corfe Castle had never before
suffered, At every point the grand old fortress
was played upon by the enemy’s guns ; next, these
attempts failing, efforts were by some means made
to bribe the garrison—consisting at this time of
only eighty men—to surrender. But all was of no
avail. Then, after a while, the enemy, desirous of
approaching nearer to the castle walls, constructed
two rough machines—the one called a “sow,” the
other a “boar ”—made of boards, and lined with
wool to deaden the shot, and, with these for a cover
and protection against the bullets, some of the
soldiers prepared to advance. But worse results
than ever followed this ludicrous experiment ; for
when the sow, which was the first to move, went
forward, the legs of the soldiers inside were so
exposed that the musketeers on the castle ramparts
at once fired at them with such good aim that the
greater number of the men were maimed, and glad
to hasten back as quickly as they could; the boar
meanwhile, profiting by the experience of the sow,
was afraid to advance at all! And so the siege
went on day after day, and yet the capture of the
castle was as far from being accomplished as it was
at the very first.

At length, however, the enemy having received
another reinforcement, consisting of 150 seamen,
resolved to make one more vigorous effort to gain
the prize. Accordingly, they divided their forces
into two detachments, the one of which was to
attack the middle ward of the fortress, which was
defended by the main portion of the garrison, and
the other to attack the upper ward, which Lady
Bankes, her children, her maid servants, and only
five soldiers had undertaken to protect. Forward
the Parliamentary soldiers now marched, full of fury
and determination, and up the scaling-ladders they
were soon endeavouring to climb. But what a

we look upon to-day.

51



reception awaited them, and how bitter was the
humiliation in store for them! Hardly were the
castle walls gained and the ascent commenced, ere
not only was the rope of every one of their ladders
cut asunder, but, rolling and dashing down from
the hands of the gallant Lady Bankes and her
companions, there came upon them such a torrent
of rude missiles—now hot embers, now huge
stones, now even molten lead—that the luck-
less besiegers were utterly overwhelmed and driven
off; and at this juncture it was, after no less than
100 of them had been lost or wounded, that
the sound of distant music being heard, and news
being suddenly brought that no other than the
king’s forces were then advancing to the relief of
Corfe, the entire army that remained became so
filled with terror that they immediately took to their
heels, and retreated in a body from the neighbour-
hood without even carrying away their tents, arms,
or ammunition! And thus, after a continuous siege
of six weeks—for such was the duration of this
last attack—Corfe Castle, by the bravery of Lady
Bankes and her devoted band, was defended from
capture.

There came a day, however, when the stronghold
was, after all, compelled to surrender, though its
seizure was not effected by fair means. In 1646,
Sir John Bankes having some time previously died,
Corfe Castle was once more besieged by the Par-
liamentary forces. But among the garrison at this
time was an officer, one Colonel Bingham, who was
a traitor. This man, being tired of serving on the
side of the king, let the enemy know that if they
would undertake to protect him he would deliver
the fortress to them; and his shameful offer was
accepted. So Bingham proposed to the governor
of Corfe Castle that he should be permitted to
obtain too soldiers from Somersetshire, for the
avowed purpose of strengthening the garrison ;
whereupon, this suggestion being approved of, he
took his departure, and pretended to fetch the men ;
but instead of doing so, he arranged with the enemy
that that number of troops should be drawn from
theiy forces, and that these, being disguised in
the king’s uniform, should accompany him to the
castle, where having gained an entrance they should
co-operate with the Parliamentary soldiers in seizing
it. And so it was, that this plan being successfully
carried out, the defenders, finding they had been so
basely betrayed, had no choice but to give in; and,
within a short time, Corfe Castle was not only no
longer the home of Lady Bankes, but, Parliament
having ordered its walls and towers to be under-
mined with gunpowder, it ceased also to exist as a
fortress, and became only the heap of ruins which

D2
Walls with Voices.



THE TOWER OF LONDON.

EITHER in
this nor in
any other country
would it be pos-
sible to find walls
so storied with
eventful recollec-
tions as are those
of the great for-
tress which stands
on the bank of
the river Thames.
Originally built by
William the Con-
queror, added to
by his son Rufus,
and still further
enlarged by later
sovereigns of England, the Tower of London boasts
a history which spreads over eight hundred years,
and during the greater part of this period, as palace
and prison, though mainly as the latter, it has been
the scene of an almost unbroken chain of varying
incidents. Selecting for our first story that of the
earliest escape from it which is known, let us glance
at a few of the many occurrences with which this
celebrated stronghold has been associated.*

It is not a little remarkable that the first state
prisoner ever known to have been lodged in the
Tower was the man who had, by means of an
oppressive taxation, collected the very money which
was needed to build the structure itself, though the
reason of his being there is not difficult to discover.
This person, named Ralph Flambard, and some-
times called the Firebrand, was of very humble
origin, but being possessed of unusual talents, he
contrived to enter the service of the king, and soon
made himself so useful in forcing money from the
English, that he was rewarded with many high
offices in the State. But during all the time that
he was thus employed a bitter feeling was rising
against him throughout the country, and the people
began not only to grow discontented through the
heavy payments which they were compelled to make,
but to regard Flambard himself, who-was well
known to be cruel and very greedy, with peculiar
hatred. And this feeling at length displayed itself
in an unmistakable manner ; for there came a day
when Ralph’s royal patron and master having, in









THE WHITE TOWER.

* An account of the Tower, and of some of the events which have
taken place there, may be found in ‘Old and New London,” pub-
lished by Messrs. Cassell Petter & Galpin,



1100, been killed, the people, with the consent of
Henry I., who was anxious to please them, seized.
the unpopular tax-gatherer, and threw him into the
Tower, his place of confinement being that portion
of the fortress which is known as the White Tower.
While here, however, Flambard was not dealt with
in any way harshly, being permitted to have his
own attendants, and: also to supply himself with
whatever food and wine he chose ; he was, indeed,
treated rather as a guest than as a prisoner, and it
was by taking advantage of these privileges, that he
eventually contrived to escape. For it is said that
one night he not only succeeded in inducing all the
Norman soldiers whose duty it was to keep guard
over him to come to supper in his own chamber,
but entertained them so bountifully, and tempted
them to partake so freely of his wine, that ere
long every one of them was fast asleep. From
one of the wine-jars, where it had been carefully
concealed, the wily Flambard then quickly drew out
a long rope, which he attached to the window; let
himself down with it to the ground, a distance of
sixty-five feet; and ere long, in. company with
faithful servants, who had helped to carry out the
plans, was sailing with all speed across the English
Channel.

About a century later, in 1234, there came to the
White Tower another noted prisoner, in the person
of Griffin, Prince of North Wales, who had been
betrayed into the hands of the English king by
his own brother, and to this chieftain a melancholy
interest attaches. Chafing under the restraint
to which he was subjected within the narrow
walls of his prison, he too, having, like Flambard,
determined to escape, knotted a rope with table-
cloths, and sheets, and hangings. But the line
thus provided snapped asunder as by night he
lowered himself from the turret, and thus, falling
a distance of thirty feet, the unfortunate prince
perished. :

And now passing on to the latter portion of the
fourteenth century, we find the Tower, which after
the time of its erection had always formed a
palace as well as a prison, in the heyday of its
splendour and glory as a royal residence. We
see Edward III. holding his court there, and
enlivening the grim chambers of the fortress with
gorgeous entertainments; we see gay tilting-
matches attended by the flower of England’s nobility ;
and, later on, we see the little son of Edward the
Black Prince—now to succeed his grandfather as
king—coming forth from the Tower richly robed


Walls with Voices.

53



in white, and proceeding amid great ceremony to”

Westminster to receive his crown. And then all
this brightness and magnificence pass away—to
flicker in succeeding reigns only now and again—
and darker days come. For the young sovereign,
though at first he gave much promise of future
greatness, soon proved how utterly incapable he
was of governing this country; great discontent
arose because of his conduct, and the result was
that a section of the people determined that he
should be dethroned, and that his cousin Henry
Bolingbroke should take his place. So it was that
civil war—carried on by the partisans of the two
royal cousins—soon raged in England; terror
reigned all around; the Tower, in which for the
first time the scaffold was now erected, was the
scene of many a saddening tragedy; and then,
defeated by his enemies and deserted ‘by his
supporters, came the closing scene of Richard’s
sovereignty. His deposition having been solemnly
declared by Parliament, there assembled in the
great hall of the Tower all the chief men of the
realm, and it was in this chamber—the same in
which in happier days he had taken part in not a
few joyous festivities—Richard was first made
to give up his crown and sceptre to his cousin
Henry, then taken to one of the prison cells, and
afterwards removed to the Castle of Pontefract,
where it is supposed he fell a victim to foul play.







Next was placed in the White Tower one of royal
blood, Charles of Orleans, grandson of Charles V. of
France, who had been captured while wounded
at the battle of Agincourt, in 1415, and brought
‘to England until he should be ransomed for no
less a sum than 300,000 crowns. Charles was not
only a brave soldier, but was also a poet of great
repute; and we are told that during the years,
numbering twenty-five, he was in the Tower he
spent much of his time in writing verses, until at
length, his friends in France having succeeded in



getting together the ransom, he was released. In
a written copy of the prince’s poems which has





been preserved there is a quaint drawing, made
by himself, which strikingly illustrates the manner
in which he lived during his long captivity. In
one part of it he is seen at his desk writing his
poems, the Tower guards being on duty, and his
attendants waiting on him; in another he is
anxiously looking out of his window towards the
Thames ; in 4 third he is in the act of embracing
the messenger who has come with his long-looked-
for ransom; next he is shown with his welcome
companion riding away from the Tower; and finally
we see him in a barge hastening towards the craft
which is to take him back to his own country.

In the same century the Tower saw another
captive—Sir John Oldcastle, “the good Lord Cob-
ham.” This nobleman was a follower of John
Wycliffe, the translator of the Bible, whose teach-
ings he had made known to the people with such
zeal that he was thrown into the Tower; and ere
long, through refusing to change his belief, was
ordered to be burned. But Sir John had many
faithful adherents among the good citizens of Lon-
don ; and these, having heard his sentence, which
was publicly proclaimed at St. Paul’s Cross, were
greatly agitated in consequence. So on a certain
dark October night, one William Fisher, heading
a band of determined followers, went down to the
Tower, forced their way past the guards into the
place where Oldcastle was confined, released him,
and passed through the gates in safety, and forth-
with carried him back in triumph to his own house.
There Sir John remained in security for some
time; but he was compelled at length to with-
draw, and then he betook himself to Wales,
where, with the knowledge that a heavy sum had
been placed on his head, he restlessly wandered
hither and thither for four years. Sad to say,
however, he could not after.all succeed in evading
34

his enemies, for a Welshman, to whom he had
confided his secret, betrayed him in order to obtain
the reward which had been offered ; whereupon the
luckless nobleman was once more brought to the
Tower, and, in 1417, without further trial, went to





THE BELL TOWER.

the stake in front of his own house in Smithfield
—the first of the long roll of martyrs who in that
fatal spot suffered for a noble cause.

Rather more than fifty years elapse; several
notable persons, including King Henry VI., have
meanwhile endured a lingering imprisonment there ;
and then in the Tower came to an end—by his being
drowned, it is supposed, in a butt of Malmsey
wine—the existence of that Duke of Clarence who,
some years before, had so treacherously deserted
the Earl of Warwick at Barnet ; while, not long
after, in an adjoining chamber, are said to have
been cruelly smothered, by order of their uncle,
the little King Edward V. and his brother Richard,
Duke of York, the one but twelve, the other only
ten years of age.

It was at about the same
period that there was a
captive in the Tower con-
cerning whom a remark-
able tradition has come
down to us. This was Sir
Henry Wyatt, grandfather
of a rebel imprisoned ina }#
later century, who, because
his opinions were opposed
to those of the king, was |
confined for a very long
time in a cold and narrow |
cell, in which he neither 4

Wallis with Voices.

| little attendant which regularly visited him, he

would probably have died of starvation. This
attendant was no other than a cat, which, it is .
said, came down one day to his dungeon and
forthwith formed a friendship with him, he having
gladly welcomed her, placed her in his bosom to
warm him, and “ by making much of her won her
love.” The attachment to the lonely prisoner
having been thus begun, the cat used to come to
him several times each day, and when able she
would sometimes carry a pigeon to him. There
arose, however, the difficulty as to how to cook the:
birds ; but Sir Henry was soon able to surmount
this. On one occasion of his jailer visiting him
he complained of his meagre fare, and when
told, as he knew he would be, that it was im-
possible to better it, he asked, “ But supposing I
provide any, will you dress it for me?” “I may
well enough agree to do that,” replied the man,
thinking, probably, how little prospect there was of
being called upon to carry out his promise. And
so, much to his astonishment, Wyatt told him about
his little visitor; and from that time whenever a
pigeon was brought the good keeper always dressed
it for him. When at last Sir Henry was released
from the Tower, and prosperity came again, we
are told that he ever showed great affection for
cats ; and in his portraits he was penerally painted
with one by his side.

And now we come to the reign of Fency VIIL,
when the dungeons of the Tower are full to over-
flowing, and when the stream of misfortune rushes
upon the unhappy inmates with a furious swiftness
that.is scarcely credible. At this period it is that—
overlooking numbers of other notable persons—the
venerable John Fisher, a good old man, is, because
he has offended the king, thrown into a cold vault
of the Bell Tower, at the
age of eighty, and after-
wards dies a martyr ; now
also, besides the wise and
illustrious Sir Thomas
- More, Lord Cromwell (he
who had at one time been
secretary to Cardinal Wol-
sey) ends his days; and
now, too, brought there on
a frivolous charge, comes
the brave and gifted Henry
Howard, Earl of Surrey,.
f to fall a victim to King
Henry; while a few years









had enough food to eat,
clothes to warm him, nor
even a bed to lie upon; so badly treated, indeed,
was the unfortunate man that, but for a devoted





later, in 1554, a like fate

“ attends that ~ short-lived
queen, whose memory we all love, Lady Jane Grey.
Then for a short time see we in a strong
Walls with Voices.

55



chamber of the Bell Tower “a fair young girl,
with gentle face and golden hair,” who has
been placed there because of the jealousy of her
sister, Queen Mary. This was the Princess Eliza-
beth, who, on entering the fortress, was not only
compelled to suffer the indignity of passing through
the Traitor’s Gate, but while imprisoned was
treated with the greatest rigour; so hardly dealt
with, indeed, was she, that even the visits of a
little child, who had sometimes delighted to bring
flowers to the captive lady, were forbidden.

We hasten on to about the beginning of the seven-
teenth century, and now the walls of the Tower look
upon one of the most famous captives ever lodged
there, Sir Walter Raleigh. By discoveries in
the New World, and by many gallant exploits on
sea and land, Sir Walter had, during the reign of
Elizabeth, gained the favour of that queen, and
by her he had been rewarded with many posts of
distinction. But in consequence of the riches and
honours thus conferred upon him much envy and
jealousy had been excited, and there were not a
few amongst the nobles and others in England
who would gladly have welcomed his downfall.
So long as Elizabeth reigned, Raleigh was, of
course, perfectly secure; at her death, however,
the opportunity of his enemies came, and of this
they quickly took base advantage. Scarcely had
the new sovereign, James I., ascended the throne
than they concocted against Sir Walter a false
charge of high treason, to which, to his shame,
the king gave a ready ear; next, Raleigh was
stripped of all his employments; and finally,
having been arrested and tried by a commission
composed of the very persons whose feeling against
him was so bitter, he was, after but a quarter of an
hour’s pretended deliberation, condemned to die!
Now, however, there followed for a short time a
reaction in his favour: the people could not but
regard him as having been unjustly used, nor
could they forget the splendid services which
he had in early life rendered to his country ; and
so the carrying out of the sentence had to be post-
poned. Still Sir Walter was not set free, but, in-
stead, he was without delay thrust into the Tower ;
and there he remained for a very long period,
during which, to seek consolation, he employed
his great talents in a variety of pursuits. At one
time he would occupy himself with chemical
experiments, or devote the dreary hours to scientific
inquiries ; at another, he would study the art of
ship-building, or attend to the education of his
son, who, with his wife, was permitted after a
while to reside within the fortress; and now, too,

it was that he commenced to write, among other
books, his famous “ History of the World.” For
no less than twelve years Raleigh thus lived. And
then it happened that a report having been ‘spread
that he knew of the existence of a rich gold

_mine in South America, which was said to have

been discovered twenty years before, his imprison-
ment came to a temporary ending by permission—

_ though his pardon was still withheld—being granted .

to him by the king to take the command of an
expedition for the purpose of searching for this
treasure. But unfortunately the enterprise utterly
failed ; for not only could the gold mine not be
found, but Raleigh having, during the voyage,
attacked with his ship a town belonging to Spain,
much offence was given to that country, and when
he came back to England Sir Walter found him-

| self in double disgrace—first, because he had not

succeeded in his object, and next because great
complaint had been made to this country by the
Spaniards, who had indeed demanded that he
should be executed. And so it was that the king
—encouraged by Sir Walter’s enemies, and fearing
also to further offend the Spanish Government—
ordered the original sentence which had been
pronounced against him to be now put into force ;
and thus in the dismal Tower, to which he again
returned, did the hapless, though brave and high-
minded knight pass away.

Next among the notable persons. who, after
Raleigh, found themselves in the fortress, never
again to leave it, there came, for favouring the
cause of Charles I., the bold spirited Earl of
Strafford, to be soon joined by the aged Archbishop
Laud. Then, in the reign of James II., its gates
admitted that unfortunate Duke of Monmouth,
who, in a rash moment had claimed the English
throne. Next followed to a richly-deserved captivity
the cruel and notorious Judge Jeffreys ; and then,
in -1747, with the last execution which ever took
place there, that of Lord Lovat, who, with Lords
Kilmarnock and Balmerino, had plotted against
the king, the long catalogue of events which so
stain the annals of the Tower came to an end.

And from that time forward, with the exception
of occasionally receiving a few state prisoners, the
Tower—which, subsequent to the coronation of King
Charles II., had not been used as a royal residence—
ceased, as prison and palace, to play any exciting
or important part in the history of this country ;
though as an impregnable fortress it still looks
down majestically upon the busy waters below it
—still keeps faithful guard over the great city in
which it stands.
56 Walls with Voices.





















































































































































































































































ee Ae oy a =
oe i ze. : 'g

" iG
RE

u a |




















































































EDINBURGH CASTLE,

8S AOR FD

EDINBURGH CASTLE.

y AR back, in a long-past century, in
gf an age so remote as to bé unknown,
there was raised upon the noble rock
which towers above the Scottish capital
a rude fortified building ; and to this
structure itis that not only the fortress
which now stands upon the’ same spot, but also
the city of Edinburgh itself, which little by little
has sprung up around it, is supposed to trace its
origin. Passing over its earlier days, the events
of which are hidden in much obscurity, we find
that in the fifth century the castle came into the
possession of Edwin, the ruler of Northumber-
land, which then extended from the Humber to the
Frith of Forth ; and considerable interest attaches
to its occupation by this king, from the fact that it
is from his name that that of Edinburgh, or Edwin’s
Burgh, is derived. From the time of Edwin—by
whom it was rebuilt and strengthened—the castle,
having now become a place of some consequence








in Scotland, began to be the centre of many con-
flicts common to those barbaric times, and during
some centuries afterwards experienced not a few
vicissitudes of fortune. We purpose in the present
sketch to glance at three scenes in -the history of
Edinburgh Castle which are perhaps the most
striking in its annals; and the first of them is its
surprise and capture from the English by the Earl
of Moray in 1312.

About a quarter of a century before the year
mentioned, there had arisen a dispute respecting
the throne of Scotland, between Robert Bruce
and John Baliol, each of whom claimed to be
entitled to it, and Edward I. of England, who
was chosen to act as umpire in the matter, having
decided in favour of the latter, Baliol became king.
Previously, however, to giving his decision, Edward,
taking advantage of the trust reposed in him,
had himself put forward a claim to assume a
protectorate over the Kingdom of Scotland; and
Walls with Voices.



Baliol having at first yielded to this, became in |

reality, when crowned, a mere vassal of England.
But ere long the new king finding that he had to
suffer many unlooked-for indignities at the hands
of Edward, seems to have begun to repent of
having agreed to the terms on which he had
accepted the Scottish sceptre; and the result
was that, determined to assert his independence,
he revolted and took the field. Against the legions
which Edward was able to command, however,
Baliol was utterly unable to make a stand, and
so in the end, not only were the Scots defeated,
but their ruler was dethroned, and from north to
south the whole country was ravaged by the
English, But the day came when the tide of
misfortune which had thus overtaken the Scots
was to be turned, first by the great Sir William
Wallace, and next by the heroic Robert Bruce,
grandson of the rival of John Baliol; indeed, by
the year 1312 so successful had the latter become
in his enterprises against the invaders, that with
the exception of Edinburgh, every garrison in the
country had been recovered, and, as will be seen,
even this fortress was before very long doomed
to fall, and in a somewhat remarkable manner.
Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray, nephew of
Robert Bruce, stirred to enthusiasm it is said by
the successes of his uncle, and more especially by
the capture in his behalf of the formidable castle of
Roxburgh, which had been gallantly effected by
Sir James Douglas, was desirous that he might
personally share in these victories ; so finding that
Edinburgh Castle still remained in the hands of
the enemy, he determined that he would himself
essay the task of reducing that stronghold.
Randolph’s resolution was no sooner made than
he prepared to carry it into immediate execution,
and accordingly within a week he had mustered
his followers together, and marched. to Edinburgh
and surrounded the castle at its base on every side.
But now began the difficulties of the undertaking,
and how great these were are apparent, when we
remember that there was not merely the almost
unattainable situation of the fortress on the summit

of the rock above to contend with, but that there -

was also a numerous and well-equipped garrison
guarding it and fully prepared to brave to the
death any attempt that might be made to take
away the one remaining stronghold in Scotland
that the English possessed. Of the danger to
which his enterprise was thus exposed, Randolph
must have been well aware, and whether he would
have succeeded by ordinary means in carrying it
out is rather doubtful. As it was, however, an
opportunity, as unlooked-for as it was welcome,
was afforded to him for accomplishing his purpose.





57



One day, we are told, as the earl was surveying
with anxious eye the castle that frowned upon his
camp below, he was accosted by one of his own
followers, a brave and faithful soldier named
William Frank, whose father had formerly been
constable of the fortress: “ Methinks, my lord,”
said he, “it is your will to devise some plan for
entering yonder castle. Know you that I can show
how with no greater aid than a twelve foot ladder
your wish may be fulfilled. In a day long past,
I lived within the fort we look upon, and oft-
times, wishful to visit the town by night, it was
my wont to lower myself from the wall with a
ladder of ropes, by a secret path to descend the
cliffs, and then before dawn drew near to return in
the same manner. Say, my lord, will you go with
meas guide, that in like fashion trial be made by us
to reach our goal?” The proposal was, it is said,
received with joy, Frank being promised ample
reward in the event of the plan proving successful,
and no time was now lost in preparing for the
undertaking, which was to be carried out by
thirty picked men, commanded by the earl in
person. It was on a dark and stormy night in
the spring of 1312 that the gallant little party,
all sheathed in armour, set out, and appearing at
the foot of the castle cliff, began, under Frank’s
conductorship, the perilous ascent along a path
which is described as being “ fitter for a cat than
a man.” Higher they went, from crag to crag,
the precipice get