著者：Sue Miller出版社：Best Americanサイズ：ペーパーバックISBN-10：0618131736ISBN-13：9780618131730■こちらの商品もオススメです ● The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream / Barack Obama / Broadway Books [ペーパーバック] ● DA VINCI CODE,THE:FILM TIE-IN(A) / Brown Dan / Corgi Books [ペーパーバック] ■通常24時間以内に出荷可能です。■ネコポスで送料は1～3点で298円、4点で328円。5点以上で600円からとなります。※2,500円以上の購入で送料無料。※多数ご購入頂いた場合は、宅配便での発送になる場合があります。■ただいま、オリジナルカレンダーをプレゼントしております。■送料無料の「もったいない本舗本店」もご利用ください。メール便送料無料です。■まとめ買いの方は「もったいない本舗　おまとめ店」がお買い得です。■中古品ではございますが、良好なコンディションです。決済はクレジットカード等、各種決済方法がご利用可能です。■万が一品質に不備が有った場合は、返金対応。■クリーニング済み。■商品画像に「帯」が付いているものがありますが、中古品のため、実際の商品には付いていない場合がございます。■商品状態の表記につきまして・非常に良い：　　使用されてはいますが、　　非常にきれいな状態です。　　書き込みや線引きはありません。・良い：　　比較的綺麗な状態の商品です。　　ページやカバーに欠品はありません。　　文章を読むのに支障はありません。・可：　　文章が問題なく読める状態の商品です。　　マーカーやペンで書込があることがあります。　　商品の痛みがある場合があります。

著者：Sue Miller出版社：Best Americanサイズ：ペーパーバックISBN-10：0618131736ISBN-13：9780618131730■こちらの商品もオススメです ● The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream / Barack Obama / Broadway Books [ペーパーバック] ● DA VINCI CODE,THE:FILM TIE-IN(A) / Brown Dan / Corgi Books [ペーパーバック] ■通常24時間以内に出荷可能です。※繁忙期やセール等、ご注文数が多い日につきましては　発送まで72時間かかる場合があります。あらかじめご了承ください。■宅配便(送料398円)にて出荷致します。合計3980円以上は送料無料。■ただいま、オリジナルカレンダーをプレゼントしております。■送料無料の「もったいない本舗本店」もご利用ください。メール便送料無料です。■お急ぎの方は「もったいない本舗　お急ぎ便店」をご利用ください。最短翌日配送、手数料298円から■中古品ではございますが、良好なコンディションです。決済はクレジットカード等、各種決済方法がご利用可能です。■万が一品質に不備が有った場合は、返金対応。■クリーニング済み。■商品画像に「帯」が付いているものがありますが、中古品のため、実際の商品には付いていない場合がございます。■商品状態の表記につきまして・非常に良い：　　使用されてはいますが、　　非常にきれいな状態です。　　書き込みや線引きはありません。・良い：　　比較的綺麗な状態の商品です。　　ページやカバーに欠品はありません。　　文章を読むのに支障はありません。・可：　　文章が問題なく読める状態の商品です。　　マーカーやペンで書込があることがあります。　　商品の痛みがある場合があります。

著者：Sue Miller出版社：Best Americanサイズ：ペーパーバックISBN-10：0618131736ISBN-13：9780618131730■こちらの商品もオススメです ● The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream / Barack Obama / Broadway Books [ペーパーバック] ● DA VINCI CODE,THE:FILM TIE-IN(A) / Brown Dan / Corgi Books [ペーパーバック] ■通常24時間以内に出荷可能です。※繁忙期やセール等、ご注文数が多い日につきましては　発送まで48時間かかる場合があります。あらかじめご了承ください。 ■メール便は、1冊から送料無料です。※宅配便の場合、2,500円以上送料無料です。※あす楽ご希望の方は、宅配便をご選択下さい。※「代引き」ご希望の方は宅配便をご選択下さい。※配送番号付きのゆうパケットをご希望の場合は、追跡可能メール便（送料210円）をご選択ください。■ただいま、オリジナルカレンダーをプレゼントしております。■お急ぎの方は「もったいない本舗　お急ぎ便店」をご利用ください。最短翌日配送、手数料298円から■まとめ買いの方は「もったいない本舗　おまとめ店」がお買い得です。■中古品ではございますが、良好なコンディションです。決済は、クレジットカード、代引き等、各種決済方法がご利用可能です。■万が一品質に不備が有った場合は、返金対応。■クリーニング済み。■商品画像に「帯」が付いているものがありますが、中古品のため、実際の商品には付いていない場合がございます。■商品状態の表記につきまして・非常に良い：　　使用されてはいますが、　　非常にきれいな状態です。　　書き込みや線引きはありません。・良い：　　比較的綺麗な状態の商品です。　　ページやカバーに欠品はありません。　　文章を読むのに支障はありません。・可：　　文章が問題なく読める状態の商品です。　　マーカーやペンで書込があることがあります。　　商品の痛みがある場合があります。

＜p＞Een verhaal over een zoon en zijn vader. Over ouder worden. Over weemoed en verlangen. Over onszelf.＜/p＞ ＜p＞Een jonge man gaat zijn eigen weg, een heel andere dan die van zijn vader. Maar hoe ouder hij wordt, hoe meer hij beseft dat deze andere weg tot hetzelfde leidt. Is de eenzaamheid van zijn vader niet ook die van hemzelf? Is hij dan wel geslaagd in het leven? Hij merkt dat zelfs zijn eigen lichaam bij het ouder worden op dat van zijn vader begint te lijken. Dat besef leidt tot de grote vragen in dit prachtige boek. Wat beslissen we zelf in ons leven? Waarom vluchten we zo vaak terwijl we dat niet willen? En wat houden we ten slotte over van het leven dat we hebben geleid?＜/p＞ ＜p＞In dit ontroerende verhaal van Botho Strauss staat ieder woord op zijn plaats. Zijn taal is zo helder en oorspronkelijk dat al het stof van nietszeggende zinnen uit je oren wordt gespoeld.＜/p＞ ＜p＞'Grote literatuur.' - Die Zeit＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞Here you will found my experience and basic knowledge to I hope help you to navigate your first time in a tournament, each tournament is different but the general idea is for you and your family to know what to expect when you arrive into your first tournament.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞Join Antonia as she shares her world and life before, during and after the apocalypse. A life filled with good, evil and witchcraft, but as a daughter of a Watcher, she soon comes to a crossroad and must decide whether to choose evil or good. Journey with her into realms unknown and discover through her eyes what it truly means to have faith.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞And so I am to write a storyーbut of what, and where? Shall it be radiant with the sky of Italy? or eloquent with the beau ideal of Greece? Shall it breathe odor and languor from the orient, or chivalry from the occident? or gayety from France? or vigor from England? No, no; these are all too oldーtoo romance-likeーtoo obviously picturesque for me. No; let me turn to my own landーmy own New England; the land of bright fires and strong hearts; the land ofdeeds, and not of words; the land of fruits, and not of flowers; the land often spoken against, yet always respected; "the latchet of whose shoes the nations of the earth are not worthy to unloose." Now, from this very heroic apostrophe, you may suppose that I have something very heroic to tell. By no means. It is merely a little introductory breeze of patriotism, such as occasionally brushes over every mind, bearing on its wings the remembrance of all we ever loved or cherished in the land of our early years; and if it should seem to be rodomontade to any people in other parts of the earth, let them only imagine it to be said about "Old Kentuck," old England, or any other corner of the world in which they happened to be born, and they will find it quite rational. But, as touching our story, it is time to begin. Did you ever see the little village of Newbury, in New England? I dare say you never did; for it was just one of those out of the way places where nobody ever came unless they came on purpose: a green little hollow, wedged like a bird's nest between half a dozen high hills, that kept off the wind and kept out foreigners; so that the little place was as straitly sui generis as if there were not another in the world. The inhabitants were all of that respectable old standfast family who make it a point to be born, bred, married, die, and be buried all in the selfsame spot. There were just so many houses, and just so many people lived in them; and nobody ever seemed to be sick, or to die either, at least while I was there. The natives grew old till they could not grow any older, and then they stood still, and lasted from generation to generation. There was, too, an unchangeability about all the externals of Newbury. Here was a red house, and there was a brown house, and across the way was a yellow house; and there was a straggling rail fence or a tribe of mullein stalks between. The minister lived here, and 'Squire Moses lived there, and Deacon Hart lived under the hill, and Messrs. Nadab and Abihu Peters lived by the cross road, and the old "widder" Smith lived by the meeting house, and Ebenezer Camp kept a shoemaker's shop on one side, and Patience Mosely kept a milliner's shop in front; and there was old Comfort Scran, who kept store for the whole town, and sold axe heads, brass thimbles, licorice ball, fancy handkerchiefs, and every thing else you can think of. Here, too, was the general post office, where you might see letters marvellously folded, directed wrong side upward, stamped with a thimble, and superscribed to some of the Dollys, or Pollys, or Peters, or Moseses aforenamed or not named.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞Nothing is more typical of a civilization than its roads. The traveler enters the city of Nazareth on a Roman road which has been used, perhaps, since the Christian era dawned. Every line is typical of Rome; every block of stone speaks of Roman power and Roman will. And ancient roads come down from the Roman standard in a descending scale even as the civilizations which built them. The main thoroughfare from the shore of the Yellow Sea to the capital of Korea, used by millions for millenniums, has never been more than the bridle path it is todayーfit emblem of a people without a hope in the world, an apathetic, hermit nation. Every road has a story and the burden of every story is a need. The greater the need, the better the road and the longer and more important the story. Go back even to primeval America. The bear’s food was all about him, in forest and bush. He made no roads for he needed none, save a path into the valley. But the moose and deer and buffalo required new feeding-grounds, fresh salt licks and change of climate, and the great roads they broke open across the watersheds declare nothing if not a need. The ancient Indian confederacies which tilled the soil of this continent and built great mounds for defense and worshipーso great, indeed, that the people have even been known as “mound-builders”ーundoubtedly first traveled the highest highways of America. Some of them may have known the water-ways better than any of the land-waysーfor their signal stations were erected on the shores of many of our important riversーbut the location of their heaviest seats of population was where we find the richest lands and the heaviest populations today, and that is in what may be called the interior of the continent, or along the smaller rivers. Such stupendous works as Fort Ancient and Fort Hill are located beside very inferior streams, and between such works as these, placed without any seeming regard for the larger water-ways, these mound-building Indians must have had great thoroughfares along the summits of the watersheds. About these earthworks they constructed great, graded roadways, commensurate with the size of the works of which they were a necessary part, but so far as we know these early peoples built no roads between their forts or between their villages. They made no thoroughfares. It was for the great game animals to mark out what became known as the first thoroughfares of America. The plunging buffalo, keen of instinct, and nothing if not a utilitarian, broke great roads across the continent on the summits of the watersheds, beside which the first Indian trails were but traces through the forests. Heavy, fleet of foot, capable of covering scores of miles a day, the buffalo tore his roads from one feeding-ground to another, and from north to south, on the high grounds; here his roads were swept clear of d?bris in summer, and of snow in winter. They mounted the heights and descended from them on the longest slopes, and crossed each stream on the bars at the mouths of its lesser tributaries.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞Biology means the science of life. It treats of animals and plants. That branch of biology which treats of animals is called zoology (Gr. zoon, animal; logos, discourse). The biological science ofbotany (Gr. botane, plant or herb) treats of plants. Living things are distinguished from the not living by a series of processes, or changes (feeding, growth, development, multiplication, etc.), which together constitute what is called life. These processes are called functions. Both plants and animals have certain parts called organs which have each a definite work, or function; hence animals and plants are said to be organized. For example, men and most other animals have a certain organ (the mouth) for taking in nourishment; another (the food tube), for its digestion. Because of its organization, each animal or plant is said to be an organism. Living things constitute the organic kingdom. Things without life and not formed by life constitute the inorganic, or mineral, kingdom. Mark I for inorganic and O for organic after the proper words in this list: granite, sugar, lumber, gold, shellac, sand, coal, paper, glass, starch, copper, gelatine, cloth, air, potatoes, alcohol, oil, clay. Which of these things are used for food by animals? Conclusion? Energy in the Organic World.ーWe see animals exerting energy; that is, we see them moving about and doing work. Plants are never seen acting that way; yet they need energy in order to form their tissues, grow, and raise themselves in the air. Source of Plant Energy.ーWe notice that green plants thrive only in the light, while animal growth is largely independent of light. In fact, in the salt mines of Poland there are churches and villages below the ground, and children are born, become adults, and live all their lives below ground, without seeing the sun. (That these people are not very strong is doubtless due more to want of fresh air and other causes than to want of sunlight.)＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞MR. JEREMY TUFT became aware with a slight shock that he was lying in bed wide awake. He raised his head a little, stared around him, found something vaguely unfamiliar, and tried to go to sleep again. But sleep would not come. Though he felt dull and stupid, he was yet invincibly awake. His eyes opened again of themselves, and he stared round him once more. It was the subdued light, filtered through the curtains, that was strange; and as intelligence flowed back into his empty mind, he realized that this was because it was much stronger than it should have been at any time before eight o’clock. Thence to the conclusion that it was very likely later than eight o’clock was an easy step for his reviving faculties. Energy followed the returning intelligence, and he sat up suddenly, his head throbbing as he did so, and took his watch from the table beside him. It was, in fact, a quarter to ten. Arising out of this discovery a stream of possibilities troubled the still somewhat confused processes of his mind. Either Mrs. Watkins for some unaccountable reason had failed to arrive, or else, contrary to his emphatic and often repeated instructions, she had been perfunctory in knocking at his door and had not stayed for an answer. In either case it was annoying; but Mrs. Watkins’ arrival at half-past seven was so fixed a point in the day, she was so regular, so trustworthy, and, moreover, life without her ministrations was so unthinkable that the first possibility seemed much the less possible of the two. When Jeremy had thus exhausted the field of speculation he rose and went out of his room to speak sharply to Mrs. Watkins. His intention of severity was a little belied by the genial grotesqueness of his short and rather broad figure in dressing-gown and pyjamas; but he hoped that he looked a disciplinarian. Mrs. Watkins, however, was not there. The flat was silent and completely empty. The blinds were drawn over the sitting-room windows, and stirred faintly as he opened the door. He passed into the kitchen, but not hopefully, for as a rule his ear told him without mistake when the charwoman was to be found there. As he had expected, she was not there, nor yet in the bathroom. There was a quiet uncanny silence everywhere, so strange and yet at the same time so reminiscent of something that eluded his memory, that Jeremy paused a moment, head lifted in air, trying to analyze its effect on him. He ascribed it at last to the obvious cause of Mrs. Watkins’ absence at this unusually late hour; and he went further into the bathroom, whence he could see, with a little craning of the neck, the clock on St. Andrew’s Church in Holborn. This last testimony confirmed that of his watch. He returned to the sitting-room, struggling half-consciously in his mind with a quite irrational feeling, for which he could not account, that it was a Sunday. He knew very well that it was a TuesdayーTuesday, the 18th of April, in the year 1924. When he came into the sitting-room he drew back the blinds and let in the full morning light, and by its aid he surveyed unfavorably his overcoat lying where he had thrown it the night before, coming in late from a party. He looked also with some disgust at the glass from which he had drunk a last unnecessary whisky and soda previous to going to bed. Then he paddled back wearily with bare feet to the narrow kitchen (a cupboard containing a gas-stove and a smaller cupboard), set a kettle on to boil, and began the always laborious process of bathing, shaving, and dressing. At the end he shirked making tea, or boiling an egg, and he sat down discontentedly to another whisky, in the same glass, and a piece of stale bread.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞There is, perhaps, nothing within the sphere of human operations which more affect the present and future generations, either for good or evil, than a faithful narration of history and biography. But the effects, either for better or worse, depend pretty much on the comments and conclusions of the historian and biographer themselves. He may have an unprejudiced mind, he may chronicle the events of a nation faithfully and correctly, and he may be capable of delineating the mighty strokes and nicer shades of individual character with all the force and brilliancy which extraordinary genius can command; but if his deductions or inferences be unsound or erroneous, the effects will extend to all parts of society, both the present and the future. For instance, and as an illustration, the poet said of Lord Bacon: “The greatest, the wisest, and the meanest of mankind.” This is a forcible declaration, and one that belongs to the true philosophy which others must adopt before they can be the real benefactors of mankind. Had the poet gone further, and particularized the conduct of this great man, in what consisted his exalted virtues, and wherein he has contributed so much to the benefit of after agesーgiving him credit for all this, and stamping it with true glory, admiration and immortalityーholding up the same as worthy of imitation for aspiring youth; and then followed by a painful portrayal of his enormous vices which have had their share in producing so much corruption and misery on society at largeーmaking manifest, according to the declaration of another poet, that “an honest man is the noblest work of God;” and that it is far better to be honest, though humble, than to have a combination of character of all which is great and all which is mean; let it be repeated, had the poet drawn his lines in some such manner, far happier might have been the result. Again, war is the scourge of humanity. Of all woes, there are none which can be compared to the horrors of protracted warfare. Neither tongue nor pen can adequately depict the miseries which flow in the train of consequences. The rust, disease, exposure and pestilence of camp life; the crowded hospitals of accumulated wretchedness; the sweat and smokeーthe blood and groans of the red battle-field; these form but a very small part of the dire afflictions which flow from hostile collisions of this natureーto say nothing of the burdens entailed on posterity by waste of treasureーleaving an interminable debt to oppress generations yet unborn! Here the fashionable historian has a fine field to work in. In dazzling colors he gilds and paints in profusion. He largely expatiates on the stratagems, the man?uvering, and the master strokes of policy displayed by the commanding General. In matchless grandeur he draws his lines, made conspicuous by gleaming swords and bristling bayonets. He plants his thundering batteries on every eminence within the scope of vision. Now open the scenes of death and carnage. Red flashes, black smoke and leaden hail extend from every spot of falling conflict. Hand to hand, foot to foot, breast to breast. First one and then another of distinguished officers dropping, “covered all over with immortal glory.” Grounds taken and retaken. One wing giving away, another pressing victoriously onward over heaps of the slain. Here stubbornly contested, then riding on the fiery wings of battle overpowering all oppositionーproducing rout, defeat and dreadful slaughter on every road of retreat. Such animating descriptions animate other armies and other Generals. Not only is the impetuous enthusiasm of the common soldier excited, but also the ardor and emulation of the General himself. The young, the oldーall seem to desire more opportunities to occur for the exercise of prowess, as well as for further demonstrations of martial glory. But it is quite possible to conceive how the historian could have produced quite a contrary effect.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞Professor Freeman defined history as “past politics.” Mr. Buckle argued that the essence of the historical evolution consists in intellectual progress. Many present-day economists hold that the dominant forces in the historical development are economic. Churchmen consistently make the chief factor in history to be religion. Whether the upholders of these several interpretations of history would have us understand them as speaking of the ultimate goal of the historic evolution, or merely of the dominant motive under which men and society act, none of these interpretations can be accepted by the student of the facts of the moral life of the race as a true reading of history. To him not only does moral progress constitute the very essence of the historic movement, but the ethical motive presents itself as the most constant and regulative force in the evolution of humanity. His chief interest in all the other factors of the historical evolution is in noting in what way and in what measure they have contributed to the growth and enrichment of the moral life of mankind. Thus the historian of morals is deeply interested in the growth of political institutions among men, but chiefly in observing in what way these institutions have affected for good or for evil the moral life of the nation. Particularly is the progress of the world toward political unity a matter of profound concern to him, not because he regards the establishment of the world state as an end in itself, but because the universal state alone can furnish those conditions under which the moral life of humanity can most freely expatiate and find its noblest and truest expression. It is the same with intellectual progress. The student of morals recognizes the fact that the progress of the race in morality is normally dependent upon its progress in knowledgeーthat conscience waits upon the intellect. But in opposition to Buckle and those of his school, he maintains that, so far from an advance in knowledge constituting the essence of a progressive civilization, this mental advance constitutes merely the condition precedent of real civilization, the distinctive characteristic of which must be a true morality. A civilization or culture which does not include this is doomed to quick retrogression and decay. As Benjamin Kidd truly observes, “When the intellectual development of any section of the race, for the time being, outruns the ethical development, natural selection has apparently weeded it out like any other unsuitable product.” As with the political and intellectual elements of civilization so is it with the economic. The outward forms of the moral life are, it is true, largely determined by the industry of a people; but the informing spirit of morality is the expression of an implanted faculty. It is elicited but not created by environment. No industrial order from which it is lacking can long endure. Natural selection condemns it as unfit. And this we are beginning to recognizeーthat economics and ethics cannot be divorced, that every great industrial problem is at bottom a moral problem. To the student of the ethical phase of history all social reformers from the old Hebrew prophets down to Karl Marx and Henry George are primarily moralists pleading for social justice, equity, and righteousness.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞The Oasis of Baharia (or Northern Oasis), also known as the Little Oasis, lies between the parallels 27° 48′ and 28° 30′ of north latitude, and between the meridians 28° 35′ and 29° 10′ east of Greenwich, being thus situated in the Libyan Desert about 180 kilometres, or four to five days’ march by camel, west of the Nile Valley. Like the other oases of the Western Desert (Farafra, Dakhla and Kharga) to the south, Baharia is a large natural excavation in the great Libyan plateau; it differs, however, from those oases, which are open on one or more sides, in being entirely surrounded by escarpments, and the vast number of isolated hills within the depression form an unique topographical feature. In Baharia, as, with the exception of Dakhla, in the oases generally, the cultivated area bears only a very small proportion to the total oasis-area, the remainder of the floor of the natural excavation being barren desert. The oasis contains four principal villages, all situated in its northern portion, and it is in the neighbourhood of these that water, and consequently vegetation, is most abundant. The early history of Baharia is shrouded in an obscurity greater even than that surrounding the history of Kharga. That it was inhabited at a very early date is shown however by a stela of the reign of Thothmes II (about B.C. 1600-1500) found there by Ascherson, by a tomb of the 19th dynasty (B.C. 1300) and fragments of two temples, one dating from the reign of King Apries (B.C. 588-570) and the other from the reign of Amasis (B.C. 569-526), discovered by Steindorff in 1900, and by the references to it in the Ptolemaic inscriptions of the temple of Edfu. The oasis of Baharia is referred to in the hieroglyphic inscriptions of its newly-discovered temples as “the northern oasis of Amenhotep,” and as “the oasis Huye”; by Strabo it is called δε?τερα “the second” and by Ptolemy ασι? μικρ “the small oasis.” The Romans have left traces of their occupation of Baharia in an arch near the village of El Qasr and other ruins, as well as in numerous wells and underground aqueducts, which latter are still used by the present inhabitants. Fragmentary ruins of churches and a Coptic village attest the fact of the occupation of the place during Christian times. At present Baharia, along with the neighbouring oasis of Farafra to the south, is administered as part of the Mudiria of Minia, and is fairly prosperous, though lacking in enterprise to an even greater extent than is shown by the two southern oases of Dakhla and Kharga. The first European traveller to reach the oasis of Baharia appears to have been Belzoni, who reached it from Beni Suef on May 26th, 1819, and after spending some eleven days there returned by the same route. Though his observations appear to have been correctly made, the description of his travels is largely coloured by imagination, and his map appears only to have been a rough sketch. He erroneously confused Baharia with the oasis of Jupiter Ammon, whose temple he imagined he had found in the remains of the Roman arch near El Qasr, the chief village of the oasis. It is hardly necessary to remark that the oasis of Jupiter Ammon is really that now known as Siwa, situated some 340 kilometres west-north-west of Baharia.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞By the Lake of Galilee there is rising ground, situated near several villages on the borders of the lake, where it is believed the Lord Jesus spoke those wonderful words which are called "The Sermon on the Mount." Travellers who have been to this spot tell us that the rising, rocky ground, which is called "The Horns of Hattin," would be a most convenient place for any one who was speaking to large numbers of people. And it is here, it is thought, our Lord, "seeing the multitudes" who had followed Him from the villages beneath the mountain, spoke to them of the blessings which they might possess if they kept His words; and explained to them the duties which were laid upon those who loved Him, and the blessings in store for them. In an earthly school, the children are told of the prizes which will be given for earnest endeavour; and each one on entering the school is able to read the list of these rewards, and the conditions which are attached to them. We all understand more or less of this earthly competitionーthis great endeavour to do our best, to see some result of our hard work, to have the joy of receiving a prize or of earning the approbation of the master who helps us to the attainment of our ideal. This is in an earthly schoolーnow we are going to turn to the heavenly side of life. So when our Lord Jesus Christ, from that rocky eminence raised above the multitude, spoke to them and saidー?"Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the Kingdom of Heavenー"? It seems to me that there is hidden in His words a Promise; and also a Way made plain, to obtain the Prize. ?So the first "Blessed" is:? "Blessed are the poor in spirit"; and the promise is: "For theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven."? "The poor in spirit" does not mean a weak man, but one who knows how likely he is to fail, and therefore does not trust in himself or his pride, but looks up into God's face, instead of into his own faulty doings. In a little country town in the West of England, about a hundred years ago, there lived a man who was spoken of as "half-witted." He was a general favourite; but if, at any time, he was twitted by the boys, or good-humouredly questioned by older people, his invariable answer wasー?"I'm a poor Sinner, and nothing at all;?But Jesus Christ is my All-in-All."? Whatever else he had missed, he had learned the blessedness of being "poor in spirit," and his reward has been, for many a long day, an entrance into "the Kingdom of Heaven." "Thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, Whose name is Holy: I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones."＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞A near-sighted German music teacher crossed his legs at an inopportune moment, and this trivial action led directly to the startling incidents of the following narrative, with their momentous effects upon several lives. This singular occurrence took place on a railway train in England, a boat train with passengers from Paris, three of these, a strangely assorted trio, being brought together by fate within the respectable cushioned walls of a first-class carriage. On one side sat an English bishop, in formal black garments, talking with evident interest and a certain deference to a very pretty and smartly dressed American girl, whose fresh views and charming lack of reverence seemed to delight the rather heavy-minded but well-meaning prelate. Small wonder that the ecclesiastical gaze was held in rapt attention, for Miss Betty Thompson (of New York and recently of Paris) was not only fair to look upon with her teasing blue eyes, her long curling lashes, her auburn hair shot through with golden lights and her adorable mouth upturned at the corners, but she added to these the fatal gift of unexpectedness. So the bishop looked and listened and marveled, while the tired lines faded from his face and he reflected that, after all, the ride from Dover to London was very short, amazingly short. The other one of this trio, whose meeting here was to have such far-reaching consequences, was a quietly attired young woman, traveling alone, her black hair and warm ivory coloring seeming to indicate a Latin origin. She, too, was a girl of striking beauty, but there was something of sadness and yearning in the depths of her lustrous dark eyes. As if weary with the journey, she dozed from time to time or seemed to doze, her thick lashes lifting occasionally for a languid glance at her companions and then drooping again, while a faint, half-wistful smile played about her full red lips.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞On a visit to New York, many years ago, after the first few months of my ministerial labors in the wilds of the Southwest, I met a warm personal friend, a genial, generous, noble Christian woman, who at once said to me: "And so you are a Western missionary. Well, do tell me if anything strange or funny ever did happen to a missionary. Mother has taken the home-missionary papers ever since I was a child, and I always read them; and I often wonder if anything strange or funny did ever happen to a Western missionary." I had recently spent three happy years in the Union Theological Seminary in that city, and had come back to attend the heart-stirring anniversaries, held in those days in the old Broadway Tabernacle, and to meet again the many friends who had followed me in my labors with their kind wishes and their prayers. Though nearly thirty years have passed since I received that greeting, I have never forgotten, and have very often recalled it. And I have as often thought that it was most natural that the churches and people at large who send forth and sustain the heroic laborers who are toiling in the varied departments of Christian effort in our newer States and Territories, should desire a much fuller account of their daily lives and labors. As many of them travel extensively, and see pioneer border-life in all its aspects and phases, I have thought it most natural and reasonable that the people should desire to know more of their adventures; more of their contact with the rough, whole-souled people with whom they so often meet and mingle; more of that strange compound of energy, recklessness, and daring, the hardy hosts who erect their log-cabins and fell the forests in the van of our American civilization, in its triumphant westward march. Only one day in seven is set apart as sacred time, and only a few hours of that day are devoted to what are generally regarded as spiritual duties. A description of these duties alone, whether performed on Sabbath-days or week-days, is a very inadequate description of missionary life as a whole. In order to perform these duties, a man must eat and drink, take care of his body, mingle with the world, and meet all his responsibilities as a man and a citizen. In the pages that follow it will be my purpose to present a portraiture of ministerial life in the wilds of the Southwest, in all its aspects and phases, exactly as I found it. I shall attempt to portray week-day life as well as Sunday life. I shall describe scenes of wonderful and thrilling religious interest, and the most common and homely incidents of every-day life, and, as far as possible, give an idea of my life as a whole. I shall attempt to describe the politicians, preachers, and people; the country in which they live, their manners and customs, their barbecues, basket-meetings, and weddings, and all the peculiarities of their open, free, and genial home-life in its social, political, and religious aspects and relations. In this I shall be successful only so far as I succeed in perfectly describing their life and my own during the many years that I mingled with them. My lady friend and questioner, to whom I have referred, was slightly mistaken in calling me a "missionary." I was not one in name. At the time of my graduation from the Theological Seminary, I was under appointment as a missionary of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions to West Africa; but h?morrhages from my lungs prevented my entrance upon that work.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞In 1727, the year of George the First's death, Miss Grace Naylor of Hurstmonceaux, though she was beloved, charming, and beautiful, died very mysteriously in her twenty-first year, in the immense and weird old castle of which she had been the heiress. She was affirmed to have been starved by her former governess, who lived alone with her, but the fact was never proved. Her property passed to her first cousin Francis Hare (son of her aunt Bethaia), who forthwith assumed the name of Naylor. The new owner of Hurstmonceaux was the only child of the first marriage of that Francis Hare, who, through the influence first of the Duke of Marlborough (by whose side, then a chaplain, he had ridden on the battle-fields of Blenheim and Ramilies), and afterwards of his family connections the Pelhams and Walpoles, rose to become one of the richest and most popular pluralists of his age. Yet he had to be contented at last with the bishoprics of St. Asaph and Chichester, with each of which he held the Deanery of St. Paul's, the Archbishopric of Canterbury having twice just escaped him. The Bishop's eldest son Francis was "un facheux d?tail de notre famille," as the grandfather of Madame de Maintenon said of his son. He died after a life of the wildest dissipation, without leaving any children by his wife Carlotta Alston, who was his stepmother's sister. So the property of Hurstmonceaux went to his half-brother Robert, son of the Bishop's second marriage with Mary-Margaret Alston, heiress of the Vatche in Buckinghamshire, and of several other places besides. Sir Robert Walpole had been the godfather of Robert Hare-Naylor, and presented him with a valuable sinecure office as a christening present, and he further made the Bishop urge the Church as the profession in which father and godfather could best aid the boy's advancement. Accordingly Robert took orders, obtained a living, and was made a Canon of Winchester. While he was still very young, his father had further secured his fortunes by marrying him to the heiress who lived nearest to his mother's property of the Vatche, and, by the beautiful Sarah Selman (daughter of the owner of Chalfont St. Peter's, and sister of Mrs. Lefevre), he had two sonsーFrancis and Robert, and an only daughter Anna Maria, afterwards Mrs. Bulkeley. In the zenith of her youth and loveliness, however, Sarah Hare died very suddenly from eating ices when overheated at a ball, and soon afterwards Robert married a second wifeーthe rich Henrietta Henckel, who pulled down Hurstmonceaux Castle. She did this because she was jealous of the sons of her predecessor, and wished to build a large new house, which she persuaded her husband to settle upon her own children, who were numerous, though only two daughters lived to any great age. But she was justly punished, for when Robert Hare died, it was discovered that the great house which Wyatt had built for Mrs. Hare, and which is now known as Hurstmonceaux Place, was erected upon entailed land, so that the house stripped of furniture, and the property shorn of its most valuable farms, passed to Francis Hare-Naylor, son of Miss Selman. Mrs. Henckel Hare lived on to a great age, and when "the burden of her years came on her" she repented of her avarice and injustice, and coming back to Hurstmonceaux in childish senility, would wander round and round the castle ruins in the early morning and late evening, wringing her hands and sayingー"Who could have done such a wicked thing: oh! who could have done such a wicked thing, as to pull down this beautiful old place?" Then her daughters, Caroline and Marianne, walking beside her, would sayー"Oh dear mamma, it was you who did it, it was you yourself who did it, you know"ーand she would despairingly resumeー"Oh no, that is impossible: it could not have been me. I could not have done such a wicked thing: it could not have been me that did it."＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞Throughout my life I have sought adventure over the face of the world and its waters as other men have hunted and fought for gold or struggled for fame. The love of it, whether through the outcropping of a strain of buccaneer blood that had been held in subjection by generations of placid propriety or as a result of some freak of prenatal suggestion, was born in me, deep-planted and long-rooted. Excitement is as essential to my existence as air and food. Through it my life has been prolonged in activity and my soul perpetuated in youth; when I can no longer enjoy its electrification, Death, as it is so spoken of, will, I hope, come quickly. To get away from the flat, tiresome, beaten path and find conditions or create situations to gratify the clamorous demand within me has ever been my compelling passion. I have served, all told, under eighteen flags and to each I gave the best that was in me, even though some of them were disappointing in their failure to produce a pleasing amount of excitement. In following my natural bent, which I was powerless, as well as disinclined, to interfere with or alter, to the full length of my capabilities, it perhaps will be considered by some people that I have gone outside of written laws. To such a contention my answer is that I have always been true to my own conscience, which is the known and yet the unknown quantity we all must reckon with, and to my country. In the transportation of arms with which to further fights for freedom or fortune I have flown many flags I had no strictly legal right to fly, over ships that were not what they pretended to be nor what their papers indicated them to be, but never have I taken refuge behind the Stars and Stripes, nor have I ever called on an American minister or consular officer to get me out of the successive scrapes with governments, but most often with misgovernments, into which my warring wanderings have carried me. Red-blooded love of adventure, free from any wanton spirit and with the prospect of financial reward always subordinated, has been the driving force in all of my encounters with good men and bad, with the latter class much in the majority. Therefore I have only scorn for sympathy and contempt for criticism, nor am I troubled with uncanny visions by night nor haunting recollections by day. There is just one point in my philosophy which I wish to make clear before the Blue Peter is hoisted, and that is that most of the so-called impossibilities we encounter are simply disguised opportunities. Because they are regarded as impossible they are not guarded against and are therefore comparatively easy of accomplishment when they really are possible, as most of them are. Acceptance of this theory, with which every student of the history of warfare will agree, will help to explain my ability to do some of the things which will be told of, that the thoughtless would promptly put down as impossible. The name by which I am known is one of the contradictions of my life. Save only for my father, who sympathized with my adventurous disposition at the same time that he tried to curb it, I was at war with my family almost from the time I could talk. I am a Republican in politics from the fact that they were active supporters of James Buchanan, and I became a Southern sympathizer simply because they were bitterly opposed to slavery. When I left home to become an adventurer around the globe I buried my real name and I do not propose to uncover it, here or hereafter. I am proud, though, of the fact that my family is descended from a King of Burgundy; for since reaching years of discretion, though I have been as loyal to the United States as any man since 1865, I never have believed in a republican form of government.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞The palace glittered with light and splendor; the servants ran here and there, arranging the sofas and chairs; the court gardener cast a searching glance at the groups of flowers which he had placed in the saloons; and the major domo superintended the tables in the picture gallery. The guests of the queen will enjoy to-night a rich and costly feast. Every thing wore the gay and festive appearance which, in the good old times, the king's palace in Berlin had been wont to exhibit. Jesting and merrymaking were the order of the day, and even the busy servants were good-humored and smiling, knowing that this evening there was no danger of blows and kicks, of fierce threats and trembling terror. Happily the king could not appear at this ball, which he had commanded Sophia to give to the court and nobility of Berlin. The king was ill, the gout chained him to his chamber, and during the last few sleepless nights a presentiment weighed upon the spirit of the ruler of Prussia. He felt that the reign of Frederick the First would soon be at an end; that the doors of his royal vault would soon open to receive a kingly corpse, and a new king would mount the throne of Prussia. This last thought filled the heart of the king with rage and bitterness. Frederick William would not die! he would not that his son should reign in his stead; that this weak, riotous youth, this dreamer, surrounded in Rheinsberg with poets and musicians, sowing flowers and composing ballads, should take the place which Frederick the First had filled so many years with glory and great results. Prussia had no need of this sentimental boy, this hero of fashion, who adorned himself like a French fop, and preferred the life of a sybarite, in his romantic castle, to the battle-field and the night-parade; who found the tones of his flute sweeter than the sounds of trumpets and drums; who declared that there were not only kings by "the grace of God, but kings by the power of genius and intellect, and that Voltaire was as great a kingーyes, greater than all the kings anointed by the Pope!" What use has Prussia for such a sovereign? No, Frederick William would not, could not die! His son should not reign in Prussia, destroying what his father had built up! Never should Prussia fall into the hands of a dreaming poet! The king was resolved, therefore, that no one should know he was ill; no one should believe that he had any disease but gout; this was insignificant, never fatal. A man can live to be eighty years old with the gout; it is like a faithful wife, who lives with us even to old age, and with whom we can celebrate a golden wedding. The king confessed to himself that he was once more clasped in her tender embraces, but the people and the prince should not hope that his life was threatened.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞It is instructive to compare superstition with science. Mythology is the term used to designate the superstitions of the ancients. Folk-lore is the term used to designate the superstitions of the ignorant of today. Ancient mythology has been carefully studied by modern thinkers for purposes of trope and simile in the embellishment of literature, and especially of poetry; then it has been investigated for the purpose of discovering its meaning in the hope that some occult significance might be found, on the theory that the wisdom of the ancients was far superior to that of modern men. Now, science has entered this field of study to compare one mythology with another, and pre-eminently to compare mythology with science itself, for the purpose of discovering stages of human opinion. When the mythology of tribal men came to be studied, it was found that their philosophy was also a mythology in which the mysteries of the universe were explained in a collection of tales told by wise men, prophets, and priests. This lore of the wise among savage men is of the same origin and has the same significance as the lore of Hesiod and Homer. It is thus a mythology in the early sense of that term. But the mythology of tribal men is devoid of that glamour and witchery born of poetry; hence it seems rude and savage in comparison, for example, with the mythology of the Odyssey, and to rank no higher as philosophic thought than the tales of the ignorant and superstitious which are called folk-lore; and gradually such mythology has come to be called folk-lore. Folk-lore is a discredited mythologyーa mythology once held as a philosophy. Nowadays the tales of savage men, not being credited by civilized and enlightened men with that wisdom which is held to belong to philosophy, are called folk-lore, or sometimes folk-tales. The folk-tales collected by Mr. Cushing constitute a charming exhibit of the wisdom of the Zu?is as they believe, though it may be but a charming exhibit of the follies of the Zu?is as we believe. The wisdom of one age is the folly of the next, and the opinions of tribal men seem childish to civilized men. Then why should we seek to discover their thoughts? Science, in seeking to know the truth about the universe, does not expect to find it in mythology or folk-lore, does not even consider it as a paramount end that it should be used as an embellishment of literature, though it serves this purpose well. Modern science now considers it of profound importance to know the course of the evolution of the humanities; that is, the evolution of pleasures, the evolution of industries, the evolution of institutions, the evolution of languages, and, finally, the evolution of opinions. How opinions grow seems to be one of the most instructive chapters in the science of psychology. Psychologists do not go to the past to find valid opinions, but to find stages of development in opinions; hence mythology or folk-lore is of profound interest and supreme importance. Under the scriptorial wand of Cushing the folk-tales of the Zu?is are destined to become a part of the living literature of the world, for he is a poet although he does not write in verse. Cushing can think as myth-makers think, he can speak as prophets speak, he can expound as priests expound, and his tales have the verisimilitude of ancient lore; but his sympathy with the mythology of tribal men does not veil the realities of science from his mind.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞I must say I didn't get much excited at first over this Marion Gray tragedy. You see, I'd just blown in from Cleveland, where I'd been shunted by the Ordnance Department to report on a new motor kitchen. And after spendin' ten days soppin' up information about a machine that was a cross between a road roller and an owl lunch wagon, and fillin' my system with army stews cooked on the fly, I'm suddenly called off. Someone at Washington had discovered that this flying cook-stove thing was a problem for the Quartermaster's Department, and wires me to drop it. So I was all for enjoyin' a little fam'ly reunion, havin' Vee tell me how she's been gettin' along, and what cute little tricks young Master Richard had developed while I'm gone. But right in the midst of our intimate little domestic sketch Vee has to break loose with this outside sigh stuff. "I can't help thinking about poor Marion," says she. "Eh?" says I, lookin' up from the crib where young Snookums has just settled himself comfortable and decided to tear off a few more hours of slumber. "Which Marion?" "Why, Marion Gray," says she. "Oh!" says I. "The old maid with the patient eyes and the sad smile?" "She is barely thirty," says Vee. "Maybe," says I; "but she's takin' it hard." "Who wouldn't?" says Vee. And havin' got that far, I saw I might as well let her get the whole story off her chest. She's been seein' more and more of this Marion Gray person ever since we moved out here to Harbor Hills. Kind of a plump, fresh-colored party, and more or less bright and entertainin' in her chat when she was in the right mood. I'd often come in and found Vee chucklin' merry over some of the things Miss Gray had been tellin' her. And while she was at our house she seemed full of life and pep. Just the sort that Vee gets along with best. She was the same whenever we met her up at the Ellinses. But outside of that you never saw her anywhere. She wasn't in with the Country Club set, and most of the young married crowd seemed to pass her up too. I didn't know why. Guess I hadn't thought much about it. I knew she'd lost her father and mother within the last year or so, so I expect I put it down to that as the reason she wasn't mixin' much. But Vee has all the inside dope. Seems old man Gray had been a chronic invalid for years. Heart trouble. And durin' all the last of it he'd been promisin' to check out constant, but had kept puttin' it off. Meanwhile Mrs. Gray and Marion had been fillin' in as day and night nurses. He'd been a peevish, grouchy old boy, too, and the more waitin' on he got the more he demanded. Little things. He had to have his food cooked just so, the chair cushions adjusted, the light just right. He had to be read to so many hours a day, and played to, and sung to. He couldn't stand it to be alone, not for half an hour. Didn't want to think, he said. Didn't want to see the women folks knittin' or crocheting: he wanted 'em to be attending to him all the while. He had a little silver bell that he kept hung on his chair arm, and when he rang it one or the other of 'em had to jump. Maybe you know the kind.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞The Transvaal Warーlike a gigantic pictureーcannot be considered at close quarters. To fully appreciate the situation, and all that it embraces, the critic must stand at a suitable distance. He must gaze not merely with the eye of to-day, or even of the whole nineteenth century, but with his mind educated to the strange conditions of earlier civilisation. For in these conditions will be found the root of the widespread mischiefーthe answer to many a riddle which superficial observers have been unable to comprehend. The racial hatred between Boer and Briton is not a thing of new growth; it has expanded with the expansion of the Boer settlers themselves. In fact, on the Boer side, it is the only thing independent of British enterprise which has grown and expanded since the Dutch first set foot in the Cape. This took place in 1652. Then, Jan Van Riebeck, of the Dutch East India Company, first established an European settlement, and a few years later the burghers began life as cattle-breeders, agriculturists, and itinerant traders. These original Cape Colonists were descendants of Dutchmen of the lower classes, men of peasant stamp, who were joined in 1689 by a contingent of Huguenot refugees. The Boers, or peasants, of that day were men of fine type, a blend between the gipsy and the evangelist. They were nomadic in their taste, lawless, and impatient of restrictions, bigoted though devout, and inspired in all and through all by an unconquerable love of independence. With manners they had nothing to do, with progress still less. Isolation from the civilised world, and contact with Bushmen, Hottentots, and Kaffirs, kept them from advancing with the times. Their slaves outnumbered themselves, and their treatment of these makes anything but enlivening reading. From all accounts the Boer went about with the Bible in one hand and the sjambok in the other, instructing himself assiduously with the Word, while asserting himself liberally with the deed. Yet he was a first-rate sporting man, a shrewd trafficker, and at times an energetic tiller of the soil. The early settlements were Rondebosch, Stellenbosch, and Drakenstein, in the valley of the Berg River. Here the Dutch community laboured, and smoked, and married, multiplying itself with amazing rapidity, and expanding well beyond the original limits. Dutch domination at the Cape lasted for 143 years after the landing of Van Riebeck, but gradually internal dissensions among the settlers resulted in absolute revolt. Meanwhile the Dutch in Europe had lost their political prestige, and the country was overrun by a Prussian army commissioned to support the House of Orange. In 1793, in a war against allied England and Holland, France gained the day, and a Republic was set up under French protection, thereby rendering Holland and her colonies of necessity antagonistic to Great Britain. After this the fortunes of the Cape were fluctuating. In 1795 Admiral Elphinstone and General Craig brought about the surrender of the colony to Great Britain.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞As a fitting introduction to some of the personal incidents and sketches which I shall hereafter present to the readers of “The Galaxy,” a brief description of the country in which these events transpired may not be deemed inappropriate. It is but a few years ago that every schoolboy, supposed to possess the rudiments of a knowledge of the geography of the United States, could give the boundaries and a general description of the “Great American Desert.” As to the boundary the knowledge seemed to be quite explicit: on the north bounded by the Upper Missouri, on the east by the Lower Missouri and Mississippi, on the south by Texas, and on the west by the Rocky Mountains. The boundaries on the northwest and south remained undisturbed, while on the east civilization, propelled and directed by Yankee enterprise, adopted the motto, “Westward the star of empire takes its way.” Countless throngs of emigrants crossed the Mississippi and Missouri rivers, selecting homes in the rich and fertile territories lying beyond. Each year this tide of emigration, strengthened and increased by the flow from foreign shores, advanced toward the setting sun, slowly but surely narrowing the preconceived limits of the “Great American Desert,” and correspondingly enlarging the limits of civilization. At last the geographical myth was dispelled. It was gradually discerned that the Great American Desert did not exist, that it had no abiding place, but that within its supposed limits, and instead of what had been regarded as a sterile and unfruitful tract of land, incapable of sustaining either man or beast, there existed the fairest and richest portion of the national domain, blessed with a climate pure, bracing, and healthful, while its undeveloped soil rivalled if it did not surpass the most productive portions of the Eastern, Middle, or Southern States. Discarding the name “Great American Desert,” this immense tract of country, with its eastern boundary moved back by civilization to a distance of nearly three hundred miles west of the Missouri river, is now known as “The Plains,” and by this more appropriate title it shall be called when reference to it is necessary. The Indian tribes which have caused the Government most anxiety and whose depredations have been most serious against our frontier settlements and prominent lines of travel across the Plains, infest that portion of the Plains bounded on the north by the valley of the Platte river and its tributaries, on the east by a line running north and south between the 97th and 98th meridians, on the south by the valley of the Arkansas river, and west by the Rocky Mountainsーalthough by treaty stipulations almost every tribe with which the Government has recently been at war is particularly debarred from entering or occupying any portion of this tract of country. Of the many persons whom I have met on the Plains as transient visitors from the States or from Europe, there are few who have not expressed surprise that their original ideas concerning the appearance and characteristics of the country were so far from correct, or that the Plains in imagination, as described in books, tourists’ letters, or reports of isolated scientific parties, differed so widely from the Plains as they actually exist and appear to the eye. Travellers, writers of fiction, and journalists have spoken and written a great deal concerning this immense territory, so unlike in all its qualities and characteristics to the settled and cultivated portion of the United States; but to a person familiar with the country the conclusion is forced, upon reading these published descriptions, either that the writers never visited but a limited portion of the country they aim to describe, or, as is most commonly the case at the present day, that the journey was made in a stage-coach or Pullman car, half of the distance travelled in the night time, and but occasional glimpses taken during the day.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞There was a dwelling of Kings ere the world was waxen old; Dukes were the door-wards there, and the roofs were thatched with gold; Earls were the wrights that wrought it, and silver nailed its doors; Earls' wives were the weaving-women, queens' daughters strewed its floors,And the masters of its song-craft were the mightiest men that cast The sails of the storm of battle adown the bickering blast. There dwelt men merry-hearted, and in hope exceeding greatMet the good days and the evil as they went the way of fate: There the Gods were unforgotten, yea whiles they walked with men. Though e'en in that world's beginning rose a murmur now and again Of the midward time and the fading and the last of the latter days, And the entering in of the terror, and the death of the People's Praise. Thus was the dwelling of Volsung, the King of the Midworld's Mark, As a rose in the winter season, a candle in the dark; And as in all other matters 'twas all earthly houses' crown, And the least of its wall-hung shields was a battle-world's renown, So therein withal was a marvel and a glorious thing to see, For amidst of its midmost hall-floor sprang up a mighty tree, That reared its blessings roofward, and wreathed the roof-tree dear With the glory of the summer and the garland of the year. I know not how they called it ere Volsung changed his life, But his dawning of fair promise, and his noontide of the strife, His eve of the battle-reaping and the garnering of his fame, Have bred us many a story and named us many a name; And when men tell of Volsung, they call that war-duke's tree, That crown?d stem, the Branstock; and so was it told unto me. So there was the throne of Volsung beneath its blossoming bower. But high o'er the roof-crest red it rose 'twixt tower and tower, And therein were the wild hawks dwelling, abiding the dole of their lord; And they wailed high over the wine, and laughed to the waking sword. Still were its boughs but for them, when lo on an even of May Comes a man from Siggeir the King with a word for his mouth to say: "All hail to thee King Volsung, from the King of the Goths I come: He hath heard of thy sword victorious and thine abundant home; He hath heard of thy sons in the battle, the fillers of Odin's Hall; And a word hath the west-wind blown him, (full fruitful be its fall!) A word of thy daughter Signy the crown of womanhood: Now he deems thy friendship goodly, and thine help in the battle good, And for these will he give his friendship and his battle-aid again: But if thou wouldst grant his asking, and make his heart full fain, Then shalt thou give him a matter, saith he, without a price, ーSigny the fairer than fair, Signy the wiser than wise."＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞Tutankhamon-Tutankhaton, the envoy of Akhnaton, the king of Egypt, brought him a marvellous gift from the island of CreteーDio, the dancer, the pearl of the Kingdom of the Seas. He boasted that he had saved her from death: but it was not he who saved her. When she killed the god-Bull in the Knossos arena to avenge her friend Eoia who had been sacrificed to the Beast, she was sentenced to be burned at the stake. But Tammuzadad, a Babylonian who loved Dio, went to the stake in her place and Tutankhaton merely hid her in his ship and brought her to Egypt. Before bringing Dio to the king in the new capital, Akhetaton, the City of the Sun, he settled her near Thebes, or Nut-Amon, in the country house of his distant relative Khnumhotep, formerly the chief superintendent of the granaries of Amon's temple. Khnumhotep's estate was enclosed by high brick walls that formed an oblong quadrangle making it look like a fortress. Within it were granaries, cattle-yards, wine-presses, hay-lofts, barns and other buildings, vineyards and gardens divided into regular squares: kitchen garden, orchard, flower garden, woods of pine and other trees and a palm plantation with three ponds, one large and two small ones. Two high three-storied houses, a brick one for winter and a wooden one with a brick bottom storey for the summer, stood facing each other on opposite sides of the big pond. Dio spent a couple of months in this quiet country place resting from all that had happened to her in Crete and learning Egyptian dances. One afternoon, in the middle of winter, she was lying on carpets and cushions on the flat roof of the summer house, in a light trellised shelter supported by a row of cedar pillars, carved, gilded and brightly painted. She was looking at the sun in the dark, almost black-blue sky, so abysmally clear that it seemed there never had been, nor ever could be, a cloud in it. The sun of southern winterーof winter's summerーbright but not dazzling, warm but not scorching, was like the smile of a child asleep. Half closing her eyes, she looked straight at it and the light broke into a diamond rainbow like a tear on the eyelashes.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞At Roosendal, about an hour's railway journey from Antwerp, the boundary between Belgium and Holland is crossed, and a branch line diverges to Breda. Somehow, like most travellers, we could not help expecting to see some marked change on reaching a new country, and in Holland one could not repress the expectation of beginning at once to see the pictures of Teniers and Gerard Dou in real life. We were certainly disappointed at first. Open heaths were succeeded by woods of stunted firs, and then by fields with thick hedges of beech or alder, till the towers of Breda came in sight. Here a commonplace omnibus took us to the comfortable inn of Zum Kroon, and we were shown into bedrooms reached by an open wooden staircase from the courtyard, and quickly joined the table d'h?te, at which the magnates of the town were seated with napkins well tucked up under their chins, talking, with full mouths, in Dutch, of which to our unaccustomed ears the words seemed all in one string. Most excellent was the dinnerーroast meat and pears, quantities of delicious vegetables cooked in different ways, piles of ripe mulberries and cake, and across the little garden, with its statues and bright flower-beds, we could see the red sails of the barges going up and down the canals. As soon as dinner was over, we sallied forth to see the town, which impressed us more than any Dutch city did afterwards, perhaps because it was the first we saw. The winding streetsーone of them ending in a high windmillーare lined with houses wonderfully varied in outline, and of every shade of delicate colour, yellow, grey, or brown, though the windows always have white frames and bars. Passing through a low archway under one of the houses, we found ourselves, when we least expected it, in the public garden, a kind of wood where the trees have killed all the grass, surrounded by canals, beyond one of which is a great square ch?teau built by William III. of England, encircled by the Merk, and enclosing an arcaded court. There was an older ch?teau of 1350 at Breda, but we failed to find it.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞I was in the fourth night of the story of the Doctor and his horse, and had broken it off, not like Scheherezade because it was time to get up, but because it was time to go to bed. It was at thirty-five minutes after ten o'clock, on the 20th of July in the year of our Lord 1813. I finished my glass of punch, tinkled the spoon against its side, as if making music to my meditations, and having my eyes fixed upon the Bhow Begum, who was sitting opposite to me at the head of her own table, I said, “It ought to be written in a Book!” There had been a heavy thunder-storm in the afternoon; and though the thermometer had fallen from 78 to 70, still the atmosphere was charged. If that mysterious power by which the nerves convey sensation and make their impulses obeyed, be (as experiments seem to indicate) identical with the galvanic fluid; and if the galvanic and electric fluids be the same (as philosophers have more than surmised;) and if the lungs (according to a happy hypothesis) elaborate for us from the light of heaven this pabulum of the brain, and material essence, or essential matter of genius,ーit may be that the ethereal fire which I had inhaled so largely during the day produced the bright conception, or at least impregnated and quickened the latent seed. The punch, reader, had no share in it. I had spoken as it were abstractedly, and the look which accompanied the words was rather cogitative than regardant. The Bhow Begum laid down her snuff-box and replied, entering into the feeling, as well as echoing the words, “It ought to be written in a book,ーcertainly it ought.” They may talk as they will of the dead languages. Our auxiliary verbs give us a power which the ancients, with all their varieties of mood, and inflections of tense, never could attain. “It must be written in a book,” said I, encouraged by her manner. The mood was the same, the tense was the same; but the gradation of meaning was marked in a way which a Greek or Latin grammarian might have envied as well as admired. “Pshaw! nonsense! stuff!” said my wife's eldest sister, who was sitting at the right hand of the Bhow Begum; “I say write it in a book indeed!” My wife's youngest sister was sitting diagonally opposite to the last speaker: she lifted up her eyes and smiled. It was a smile which expressed the same opinion as the late vituperative tones; there was as much of incredulity in it; but more of wonder and less of vehemence. My wife was at my left hand, making a cap for her youngest daughter, and with her tortoiseshell-paper work-box before her. I turned towards her and repeated the words, “It must be written in a book!” But I smiled while I was speaking, and was conscious of that sort of meaning in my eyes, which calls out contradiction for the pleasure of sporting with it. “Write it in a book?” she replied, “I am sure you wo'nt!” and she looked at me with a frown. Poets have written much upon their ladies' frowns, but I do not remember that they have ever described the thing with much accuracy. When my wife frowns two perpendicular wrinkles, each three quarters of an inch in length, are formed in the forehead, the base of each resting upon the top of the nose, and equi-distant from each other. The poets have also attributed dreadful effects to the frown of those whom they love. I cannot say that I ever experienced any thing very formidable in my wife's. At present she knew her eyes would give the lie to it if they looked at me steadily for a moment; so they wheeled to the left about quick, off at a tangent, in a direction to the Bhow Begum, and then she smiled. She could not prevent the smile; but she tried to make it scornful. My wife's nephew was sitting diagonally with her, and opposite his mother, on the left hand of the Bhow Begum. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “it ought to be written in a book! it will be a glorious book! write it, uncle, I beseech you!”＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞Few countries of the globe present to the eye of the traveller so desolate, so forbidding an aspect as that vast and arid peninsula which, embracing an area of more than a million square miles, stretches away through twenty-four degrees of latitude, from the confines of the Syrian Desert to the shores of the Indian Ocean. Its surface, while far from possessing the monotonous character with which popular fancy is accustomed to invest it, is, for the greater part of its extent, destitute of those physical advantages which tempt either the cupidity or the enterprise of man. Its coasts are low and unhealthy. Its harbors are few and unsafe. Its mineral resources are to this day unexplored and unknown. Its impenetrable deserts, guarded by a fierce and martial population, have always set at defiance the best-matured plans of invasion and conquest. In the principality of Yemen, appropriately named The Happy, the cultivation of the soil has flourished from time immemorial, but in almost every other province the returns of agricultural labor are discouraging and unremunerative. Illimitable wastes of sand, over which sweeps the deadly blast of the simoom; mountains, bald, craggy, and volcanic, whose slopes are destitute of every trace of vegetable life; plains strewn with blocks of tufa and basalt; valleys dotted here and there with stunted shrubs, or encrusted with a saline deposit similar to that upon the shores of the Dead Sea; a soil impregnated with nitre; such are, and have been from prehistoric times, the physical features of the Arabian Peninsula. No stream worthy of the name of river, dispensing wealth and fertility in its winding course to the sea, flows through this dreary and inhospitable land. Wherever a spring was found, a permanent settlement arose, and the black tents of the Bedouin gave place to huts of sun-dried bricks, while the dignity of the sheik, who now aspired to the title of prince, was satisfied with a dwelling superior to those of his subjects only in point of size. The oasis, generally suggestive of shady groves and purling streams, is often, in reality, nothing more than the dry bed of a mountain torrent, along whose borders a little withered vegetation furnishes the hardy camel with pasture, and where a scanty supply of brackish water can, by laborious digging, be obtained. Overhead glitters a sky of brass, unflecked by a single cloud, and, morning and evening, the rays of the sun, mellowed and refracted by the vapors of the earth, clothe every elevation with scarlet, azure, and violet tints which, blended in exquisite harmony, rival the splendors of the rainbow; developing, under the effects of radiation, optical illusions and charming pictures of the mirage, attributed by superstitious ignorance to the influence of enchantment. The unbroken stillness of the Desert, the wide expanse of uninhabited territory, produce a sense of mental depression, accompanied by an apprehension of danger from the convulsions of nature and the violence of man, which no experience seems able to remove; affecting even the sturdy camel-driver, familiar with these solitudes from childhood, who shudders as he urges his string of panting beasts over the drifted sand-heaps and through the mountain fastness, the reputed haunt of evil genii and the vantage ground from whence the murderous banditti oft beset the caravan. So deeply-rooted and tenacious is this feeling that the Arab regards a journey successfully performed as just cause for congratulation, and indeed not inferior to a triumph, as is indicated by his familiar proverb, “Travel is a victory.”＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞To the sacred literature of the Brahmans, in the strict sense of the term, i.e. to the Veda, there belongs a certain number of complementary works without whose assistance the student is, according to Hindu notions, unable to do more than commit the sacred texts to memory. In the first place all Vedic texts must, in order to be understood, be read together with running commentaries such as S?yana's commentaries on the Samhit?s and Br?hmanas, and the Bh?shyas ascribed to Sankara on the chief Upanishads. But these commentaries do not by themselves conduce to a full comprehension of the contents of the sacred texts, since they confine themselves to explaining the meaning of each detached passage without investigating its relation to other passages, and the whole of which they form part; considerations of the latter kind are at any rate introduced occasionally only. The task of taking a comprehensive view of the contents of the Vedic writings as a whole, of systematising what they present in an unsystematical form, of showing the mutual co-ordination or subordination of single passages and sections, and of reconciling contradictions--which, according to the view of the orthodox commentators, can be apparent only--is allotted to a separate s?stra or body of doctrine which is termed M?m?ms?, i.e. the investigation or enquiry κατ ζοχ?ν, viz. the enquiry into the connected meaning of the sacred texts. Of this M?m?ms? two branches have to be distinguished, the so-called earlier (p?rva) M?m?ms?, and the later (uttara) M?m?ms?. The former undertakes to systematise the karmak?nda, i.e. that entire portion of the Veda which is concerned with action, pre-eminently sacrificial action, and which comprises the Samhit?s and the Br?hmanas exclusive of the ?ranyaka portions; the latter performs the same service with regard to the so-called g??nak?nda, i.e. that part of the Vedic writings which includes the ?ranyaka portions of the Br?hmanas, and a number of detached treatises called Upanishads. Its subject is not action but knowledge, viz. the knowledge of Brahman.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞A man must appear somewhat vain, who declares that he has been obliged to reject much useful information, for fear of increasing too much the size of his work: and yet manages to find room for a few pages of his own, by way of Preface: but lest the objects which the compiler of this little work has had in view should be mistaken, he finds it absolutely necessary to say a few words in explanation of them. This small collection of military memorandums was originally intended only for the compiler’s own pocket; to assist him in the execution of his duty: but it occurred to him, that many of his military friends stood in equal need of such an aid, and would willingly give a few shillings for what they would not be at the trouble of collecting. The compiler has seen young men, on their first entry into the regiment of artillery, give a guinea for manuscripts, which contained a very small part of the information offered in this little book. From a persuasion that a very principal part of its merit is derived from its portability, every endeavor has been used to press much into a little compass; and it is hoped, that this power has not been so far exerted, as to make the whole unintelligible: but, it must be understood, that the compiler does not propose to convey instruction to the untaught, but only to make a few memorandums of reference to facts; which those already versed in the military profession are supposed to have the knowledge to apply. The totally ignorant of these matters, he has, therefore, nothing to say to; they must consult more voluminous works. An alphabetical arrangement is merely adopted as the best calculated for this purpose; and as nothing like a military dictionary is intended, all terms are omitted, not within the compiler’s plan. All reference to plates has, likewise been avoided; as they not only very much increase the cost, but the bulk of a book. The principal difficulty which the compiler has had in making this little collection, has been to confine it within the limits of his original plan. The quantity of useful information which has pressed for admittance, has been with reluctance rejected. Such authors only have been quoted, as are generally esteemed the best; and every advantage has been taken of such information, as the compiler has been able to collect from experienced friends; but he has ventured to offer nothing whatever of his own. The French military authors have been principally consulted, on all subjects not immediately confined to our own system; and such notes as are given respecting their ordnance, may be of use in drawing a comparison with our own; and may serve as references to those in the habit of reading their military works. The compiler has not, in any instance, attempted to offer changes which he may have been led to imagine improvements; or to point out what he thinks deserve the title of defects in our own system; but he has given every information according to the present practice in our service. He cannot, however, help expressing a hope, that he will one day see his little book laid by as totally obsolete, and a better built upon a system less complicated, and more applicable to that particular nature of service which this country has in every war the greatest reason to expect.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。

＜p＞A man must appear somewhat vain, who declares that he has been obliged to reject much useful information, for fear of increasing too much the size of his work: and yet manages to find room for a few pages of his own, by way of Preface: but lest the objects which the compiler of this little work has had in view should be mistaken, he finds it absolutely necessary to say a few words in explanation of them. This small collection of military memorandums was originally intended only for the compiler’s own pocket; to assist him in the execution of his duty: but it occurred to him, that many of his military friends stood in equal need of such an aid, and would willingly give a few shillings for what they would not be at the trouble of collecting. The compiler has seen young men, on their first entry into the regiment of artillery, give a guinea for manuscripts, which contained a very small part of the information offered in this little book. From a persuasion that a very principal part of its merit is derived from its portability, every endeavor has been used to press much into a little compass; and it is hoped, that this power has not been so far exerted, as to make the whole unintelligible: but, it must be understood, that the compiler does not propose to convey instruction to the untaught, but only to make a few memorandums of reference to facts; which those already versed in the military profession are supposed to have the knowledge to apply. The totally ignorant of these matters, he has, therefore, nothing to say to; they must consult more voluminous works. An alphabetical arrangement is merely adopted as the best calculated for this purpose; and as nothing like a military dictionary is intended, all terms are omitted, not within the compiler’s plan. All reference to plates has, likewise been avoided; as they not only very much increase the cost, but the bulk of a book. The principal difficulty which the compiler has had in making this little collection, has been to confine it within the limits of his original plan. The quantity of useful information which has pressed for admittance, has been with reluctance rejected. Such authors only have been quoted, as are generally esteemed the best; and every advantage has been taken of such information, as the compiler has been able to collect from experienced friends; but he has ventured to offer nothing whatever of his own. The French military authors have been principally consulted, on all subjects not immediately confined to our own system; and such notes as are given respecting their ordnance, may be of use in drawing a comparison with our own; and may serve as references to those in the habit of reading their military works. The compiler has not, in any instance, attempted to offer changes which he may have been led to imagine improvements; or to point out what he thinks deserve the title of defects in our own system; but he has given every information according to the present practice in our service. He cannot, however, help expressing a hope, that he will one day see his little book laid by as totally obsolete, and a better built upon a system less complicated, and more applicable to that particular nature of service which this country has in every war the greatest reason to expect.＜/p＞画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。 ※ご購入は、楽天kobo商品ページからお願いします。※切り替わらない場合は、こちら をクリックして下さい。 ※このページからは注文できません。