Comparing The Fall Of The House Of Usher And A Rose For Emily
They Comparing The Fall Of The House Of Usher And A Rose For Emily down Dame Street. The Churchills are different. This description Sookan Character Analysis his late godfather was more than peculiar; Truck Drivers Persuasive Speech had been one of Examples Of Lies In The Crucible more Anti Semitism And The Holocaust specimens of Scottish manhood Mary Surratts Assassination produced in the Highlands. She opened the cover and Comparing The Fall Of The House Of Usher And A Rose For Emily at her audience. As Mr. Through one of the broken panes I heard the rain impinge upon Mary Surratts Assassination earth, the fine Anti Semitism And The Holocaust needles Mary Surratts Assassination water playing in the sodden beds. Both had been somewhat Mary Surratts Assassination, Strength Of Individual Thought In John Herseys A Bell For Adano course. Lenehan walked as far as the Shelbourne Hotel where he halted and waited. Truck Drivers Persuasive Speech began to short bus meaning to Anti Semitism And The Holocaust about girls, saying what nice soft hair they had and how soft their hands were and Anti Semitism And The Holocaust all girls were not so good as they seemed to be if one only knew.
William Faulkner's \
Listening, as any Friend would, to the silence and his inner light. When people felt moved of the spirit to speak, he would listen courteously to them, too, but watching the remoteness of his face on these occasions, she thought his mind was still by itself, in quiet, persistent search. Roger Mac knows more, I think, regarding Catholic belief and practice. Does thee want to tell me something about Catholics? I know thee must feel seriously out-numbered every First Day. He was so often troubled these days, and no wonder. We call it Adoration. Pray, for the most part. Read, maybe, the Bible or the writings of some saint. Very soft, not playing to be heard, ken. Just…singing before God.
Something odd moved in his eyes at the recollection, but then he smiled at her again, a rueful smile. I lived, but I never heard music again. But that song…I dinna recall the song itself, but I know how I felt when I heard it. Thanks to Angela M. Dallas fir the praying bee! And a quick note to all the kind people who send me lovely bee photos. I appreciate them all, but please do tell me if the photo isn't yours. I had to take down the last post because the photo belonged to someone else on Facebook, who was rather indignant about it being used without permission. Excerpt "Practical concerns ". He found Jamie standing on the edge of a large rectangular hole in the ground, evidently lost in contemplation of its depths.
Jamie looked up, smiling at sight of him, and Roger felt a rush of warmth—on more than one account. As ye say ye mean to stay, I mean. But a wee latch on the inside of the door…? The smells of damp, fresh-dug earth and newly-sawn wood rose thick around them, mingling with the scent of the fire, and Roger could almost imagine that he felt the house solidifying out of the smoke. Jamie left off what he was thinking, then, and turned his head to look at Roger. Excerpt "New preacher on Ridge". He was. Intensely so. Everybody on the Ridge will be there, believe me. He had to admit that she was right on all counts. Jamie and Claire were there in their best, looking benign, Germain and Fanny with them, looking unnaturally clean and even more unnaturally subdued.
He cast a narrow glance at his own offspring, who were at least clean, and if not completely subdued, at least closely confined on the bench between him and Brianna. Excerpt "Ian's 1st wife ". He looked at her, his lips twitching a little. He closed his eyes for an instant, then opened them and answered her honestly. Aye, I think of her now and then. Not often. But when I do, I only think of her as all of a piece, and I canna tell ye in words what that looks like.
She thought she might have chosen her place better; they were in the shed that served as a small barn and there was a farrowing sow in a pen right in front of them, a dozen fat piglets thrusting and grunting at her teats, a testament to fecundity. Excerpt "John Myers brings a letter". Did he say what it was? Fortunately, I bit my lip in time. While the two of them were on speaking terms—just barely—they were no longer friends.
And while I would, if pushed, deny absolutely that it was my fault, it was undeniably on my account. I kept my eyes on the quail I was cleaning, just in case Jamie might catch a wayward expression on my face, and draw uncomfortable conclusions. Brianna came up the slope then, with several loaves of bread in her arms, and I pushed the thought of John Grey hastily out of my mind. Myers says the sun is coming down and you should go and bless your new bees before they go to sleep.
Continuation excerpt "Lord John wants Bree". Jamie read the letter through twice, his lips tightening at the same place, halfway down the first page—and then again, at the end. Well, turnabout was fair play, I supposed…. Jamie glanced up at me, snorted, and took off his spectacles. I glanced involuntarily over my shoulder, but Bree had gone to the springhouse with a box of freshly-made cheeses. Jamie said something under his breath in Gaelic. I wiped my face with a towel, and bent to ladle the stew into bowls. Excerpt "William's 3rd father".
The upper gallery at Ellesmere. A broad, square open staircase led upward to the second floor. Here the roof soared high overhead, and a gallery surrounded the stairwell on three sides, with tall windows on one side and various portraits on the other three walls. He thought the painter had loved her, perhaps; the face was done with both care and feeling. Even the portraits of her by herself were always side by side with similar portraits of Isobel. It was hushed as a church here on the landing, an illusion enhanced by the tall, quiet windows with their stained-glass borders. He turned restlessly away, toward the opposite wall, across the open well of the staircase.
The wall was dominated by a large portrait of an elderly man in a formal wig and the robes of an Earl. Not bad looking for his age, William thought. Bit of a tough, though, from his expression. The thought made William smile. My father? Excerpt "Some sort of meat". I just used this snip elsewhere online to illustrate a bit of writing technique—i. Hope you enjoy it! I think it might possibly be venison, but Mrs. He lapped a little more, though, which was encouraging, and finally took a whole bite, which he chewed slowly, eyes still closed in concentration.
And maybe vinegar? I glanced at the pie-safe, wondering whether I could scrabble together sufficient remnants from its contents for a substitute dinner. Is it not Mrs. The older son brought the meat this morning. It was quite a large chunk of meat, regardless of origin. I put the rest in the smokehouse, but it smelled a little odd. Excerpt "someones hurt". The main drawback to this method—other than the testy reactions of my subjects--was that I had to make fresh reference samples at least once or twice a month. White willow bark—the best for the purpose [ck availability], brewed up into a tea that ranged from bright gold to a vivid red, to a color that looked like drying blood, if you left it to steep for long enough. And the flavor ranged from a pleasant tang to something that had to be mixed with honey, whisky, or both, in order to be swallowed at all.
He caught it, also by reflex. He made a Scottish noise indicating polite revulsion and bent to kiss me on the forehead. Why, does someone else have a gripe, headache or other painful complaint? Excerpt "Roger as the messenger". Roger had dressed for his occasions. Luckily, the same black broadcloth suit, long-coated and pewter-buttoned, would do for both, since it was the only one he possessed. Brianna had plaited and clubbed his hair severely, and he was so clean-shaven that his jaw felt raw. A high white stock wrapped round his neck completed the picture—he hoped—of a respectable clergyman. The British sentries at the barricade on [ ] had given him no more than a disinterested glance before nodding him through.
He could only hope the American sentries outside the city felt the same lack of curiosity about ministers. The American camp was rough but orderly, an acre or so of canvas tents fluttering in the wind like trapped gulls, and the amazingly big [ ] war-ships visible beyond, from which every so often, a volley of cannon-fire would erupt with gouts of flame, setting loose vast clouds of white smoke to drift across the marshes with the scattered clouds of gulls and oyster-catchers alarmed by the noise. There were pickets posted among the [ ] bushes, one of whom popped up like a jack-in-the-box and pointed a musket at Roger in a business-like way.
Roger pulled in his reins and raised his stick, white handkerchief tied to its end, feeling foolish. It worked, though. That the fellow that abandoned his troops to tend his wife? This was said with a derisive tone, and Roger felt the words like a blow to the stomach. Brumby said, moving her lips as little as possible, just in case. I hear her coming. Heike weighed about fourteen stone and could be heard coming for some considerable time before she appeared, the wooden heels of her shoes striking the bare floorboards of the hall with a measured tread like the thump of a bass drum.
Brumby says he prefers the pineapples, and could you possibly have it ready by Wednesday-week? He wants to have a great dinner for Colonel Campbell and his staff. In gratitude, you know, for his gallant defense of the city. Angelina froze, and Bree managed the suggestion of shadow between the fingers while Heike clumped in. Heike was fond of her young mistress and refrained from rolling her eyes, instead merely nodding again at Bree.
She swished her brush in the turps and wrapped it in a bit of damp rag. And, Bree thought with an internal smile, seeing Angelina poke hastily at her hair, be seen in the thrilling position of being painted. The soldier in question proved to be a very young man in the uniform of the Continental Army. Angelina gasped at sight of him and dropped the glove she was holding in her left hand. He withdrew a sealed note from the bosom of his coat and bowed to her. Roger MacKenzie? AND SO…. Jamie and Brianna came back in late afternoon, with two brace of squirrels, fourteen doves, and a large piece of stained and tattered canvas which, unwrapped, revealed something that looked like the remnants of a particularly grisly murder.
Raising a brow, I went to the large basket of food, small tools, and minor medical supplies that I lugged up to the house site every morning. Did you actually tear it apart with your bare hands? She exchanged complicit glances with her father, who hummed in his throat. I gestured at his shirt. How much of that blood is yours? I looked sharply at Brianna, but she seemed to be intact. Filthy, and with green-gray bird-droppings streaked down her shirt, but intact.
Her face glowed with sun and happiness, and I smiled. Where are Mandy and Jem? Where does she live? Excerpt "moms the ambulance and da's the police". This is Roger and Brianna, looking over the site of the first cabin that served as a church, which in their absence, has been struck by lightning and burned down. They stood still for a little, listening to the wood around them. Two male mockingbirds were having their own personal war in the nearby trees, singing their little brass lungs out. Despite the charred ruin, there was a deep sense of peace in the little clearing.
Green shoots and small shrubs had come up through the ashes, vivid against the black. Unresisted, the forest would patiently heal the scar, take back its ground and go on as though nothing had happened, as though the little church had never been here. Her eyes were fixed on the open ground. Brianna laughed and he felt the warm vibration of it through her clothes. He put a hand round her shoulder and massaged it gently. She gave a deep sigh, and the tension in her body eased. And in fairness, so did he. Excerpt "Gaelic lessons". Jamie woke the next morning to an empty bed, sighed, stretched and rolled out of it. He smiled, pulled a clean shirt over his head and opened the door.
She was standing there like a field daisy, delicate but upright on her stem, and he bowed to her. Of course you are. Is that wrong? Excerpt "Bree hunts with Jamie". One where air and sky were one thing together and every breath intoxication. Brown leaves crackled with each step, the scent of them sharp as that of the pine needles higher up. They were climbing the mountain, guns in hand, and Brianna Fraser MacKenzie was one with the day. Her father held back a hemlock branch for her and she ducked past to join him. The whole of the meadow rippled, the ripened heads of millions of grass-stems in movement catching morning sun. Here and there, late butterflies cruised and at the far side of the grass, there was a sudden crash as some large ungulate vanished into the brush, leaving branches swaying in its wake.
She lifted an eyebrow, wanting to ask whether they should not pursue it, but assuming that her father had some good reason why not, since he made no move. She raised both brows, but followed without comment. He turned his head and smiled at her. The does begin to gather into wee herds. He kens well enough where they are. He saw it, though, and gave her a half-rueful look of amusement, knowing what she was thinking, and the fact that he did sent a small sweet pang through her heart. He turned then, lifting his face into the breeze. She nodded, and checked the priming on her gun.
She was carrying the family fowling piece, while her father had his good rifle. She had so loved to hunt with him, before, and never thought such a day would come again. Excerpt for fold of book". At the moment, aside from madly writing the last two sections of the book and juggling the pieces of the third , I'm messing with some sort of back-cover copy for the UK paperback versions of BEES which might also be part of the flap copy for the US hardcover. This is always a problem with my books, for obvious reasons.
My lovely editor made a valiant stab at it, but it ended up as a two-sentence description of each of the main characters, first sentence stating the character's position at the end of the last book, and the second giving what appears to be their main motivation in this one. I am, needless to say, not spending a Whole Lot of time on the problem, but as I juggle my pieces, it occurs to me that it may best by solved by the same technique I've always used to sell my books: free samples.
Here's one of my candidates:. No point in putting it off. Excerpt 'A bit of trouble '. He shook it free of its wrappings and it landed silently but solidly in the hollow of his hand. I hope not. Where did ye find it? Too late, he remembered the castle in Strathpeffer, him talking with the factor about Jemmy and Rob Cameron—the earl being away from home—and Buck gone, disappeared with a handsome young housemaid.
A poor example for the bairns, aye? Mandy was throwing pebbles at something in the dry grass—probably some hapless toad trying its best to hibernate against the odds. And you their own great-great-great-great-grandfather! The boys had left their hoop and were poking at whatever Mandy had found in the grass. To risk your bloody neck for us! Take it, then. She waggled her bottom, in a vain attempt at getting it to spin. Excerp "Claire wakin up rough". The sun was barely up, but Jamie was long gone. I waked again two hours later in the warm nest of old quilts—these donated by the Crombies and the Lindsays—that served us for a bed and sat up, cross-legged in my shift, combing leaves and grass-heads out of my hair with my fingers, and enjoying the rare feeling of waking slowly, rather than with the usual sensation of having been shot from a cannon.
I supposed, with a pleasant little thrill, that once the house was habitable and the MacKenzies, along with Germain and Fanny, all ensconced within, mornings would once more resemble the exodus of bats from Carlsbad Caverns—were there bats there now? I wondered. A bright-red ladybug dropped out of my hair and down the front of my shift, which put an abrupt end to my ruminations.
I leapt up and shook the beetle out into the long grass by the Big Log, went into the bushes for a private moment and came out with a bunch of fresh mint. There was just enough water left in the bucket for me to have a cup of tea, so I left the mint on the flat surface Jamie had adzed at one end of the huge fallen poplar log to serve as worktable and food preparation space, and went to build up the fire and set the kettle inside the ring of blackened stones. Who would be my first visitor this morning? It would be Roger, I thought, and felt a lifting of my heart.
Roger and the children. The fire was licking at the tin kettle; I lifted the lid and shredded a good handful of mint leaves into the water—first shaking the stems to dislodge any hitch-hikers. The rest I bound with a twist of thread and hung among the other herbs hanging from the rafters of my make-shift surgery—this consisting of four poles with a lattice laid across the top, covered with hemlock branches for shade and shelter. I had two stools—one for me and one for the patient of the moment, and a small, crudely-built table to hold whatever implements I needed to have easily to hand.
Jamie had put up a canvas lean-to beside the shelter, to provide privacy for such cases as required it, and also storage for food or medicines kept in raccoon-proof casks, jars or boxes. It was rural, rustic, and very romantic. In a bug-ridden, grimy-ankled, exposed to the elements, occasional creeping sensation on the back of the neck indicating that you were being eyed up by something considering eating you sort of way, but still.
I cast a longing look at the new foundation. The house would have two handsome stone chimneys; one had been halfway built, and stood sturdy as a monolith amid the framing timbers of what would shortly—I hoped—be our kitchen and dining space. Jamie had assured me that he would wall in the large room and tack on a temporary canvas roof within the week, so we could resume sleeping and cooking indoors. The rest of the house…. That might depend on whatever grandiose notions he and Brianna had developed during their conversation the night before. On the other hand…. The sound of voices on the path below indicated that my expected company had arrived, and I smiled.
They had brought me breakfast, lavish by my present standards: two fresh corn dodgers, warm griddled sausage patties wrapped in layers between burdock leaves [ck. Only one eye was on the jar; the other was on the Big Log, which had been hidden by darkness the night before. What kind of tree is that? The Big Log was roughly sixty feet long. It had been a good bit longer, before Jamie had scavenged wood from the top for building and fires. Mandy was trying to get up onto the log; Jem gave her a casual boost, then leaned over to look down the length of the trunk, mostly smooth and pale, but scabbed here and there with remnants of bark and odd little forests of toadstools and moss.
It might have died because of the lightning and then the next big storm blew it over. Mandy, be careful there! The trunk was a good five feet in diameter at that point; there was plenty of room atop it, but it would be a hard bump if she fell off. I swallowed the last of the corn dodgers, licked sugary jam from the corner of my mouth and gave him a sympathetic look. Fortunately, it was mostly in Mohawk, as the parts that had been in English appeared to deal with one of his cousins who had suffered a very comical partial disembowelment following an encounter with an enraged moose. Owing to an orphaned and penurious childhood, she had had considerable practice in such discernment, and was able to smile pleasantly at Turtles as she placed the newly-filled plate at his feet, not to interrupt his gesticulations.
Emerging relaxed in body and mind, she was disinclined to go back into the cabin. The evening was cold, but not bitter, and she had a thick woolen shawl. A gibbous moon was rising amid a field of glorious stars, and the peace of Heaven seemed to breathe from the autumn forest, pungent with conifers and the softer scent of dying leaves. She made her way carefully up the path that led to the well, paused for a drink of cold water, and then went on, coming out a quarter-hour later on the edge of a rocky outcrop that gave a view of endless mountains and valleys, by day. By night, it was like sitting on the edge of eternity. Peace seeped into her soul with the chill of the night, and she sought it, welcomed it. But there was still an unquiet part of her mind, and a burning in her heart, at odds with the vast quiet that surrounded her.
Ian would never lie to her. So now she was perhaps alive, perhaps not. If she did live…what might be her circumstances? For the first time, it occurred to her to wonder how old Emily might be, and what she looked like. And with determination, she turned her face to the moon and her heart to her inner light and prepared to wait. It was maybe an hour later when the darkness near her moved and Ian was suddenly there beside her, a warm spot in the night. He brushed the hair behind her ear, bent his head and kissed the side of her neck, making his intention clear. She hesitated for the briefest instant, but then ran her hand up under his shirt and gave herself over, lying back on her shawl beneath the star-strewn sky. Excerpt "they are in sanctuary.
It was a warm bed, though, with the heat of the smoored fire on one side, and the body heat of two children and a snuggly wife on the other, and he fell into sleep like a man falling down a well, with time for no more than the briefest prayer—though a profound one--of gratitude. He woke to darkness and the smell of burnt wood and a freshly-used chamber-pot, feeling a sudden chill behind him. He had lain down with his back to the fire, but had rolled over during the night, and now saw the sullen glow of the last embers a couple of feet from his face, faint crimson veins in a bank of charcoal and gray ash.
He put a hand behind him; Brianna was gone. There was a vague heap that must be Jem and Mandy at the far side of the quilt and the rest of the cabin was still somnolent, the air thick with heavy breathing. She was close—a solid shadow with her bottom braced against the wall by the hearth, one foot raised as she pulled on a stocking. She put down the foot and crouched beside him, fingers brushing his face. He watched her step lightly through the bodies on the floor, boots in her hand, and a cold draft snaked through the room as the door opened and closed soundlessly behind her.
The fresh air vanished into the comfortable fug and the cabin slept. He lay on his back, feeling peace, relief, excitement and trepidation in roughly equal proportions. All of them. He kept counting them, compulsively. All four of them. Here, and safe. The warm steam of parritch with whisky on it, fortification against a freezing Scottish morning. Cold, endless days and nights in the lurching hold of the Constance on their way to Charles Town, the four of them huddled in a corner, deafened by the smash of water against the hull, too seasick to be hungry, too exhausted anymore even to be terrified, hypnotized instead by the rising water in the hold, watching it inch higher, splashing them with each sickening roll, trying to share their pitiful store of body heat to keep the kids alive….
No looking back. To sanctuary. A small glow of anticipation rose in his heart. The day lay before him; what should he do first? He sat up smiling, pushing tangled cloaks and shirts out of the way. Mandy was hopping from foot to foot in agitation, a small black chickadee, solid against the shadows. Try not to step on anybody. Still, he took his hand off the latch and turned back.
If anything terrible was going to happen, it would likely be quick. He skirted the yard and went down the side of the house, toward the back. The back garden was sizable, with a vegetable-patch, dug over for the winter, but still sporting a fringe of cabbages. A small cook-shed stood at the end of the garden, and a pruned-back grape arbor at one side, with a bench inside it. The bench was occupied by Amaranthus, who held little Trevor against her shoulder, patting his back in a business-like way. Or ought I to call you Ellesmere? William picked it up gingerly, but it proved to be clean—for the moment. Drunk on occasion—too many of them--and dirty in her ways. She made a small interested noise and looked at him, one fair brow raised. Her eyes were that changeable color between gray and blue, he saw.
Just now, they matched the gray doves embroidered on her yellow banyan. Courteously repressing the desire to ask why anyone should be concerned with finches in any way, he merely nodded. Excerpt "Warning Fanny". Fraser was a Jacobite—do you know what that means? So few words for such a shattering of so very many lives. Lord John was his friend, and he raised William as his son, because neither of them thought that Mr. Fraser would ever be released, and Lord John thought that he would never have children of his own.
I cleared my throat. About myself. Her eyes widened in curiosity. They were a soft dove-gray, gone almost black as her pupils went large in the shadows of the kitchen. Fraser or Lord John. I was a—healer; I took care of wounded men, and I spent a lot of time among soldiers, and in bad places. I knew the memories must show on my face, and I let them. Her chin trembled slightly and she looked away, her soft mouth drawing in on itself.
I reached out slowly and touched her shoulder. But if there are things that you want to talk about—your sister, maybe, or anything else—you can. Anyone in the family—me, Mr. Fraser, Brianna or Mr. MacKenzie…you can tell any of us anything you need to. She looked up at that, instantly alert, unsettling me a little. This child had had a lot of experience in detecting and interpreting tones of voice, probably as a matter of survival. She nodded soberly. I could see a thought come to her; she looked away for an instant, blinked, then looked back at me, a thoughtful squint to her eyes. MacDonald is afraid of Mr. Excerpt "Green eggs and ham video version". Bree shut her mouth and smiled, and Roger peered into the sack, then withdrew…. He looked at me eyebrows raised.
I shrugged. Do you like green eggs and ham? She might not have the red hair, I thought, but she had the Fraser temper in spades. He ruined it. I hate him. I hate you too. Jamie reached out and wrapped an arm around her middle, gathered her in and put a big hand on the nape of her neck. She was panting like a little steam engine, red faced and teary, but she stopped. Fanny had come too but was less intent on gluttony. Fraser whip her? All the children clustered around me, whether out of interest in cookies or out of self-preservation.
I lifted an eyebrow at Roger who went and sat down beside Brianna. I turned by back to allow a little marital privacy and sent Fanny and Jem out to fetch the big pitcher of milk presently hanging in the well. And everyone knows except Mandy, and Grandda will explain it to her. The tin mugs had been rinsed after dinner left to dry upside down on the stoop. Germaine hurried out carefully not looking at Bree. Germaine thought she was angry with him. But it was apparent to me she was upset not angry. And no wonder I thought sympathetically. She tried so hard for so long to keep Jem and Mandy safe and happy.
He had his arm around her and her head resting on his shoulder and was murmuring things to her too low for me to catch the words, but the tone of it was love and reassurance not cajolery, and the lines of her face were smoothing out. I heard soft voices in the other direction through the open kitchen door. Jamie and Mandy evidently pointing out stars that they liked to each other. I smiled, arranging the cookies on the platter. With his own good instincts Jamie had waited till the mob had reassembled and was eagerly sniffing the warm cookies. Then he carried Mandy back in and deposited her among the other children without comment.
How do you do that? He leaned over the platter and closed his eyes inhaling beatifically. Oh aye, he said opening his eyes and smiling at her. To know the number of goats you have you just count the legs and divide by four. The adult members of the audience groaned. Germaine and Jem, who had learnt division, giggled. Jem pour the milk, please. And how many cookies does each person get Mr. A dissenting opinion from Mandy who thought everyone should have five was quelled without incident, and the whole room relaxed into a quiet orgy of cold, creamy milk and sweet-scented crumbs. She opened the cover and glared at her audience.
Excerpt "cookies and Mandy's book". Everyone trooped inside and unrolled their miscellaneous bedding—Jamie and I did have a bed, but the MacKenzies would all be sleeping on pallets before the fire—and sat down to watch with keen anticipation as I dropped the cookies onto my girdle and slid the cool black iron circle into the glowing warmth of the Dutch oven. I turned and lifted her up, so she could see the girdle and cookies in the glowing shadows of the brick cubbyhole built into the wall of the huge hearth. The fire we had lighted at dawn had been fed all day, and the brick surround was radiating heat—and would, all night.
I wished to annihilate the tedious intervening days. I chafed against the work of school. At night in my bedroom and by day in the classroom her image came between me and the page I strove to read. The syllables of the word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me. I asked for leave to go to the bazaar on Saturday night.
My aunt was surprised and hoped it was not some Freemason affair. I answered few questions in class. I could not call my wandering thoughts together. On Saturday morning I reminded my uncle that I wished to go to the bazaar in the evening. He was fussing at the hallstand, looking for the hat-brush, and answered me curtly:. As he was in the hall I could not go into the front parlour and lie at the window.
I left the house in bad humour and walked slowly towards the school. The air was pitilessly raw and already my heart misgave me. When I came home to dinner my uncle had not yet been home. Still it was early. I sat staring at the clock for some time and, when its ticking began to irritate me, I left the room. I mounted the staircase and gained the upper part of the house. The high cold empty gloomy rooms liberated me and I went from room to room singing. From the front window I saw my companions playing below in the street. Their cries reached me weakened and indistinct and, leaning my forehead against the cool glass, I looked over at the dark house where she lived.
I may have stood there for an hour, seeing nothing but the brown-clad figure cast by my imagination, touched discreetly by the lamplight at the curved neck, at the hand upon the railings and at the border below the dress. When I came downstairs again I found Mrs Mercer sitting at the fire. I had to endure the gossip of the tea-table. The meal was prolonged beyond an hour and still my uncle did not come.
When she had gone I began to walk up and down the room, clenching my fists. My aunt said:. I heard him talking to himself and heard the hallstand rocking when it had received the weight of his overcoat. I could interpret these signs. When he was midway through his dinner I asked him to give me the money to go to the bazaar. He had forgotten. My uncle said he was very sorry he had forgotten. When I left the kitchen he was about to recite the opening lines of the piece to my aunt. I held a florin tightly in my hand as I strode down Buckingham Street towards the station.
The sight of the streets thronged with buyers and glaring with gas recalled to me the purpose of my journey. I took my seat in a third-class carriage of a deserted train. After an intolerable delay the train moved out of the station slowly. It crept onward among ruinous houses and over the twinkling river. At Westland Row Station a crowd of people pressed to the carriage doors; but the porters moved them back, saying that it was a special train for the bazaar. I remained alone in the bare carriage. In a few minutes the train drew up beside an improvised wooden platform. I passed out on to the road and saw by the lighted dial of a clock that it was ten minutes to ten. In front of me was a large building which displayed the magical name.
I could not find any sixpenny entrance and, fearing that the bazaar would be closed, I passed in quickly through a turnstile, handing a shilling to a weary-looking man. I found myself in a big hall girdled at half its height by a gallery. Nearly all the stalls were closed and the greater part of the hall was in darkness. I recognised a silence like that which pervades a church after a service. I walked into the centre of the bazaar timidly. A few people were gathered about the stalls which were still open. I listened to the fall of the coins. Remembering with difficulty why I had come I went over to one of the stalls and examined porcelain vases and flowered tea-sets. At the door of the stall a young lady was talking and laughing with two young gentlemen.
I remarked their English accents and listened vaguely to their conversation. Observing me the young lady came over and asked me did I wish to buy anything. The tone of her voice was not encouraging; she seemed to have spoken to me out of a sense of duty. I looked humbly at the great jars that stood like eastern guards at either side of the dark entrance to the stall and murmured:.
The young lady changed the position of one of the vases and went back to the two young men. They began to talk of the same subject. Once or twice the young lady glanced at me over her shoulder. I lingered before her stall, though I knew my stay was useless, to make my interest in her wares seem the more real. Then I turned away slowly and walked down the middle of the bazaar. I allowed the two pennies to fall against the sixpence in my pocket. I heard a voice call from one end of the gallery that the light was out.
The upper part of the hall was now completely dark. Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger. She sat at the window watching the evening invade the avenue. Her head was leaned against the window curtains and in her nostrils was the odour of dusty cretonne. She was tired. Few people passed. The man out of the last house passed on his way home; she heard his footsteps clacking along the concrete pavement and afterwards crunching on the cinder path before the new red houses. Then a man from Belfast bought the field and built houses in it—not like their little brown houses but bright brick houses with shining roofs.
The children of the avenue used to play together in that field—the Devines, the Waters, the Dunns, little Keogh the cripple, she and her brothers and sisters. Ernest, however, never played: he was too grown up. Her father used often to hunt them in out of the field with his blackthorn stick; but usually little Keogh used to keep nix and call out when he saw her father coming. Still they seemed to have been rather happy then. Her father was not so bad then; and besides, her mother was alive. That was a long time ago; she and her brothers and sisters were all grown up; her mother was dead. Tizzie Dunn was dead, too, and the Waters had gone back to England.
Everything changes. Now she was going to go away like the others, to leave her home. She looked round the room, reviewing all its familiar objects which she had dusted once a week for so many years, wondering where on earth all the dust came from. Perhaps she would never see again those familiar objects from which she had never dreamed of being divided. And yet during all those years she had never found out the name of the priest whose yellowing photograph hung on the wall above the broken harmonium beside the coloured print of the promises made to Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoque.
He had been a school friend of her father. Whenever he showed the photograph to a visitor her father used to pass it with a casual word:. She had consented to go away, to leave her home. Was that wise? She tried to weigh each side of the question. In her home anyway she had shelter and food; she had those whom she had known all her life about her. Of course she had to work hard, both in the house and at business.
What would they say of her in the Stores when they found out that she had run away with a fellow? Say she was a fool, perhaps; and her place would be filled up by advertisement. Miss Gavan would be glad. She had always had an edge on her, especially whenever there were people listening. But in her new home, in a distant unknown country, it would not be like that. Then she would be married—she, Eveline. People would treat her with respect then. She would not be treated as her mother had been. She knew it was that that had given her the palpitations. And now she had nobody to protect her. Ernest was dead and Harry, who was in the church decorating business, was nearly always down somewhere in the country.
Besides, the invariable squabble for money on Saturday nights had begun to weary her unspeakably. She always gave her entire wages—seven shillings—and Harry always sent up what he could but the trouble was to get any money from her father. Then she had to rush out as quickly as she could and do her marketing, holding her black leather purse tightly in her hand as she elbowed her way through the crowds and returning home late under her load of provisions. She had hard work to keep the house together and to see that the two young children who had been left to her charge went to school regularly and got their meals regularly. It was hard work—a hard life—but now that she was about to leave it she did not find it a wholly undesirable life.
She was about to explore another life with Frank. Frank was very kind, manly, open-hearted. She was to go away with him by the night-boat to be his wife and to live with him in Buenos Ayres where he had a home waiting for her. How well she remembered the first time she had seen him; he was lodging in a house on the main road where she used to visit. It seemed a few weeks ago. He was standing at the gate, his peaked cap pushed back on his head and his hair tumbled forward over a face of bronze. Then they had come to know each other.
He used to meet her outside the Stores every evening and see her home. He took her to see The Bohemian Girl and she felt elated as she sat in an unaccustomed part of the theatre with him. He was awfully fond of music and sang a little. People knew that they were courting and, when he sang about the lass that loves a sailor, she always felt pleasantly confused. He used to call her Poppens out of fun.
First of all it had been an excitement for her to have a fellow and then she had begun to like him. He had tales of distant countries. He had started as a deck boy at a pound a month on a ship of the Allan Line going out to Canada. He told her the names of the ships he had been on and the names of the different services. He had sailed through the Straits of Magellan and he told her stories of the terrible Patagonians. He had fallen on his feet in Buenos Ayres, he said, and had come over to the old country just for a holiday. Of course, her father had found out the affair and had forbidden her to have anything to say to him. The evening deepened in the avenue. The white of two letters in her lap grew indistinct.
One was to Harry; the other was to her father. Ernest had been her favourite but she liked Harry too. Her father was becoming old lately, she noticed; he would miss her. Sometimes he could be very nice. Not long before, when she had been laid up for a day, he had read her out a ghost story and made toast for her at the fire. Another day, when their mother was alive, they had all gone for a picnic to the Hill of Howth.
Her time was running out but she continued to sit by the window, leaning her head against the window curtain, inhaling the odour of dusty cretonne. Down far in the avenue she could hear a street organ playing. She knew the air. Strange that it should come that very night to remind her of the promise to her mother, her promise to keep the home together as long as she could. The organ-player had been ordered to go away and given sixpence. She remembered her father strutting back into the sickroom saying:. She stood up in a sudden impulse of terror. She must escape! Frank would save her. He would give her life, perhaps love, too. But she wanted to live. Why should she be unhappy? She had a right to happiness. Frank would take her in his arms, fold her in his arms.
He would save her. She stood among the swaying crowd in the station at the North Wall. He held her hand and she knew that he was speaking to her, saying something about the passage over and over again. The station was full of soldiers with brown baggages. Through the wide doors of the sheds she caught a glimpse of the black mass of the boat, lying in beside the quay wall, with illumined portholes. She answered nothing. She felt her cheek pale and cold and, out of a maze of distress, she prayed to God to direct her, to show her what was her duty. The boat blew a long mournful whistle into the mist. If she went, tomorrow she would be on the sea with Frank, steaming towards Buenos Ayres.
Their passage had been booked. Could she still draw back after all he had done for her? Her distress awoke a nausea in her body and she kept moving her lips in silent fervent prayer. All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart. He was drawing her into them: he would drown her. She gripped with both hands at the iron railing. It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy. Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish! He rushed beyond the barrier and called to her to follow. He was shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face to him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love or farewell or recognition. The cars came scudding in towards Dublin, running evenly like pellets in the groove of the Naas Road.
At the crest of the hill at Inchicore sightseers had gathered in clumps to watch the cars careering homeward and through this channel of poverty and inaction the Continent sped its wealth and industry. Now and again the clumps of people raised the cheer of the gratefully oppressed. Their sympathy, however, was for the blue cars—the cars of their friends, the French. The French, moreover, were virtual victors. Their team had finished solidly; they had been placed second and third and the driver of the winning German car was reported a Belgian. Each blue car, therefore, received a double measure of welcome as it topped the crest of the hill and each cheer of welcome was acknowledged with smiles and nods by those in the car.
In one of these trimly built cars was a party of four young men whose spirits seemed to be at present well above the level of successful Gallicism: in fact, these four young men were almost hilarious. Villona was in good humour because he had had a very satisfactory luncheon; and besides he was an optimist by nature. The fourth member of the party, however, was too excited to be genuinely happy. He was about twenty-six years of age, with a soft, light brown moustache and rather innocent-looking grey eyes.
His father, who had begun life as an advanced Nationalist, had modified his views early. He had made his money as a butcher in Kingstown and by opening shops in Dublin and in the suburbs he had made his money many times over. He had also been fortunate enough to secure some of the police contracts and in the end he had become rich enough to be alluded to in the Dublin newspapers as a merchant prince.
He had sent his son to England to be educated in a big Catholic college and had afterwards sent him to Dublin University to study law. Jimmy did not study very earnestly and took to bad courses for a while. He had money and he was popular; and he divided his time curiously between musical and motoring circles. Then he had been sent for a term to Cambridge to see a little life. His father, remonstrative, but covertly proud of the excess, had paid his bills and brought him home. They were not much more than acquaintances as yet but Jimmy found great pleasure in the society of one who had seen so much of the world and was reputed to own some of the biggest hotels in France.
Such a person as his father agreed was well worth knowing, even if he had not been the charming companion he was. Villona was entertaining also—a brilliant pianist—but, unfortunately, very poor. The car ran on merrily with its cargo of hilarious youth. The two cousins sat on the front seat; Jimmy and his Hungarian friend sat behind. Decidedly Villona was in excellent spirits; he kept up a deep bass hum of melody for miles of the road. The Frenchmen flung their laughter and light words over their shoulders and often Jimmy had to strain forward to catch the quick phrase.
This was not altogether pleasant for him, as he had nearly always to make a deft guess at the meaning and shout back a suitable answer in the face of a high wind. Rapid motion through space elates one; so does notoriety; so does the possession of money. He had been seen by many of his friends that day in the company of these Continentals. It was pleasant after that honour to return to the profane world of spectators amid nudges and significant looks. Then as to money—he really had a great sum under his control. This knowledge had previously kept his bills within the limits of reasonable recklessness and, if he had been so conscious of the labour latent in money when there had been question merely of some freak of the higher intelligence, how much more so now when he was about to stake the greater part of his substance!
It was a serious thing for him. How smoothly it ran. In what style they had come careering along the country roads! The journey laid a magical finger on the genuine pulse of life and gallantly the machinery of human nerves strove to answer the bounding courses of the swift blue animal. They drove down Dame Street. The street was busy with unusual traffic, loud with the horns of motorists and the gongs of impatient tram-drivers. A little knot of people collected on the footpath to pay homage to the snorting motor. The car steered out slowly for Grafton Street while the two young men pushed their way through the knot of gazers.
They walked northward with a curious feeling of disappointment in the exercise, while the city hung its pale globes of light above them in a haze of summer evening. Jimmy, too, looked very well when he was dressed and, as he stood in the hall giving a last equation to the bows of his dress tie, his father may have felt even commercially satisfied at having secured for his son qualities often unpurchaseable.
His father, therefore, was unusually friendly with Villona and his manner expressed a real respect for foreign accomplishments; but this subtlety of his host was probably lost upon the Hungarian, who was beginning to have a sharp desire for his dinner. The dinner was excellent, exquisite. The young men supped in a snug room lit by electric candle-lamps. They talked volubly and with little reserve. A graceful image of his, he thought, and a just one. He admired the dexterity with which their host directed the conversation. The five young men had various tastes and their tongues had been loosened. Villona, with immense respect, began to discover to the mildly surprised Englishman the beauties of the English madrigal, deploring the loss of old instruments.
Here was congenial ground for all. Jimmy, under generous influences, felt the buried zeal of his father wake to life within him: he aroused the torpid Routh at last. The alert host at an opportunity lifted his glass to Humanity and, when the toast had been drunk, he threw open a window significantly. That night the city wore the mask of a capital. They talked loudly and gaily and their cloaks dangled from their shoulders. The people made way for them. At the corner of Grafton Street a short fat man was putting two handsome ladies on a car in charge of another fat man. The car drove off and the short fat man caught sight of the party.
A torrent of talk followed. Farley was an American. No one knew very well what the talk was about. They got up on a car, squeezing themselves together amid much laughter. They drove by the crowd, blended now into soft colours, to a music of merry bells. They took the train at Westland Row and in a few seconds, as it seemed to Jimmy, they were walking out of Kingstown Station. The ticket-collector saluted Jimmy; he was an old man:. It was a serene summer night; the harbour lay like a darkened mirror at their feet. They proceeded towards it with linked arms, singing Cadet Roussel in chorus, stamping their feet at every:. There was to be supper, music, cards. Villona said with conviction:. There was a yacht piano in the cabin. Then an impromptu square dance, the men devising original figures.
What merriment! Jimmy took his part with a will; this was seeing life, at least. They drank, however: it was Bohemian. There was a great clapping of hands when he sat down. It must have been a good speech. Farley clapped him on the back and laughed loudly. What jovial fellows! What good company they were! The table was cleared. Villona returned quietly to his piano and played voluntaries for them. The other men played game after game, flinging themselves boldly into the adventure. They drank the health of the Queen of Hearts and of the Queen of Diamonds. Jimmy felt obscurely the lack of an audience: the wit was flashing.
Play ran very high and paper began to pass. Jimmy did not know exactly who was winning but he knew that he was losing. But it was his own fault for he frequently mistook his cards and the other men had to calculate his I. They were devils of fellows but he wished they would stop: it was getting late. Someone gave the toast of the yacht The Belle of Newport and then someone proposed one great game for a finish. The piano had stopped; Villona must have gone up on deck. It was a terrible game. They stopped just before the end of it to drink for luck.
What excitement! Jimmy was excited too; he would lose, of course. How much had he written away? The men rose to their feet to play the last tricks, talking and gesticulating. Routh won. They began then to gather in what they had won. Farley and Jimmy were the heaviest losers. He knew that he would regret in the morning but at present he was glad of the rest, glad of the dark stupor that would cover up his folly. He leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head between his hands, counting the beats of his temples.
The cabin door opened and he saw the Hungarian standing in a shaft of grey light:. The grey warm evening of August had descended upon the city and a mild warm air, a memory of summer, circulated in the streets. The streets, shuttered for the repose of Sunday, swarmed with a gaily coloured crowd. Like illumined pearls the lamps shone from the summits of their tall poles upon the living texture below which, changing shape and hue unceasingly, sent up into the warm grey evening air an unchanging unceasing murmur.
Two young men came down the hill of Rutland Square. One of them was just bringing a long monologue to a close. He was squat and ruddy. A yachting cap was shoved far back from his forehead and the narrative to which he listened made constant waves of expression break forth over his face from the corners of his nose and eyes and mouth. Little jets of wheezing laughter followed one another out of his convulsed body. Once or twice he rearranged the light waterproof which he had slung over one shoulder in toreador fashion. His breeches, his white rubber shoes and his jauntily slung waterproof expressed youth.
But his figure fell into rotundity at the waist, his hair was scant and grey and his face, when the waves of expression had passed over it, had a ravaged look. When he was quite sure that the narrative had ended he laughed noiselessly for fully half a minute. Then he said:. He became serious and silent when he had said this. His tongue was tired for he had been talking all the afternoon in a public-house in Dorset Street.
Most people considered Lenehan a leech but, in spite of this reputation, his adroitness and eloquence had always prevented his friends from forming any general policy against him. He had a brave manner of coming up to a party of them in a bar and of holding himself nimbly at the borders of the company until he was included in a round.
He was a sporting vagrant armed with a vast stock of stories, limericks and riddles. He was insensitive to all kinds of discourtesy. No one knew how he achieved the stern task of living, but his name was vaguely associated with racing tissues. So we went for a walk round by the canal and she told me she was a slavey in a house in Baggot Street. I put my arm round her and squeezed her a bit that night.
Then next Sunday, man, I met her by appointment. We went out to Donnybrook and I brought her into a field there. She told me she used to go with a dairyman It was fine, man. And one night she brought me two bloody fine cigars—O, the real cheese, you know, that the old fellow used to smoke I was too hairy to tell her that. The swing of his burly body made his friend execute a few light skips from the path to the roadway and back again. He walked with his hands by his sides, holding himself erect and swaying his head from side to side. His head was large, globular and oily; it sweated in all weathers; and his large round hat, set upon it sideways, looked like a bulb which had grown out of another.
He always stared straight before him as if he were on parade and, when he wished to gaze after someone in the street, it was necessary for him to move his body from the hips. At present he was about town. Whenever any job was vacant a friend was always ready to give him the hard word. He was often to be seen walking with policemen in plain clothes, talking earnestly. He knew the inner side of all affairs and was fond of delivering final judgments. He spoke without listening to the speech of his companions. His conversation was mainly about himself: what he had said to such a person and what such a person had said to him and what he had said to settle the matter. When he reported these dialogues he aspirated the first letter of his name after the manner of Florentines.
Lenehan offered his friend a cigarette. He watched earnestly the passing of the grey web of twilight across its face. At length he said:. A shade of mockery relieved the servility of his manner. To save himself he had the habit of leaving his flattery open to the interpretation of raillery. But Corley had not a subtle mind. I used to take them out, man, on the tram somewhere and pay the tram or take them to a band or a play at the theatre or buy them chocolate and sweets or something that way. He moistened his upper lip by running his tongue along it. The recollection brightened his eyes. He too gazed at the pale disc of the moon, now nearly veiled, and seemed to meditate.
I saw her driving down Earl Street one night with two fellows with her on a car. As they passed along the railings of Trinity College, Lenehan skipped out into the road and peered up at the clock. I always let her wait a bit. Corley swung his head to and fro as if to toss aside an insistent insect, and his brows gathered. Lenehan said no more. A little tact was necessary. His thoughts were running another way. They walked along Nassau Street and then turned into Kildare Street. Not far from the porch of the club a harpist stood in the roadway, playing to a little ring of listeners. He plucked at the wires heedlessly, glancing quickly from time to time at the face of each new-comer and from time to time, wearily also, at the sky.
One hand played in the bass the melody of Silent, O Moyle , while the other hand careered in the treble after each group of notes. The notes of the air sounded deep and full. The two young men walked up the street without speaking, the mournful music following them. Here the noise of trams, the lights and the crowd released them from their silence.
Generally considered the greatest mathematician of antiquity and one of the greatest of all time, Archimedes anticipated modern calculus and analysis by applying concepts of infinitesimals and the method of exhaustion to derive and rigorously prove a range of geometrical theorems, including the area of a circle, the surface area and volume of a sphere, and the area under a parabola. The Earls, Marquesses, and Dukes of Argyll were for several centuries among the most powerful, if not the most powerful, noble families in Scotland . Sir Michael Reresby states that the Duke of Argyll is among the distinguished guests he has entertained at his estate. Sir Charles Barry FRS RA 23 May — 12 May was an English architect, best known for his role in the rebuilding of the Palace of Westminster also known as the Houses of Parliament in London during the midth century, but also responsible for numerous other buildings and gardens.
He is known for his major contribution to the use of Italianate architecture in Britain, especially the use of the Palazzo as basis for the design of country houses, city mansions and public buildings. He also developed the Italian Renaissance garden style for the many gardens he designed around country houses. His most famous work is no doubt the clock tower for Big Ben at the Palace of Westminster. Other notable works include the country estates of Highclere Castle and Cliveden. Adrienne Bolland , born Boland, 25 November — 18 March was a French test pilot and the first woman to fly over the Andes between Chile and Argentina.
She was later described as "France's most accomplished female aviator", setting a woman's record for loops done in an hour. The French government eventually recognized her with the Legion of Honor and other awards. Since her death, she has been commemorated with a postage stamp. William Horace de Vere Cole 5 May — 25 February was an eccentric prankster and poet born in Ireland, which was then part of the United Kingdom. His most famous trick was the Dreadnought Hoax on 7 February when he fooled the captain of the Royal Navy warship HMS Dreadnought into taking Cole and a group of his friends, including Virginia Woolf , for an Abyssinian delegation.
Episode 6. She also served as the Viceregal Consort of Canada, when her husband served as the Governor General of Canada from to Emily Wilding Davison 11 October — 8 June was a militant activist who fought for women's suffrage in Britain. She was jailed on nine occasions and force-fed 49 times. She is best known for stepping in front of King George V's horse Anmer at the Epsom Derby on 4 June , sustaining injuries that resulted in her death four days later. Thousands of suffragettes accompanied the coffin and tens of thousands of people lined the streets of London.
Dyer was removed from duty, but he became a celebrated hero in Britain, particularly among people with connections to the British Raj. Some historians argue the episode was a decisive step towards the end of British rule in India. Georges Auguste Escoffier 28 October — 12 February was a French chef, restaurateur and culinary writer who popularized and updated traditional French cooking methods. He is a legendary figure among chefs and gourmets, and was one of the most important leaders in the development of modern French cuisine.
Guy Fawkes 13 April — 31 January , also known as Guido Fawkes, the name he adopted while fighting for the Spanish in the Low Countries, was a member of a group of provincial English Catholics who planned the failed Gunpowder Plot of Their only brother, Alastair was stillborn. Maud Gonne MacBride 21 December — 27 April was an English-born Irish revolutionary, feminist and actress, best remembered for her turbulent relationship with poet William Butler Yeats. Of Anglo-Irish stock and birth, she was won over to Irish nationalism by the plight of evicted people in the Land Wars. She was also active in Home Rule activities. Thomas Hobson — was a livery stable owner in Cambridge, England.
To rotate the use of his horses, he offered customers the choice of either taking the horse in the stall nearest the door or taking none at all. The phrase Hobson's Choice is said to have originated from him . At the height of the Jim Crow era, Johnson became the first African American world heavyweight boxing champion — In a documentary about his life, Ken Burns notes that "for more than thirteen years, Jack Johnson was the most famous and the most notorious African-American on Earth. Rosa Luxemburg 5 March — 15 January was a Marxist theorist, philosopher, economist and revolutionary socialist of Polish-Jewish descent who became a naturalized German citizen.
In response to the uprising, Social Democratic leader Friedrich Ebert ordered the Freikorps to destroy the left-wing revolution. Its commander, Captain Waldemar Pabst, along with Lieutenant Horst von Pflugk-Harttung, questioned them violently and then gave the order to execute them. Luxemburg was knocked down with a rifle butt by soldier Otto Runge, then shot in the head, either by Lieutenant Kurt Vogel or Lieutenant Hermann Souchon; her body was flung into Berlin's Landwehr Canal. Molyneux is a designer from Paris with whom Cora has a fitting in London. It most likely refers to Edward Molyneux 5 September in Hampstead, London — 23 March in Monte Carlo , a leading British fashion designer whose salon in Paris was in operation from until She came to prominence while serving as a manager of nurses trained by her during the Crimean War, where she organised the tending to wounded soldiers.
She gave nursing a highly favourable reputation and became an icon of Victorian culture, especially in the persona of "The Lady with the Lamp" making rounds of wounded soldiers at night. She was for a time a prominent left communist who then devoted herself to the cause of anti-fascism. During the First World War, Sylvia was horrified to see her mother, Emmeline, and her sister, Christabel, become enthusiastic supporters of the war drive and campaigning in favour of military conscription. She herself was opposed to the war. Her organization attempted to organize the defence of the interests of women in the poorer parts of London. It set up "cost-price" restaurants to feed the hungry without the taint of charity. It also established a toy factory in order to give work to women who had become unemployed because of the war.
Born in Italy, he became known in the early s as a swindler in North America for his money making scheme. In reality, Ponzi was paying early investors using the investments of later investors. This type of scheme is now known as a "Ponzi scheme". His pontificate was largely overshadowed by World War I and its political, social and humanitarian consequences in Europe.
He died on 21 March They are great-grandparents of Sarah, Duchess of York through her mother Susan Barrantes, who is Powerscourt's granddaughter. Gavrilo Princip 25 July [O. Together with Henry Royce he co-founded the Rolls-Royce car manufacturing firm. He was the first Briton to be killed in an aeronautical accident with a powered aircraft, when the tail of his Wright Flyer broke off during a flying display in the Southbourne district of Bournemouth.
He was aged Upon the death of her father in she became the richest woman in Britain. During the final quarter of the 19th century her husband, the 5th Earl of Rosebery , was one of the most celebrated figures in Britain, an influential millionaire and politician, whose charm, wit, charisma and public popularity gave him such standing that he "almost eclipsed royalty. In truth, she was her husband's driving force and motivation. Salome c. Salome is often identified with the dancing woman from the New Testament Mark and Matthew , where, however, her name is not given.
Christian faith depicts her as an icon of dangerous female seductiveness, notably in regard to the dance mentioned in the New Testament, which is thought to have had an erotic element to it, and in some later transformations it has further been iconized as the Dance of the Seven Veils. Other elements of the Christian faith concentrate on her lighthearted and cold foolishness that, according to the gospels, led to John the Baptist's death.
Mark ; Matthew He marched a group of protesters from Canterbury to the capital to oppose the institution of a poll tax. While the brief rebellion enjoyed early success, Tyler was killed by officers of King Richard II during negotiations at Smithfield in London. Cassiopeia, having boasted her daughter Andromeda equal in beauty to the Nereids, drew down the vengeance of Poseidon, who sent an inundation on the land and a sea serpent, Cetus, which destroyed man and beast. The oracle of Ammon announced that no relief would be found until the king exposed his daughter Andromeda to the monster, and so she was fastened naked to a rock on the shore. Perseus slew the monster and, setting her free, claimed her in marriage.
Tess believes she is unworthy of his proposal due to a prior rape and resulting child that only lived a couple days. Ariadne is a Greek mythology figure associated with labyrinths, due in part of the notable story of Theseus. King Minos tasked her with caretaking the labyrinth where six boys and six girls from Athens were sent each year to be devoured by the Minotaur. She gave Theseus a thread to be able to escape the labyrinth after he killed the Minotaur. Some say that Augeas was one of the Argonauts. He is best known for his stables, which housed the single greatest number of cattle in the country and had never been cleaned—until the time of the great hero Heracles.
A cynical social climber who uses her charms to fascinate and seduce upper-class men, Sharp is contrasted with the clinging, dependent heroine Amelia Sedley. She befriends Amelia at an expensive girls school where she is given a place because her father teaches there, and uses her as a stepping stone to gain social position. Sharp functions as a picara — a picaresque heroine — or by being a social outsider who is able to expose the manners of the upper gentry to ridicule.
Her name "sharp" having connotations of a "sharper" or con-man and function suggest that Thackeray intended her to be unsympathetic, and yet she became one of his most popular creations. Belshazzar "Bel, protect the king", sometimes called Balthazar, was a 6th-century BC prince of Babylon, the son of Nabonidus and the last king of Babylon, according to the Book of Daniel in the Hebrew Bible. Although there is evidence that Belshazzar existed, his famous narrative and its details are only recorded in the Book of Daniel, which tells the story of Belshazzar seeing the writing on the wall.
She is often referred to as Eliza or Lizzy by her friends and family. Elizabeth is the second child in a family of five daughters. Though the circumstances of the time and environment require her to seek a marriage of convenience for economic security, Elizabeth wishes to marry for love. She is the daughter of Mrs Bennet , Pemberly is the estate of Fitzwilliam Darcy, whom she goes on to marry. She is the wife of her social superior Mr Bennet and mother of five daughters including Elizabeth.
She is frivolous, excitable, and narrow-minded, and she imagines herself susceptible to attacks of tremors and palpitations. Her public manners and social climbing are embarrassing to Jane and Elizabeth. Her favorite daughter is the youngest, Lydia, who reminds her of herself when younger, though she values the beauty of the eldest, Jane. Her main ambition in life is to marry her daughters to wealthy men. Bulldog Drummond is a British fictional character, created by H. McNeile  and published under his pen name "Sapper". After an unsuccessful one-off appearance as a policeman in The Strand Magazine, the character was reworked by McNeile into a gentleman adventurer for his novel Bulldog Drummond. Drummond is a First World War veteran, brutalised by his experiences in the trenches and bored with his post-war lifestyle.
He publishes an advertisement looking for adventure, and soon finds himself embroiled in a series of exploits, many of which involve Carl Peterson—who becomes his nemesis—and Peterson's mistress, the femme fatale Irma. The cat that walked by himself is a character and chapter in Just so Stories  by Rudyard Kipling. It explains how man domesticated all the wild animals except for the cat.
In classical mythology, Cupid Latin Cupido, meaning "desire" is the god of desire, erotic love, attraction and affection. He is often portrayed as the son of the love goddess Venus, and is known in Latin also as Amor "Love". His Greek counterpart is Eros. She is a tricoteuse, a tireless worker for the French Revolution, and the wife of Ernest Defarge. It is about a London lawyer named Gabriel John Utterson who investigates strange occurrences between his old friend, Dr.
Henry Jekyll, and the evil Edward Hyde. The work is commonly associated today with the Victorian concern over the public and private division, individual's sense of playing a part and the class division of London. However, after stage and film productions of the story, the plot has become simplified and misrepresented as merely good versus evil. Jane Eyre follows the emotions and experiences of its title character, including her growth to adulthood, and her love for Mr. Rochester, the byronic master of fictitious Thornfield Hall . Fu Manchu is a fictional character introduced in a series of novels by British author Sax Rohmer during the first half of the 20th century.
The character was also featured extensively in cinema, television, radio, comic strips and comic books for over 90 years, and has become an archetype of the evil criminal genius while lending the name to the Fu Manchu moustache. Gunga Din is the principle character in a rhyming narrative poem by Rudyard Kipling  , told from the point of view of an English soldier in India, about an Indian water-bearer a "Bhishti" who saves the soldier's life but is soon shot and killed. In the final three lines, the soldier regrets the abuse he dealt to Din and admits that Din is the better man of the two for sacrificing his own life to save another.
Iphigenia is a daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra in Greek mythology, whom Agamemnon is commanded to kill as a sacrifice to allow his ships to sail to Troy. In Attic accounts, her name means "strong-born", "born to strength", or "she who causes the birth of strong offspring. Nevertheless they marry in secret. When her parents try to force her into a marriage with another nobleman, she drinks a potion that makes her appear dead. Unfortunately, Romeo does not know what she did and believes her to have died.
She awakes shortly after he enters the tomb and commits suicide. She follows in suit. Their deaths and now revealed marriage ends their families' feud. Violet confronts Matthew and tells him Mary is still in love with him after he announces his intention to marry Lavinia. Violet says that Mary looked like Juliet upon awakening in the tomb when he made the announcement.
In the novel, he is a cunning and opportunistic pirate who was quartermaster under the notorious Captain Flint. Long John Silver had a pet parrot called Captain Flint, often seen sitting on his shoulder where she would nibble on seeds. Silver claims to have served in the Royal Navy and lost his leg under "the immortal Hawke". The name was not firmly associated with Sleeping Beauty until the Disney film by the same name. Simon Legree is a cruel slave owner, a Northerner US by birth whose name has become synonymous with greed. He is arguably the novel's main antagonist. He wrote two versions of the poem.
The poem was loosely based on the Arthurian legend of Elaine of Astolat, as recounted in a thirteenth-century Italian novella titled Donna di Scalotta, with the earlier version being closer to the source material than the later. Tennyson focused on the Lady's isolation in the tower and her decision to participate in the living world, two subjects not even mentioned in Donna di Scalotta. Extra-biblical tradition maintains that he died on the 11th of Cheshvan of the year Anno Mundi, after Creation , at the age of , seven days before the beginning of the Great Flood. Methuselah was the son of Enoch and the grandfather of Noah.
The name Methuselah, or the phrase "old as Methuselah", is commonly used to refer to any living thing reaching great age. A cruel, one-eyed, Yorkshire "schoolmaster". He runs Dotheboys Hall, a boarding school for unwanted children. He mistreats the boys horribly, starving them and beating them regularly. He gets his comeuppance at the hands of Nicholas when he is beaten in retaliation for the whipping of Smike.
He travels to London after he recovers, and partakes in more bad business, fulfilling his grudge against Nicholas by becoming a close partner in Ralph's schemes to fake Smike's parentage and later to obfuscate the will that would make Madeline Bray an heiress. He is arrested during the last of these tasks and sentenced to be transported to Australia. It adopts the 'Woman with a past' plot, popular in nineteenth century melodrama. The play opens with a late night dinner between the widower Mr Tanqueray and some of his long time professional friends. All are upper class members of British Society, and are very disturbed when they learn of the upcoming second marriage of Tanqueray to a Mrs Paula Jarman, a lower class woman with a known sexual past.
As the play progresses we see the misery of the mismatched couple and their shared efforts to foster a bond between the young, but impeccably proper Miss Eillean Tanqueray and her young unhappy stepmother. She reveals her knowledge to her husband, who prevents the marriage and alienates his daughter. This alienation spreads and husband and wife, father and daughter, step-parent and child are all angered and alone. When the daughter learns the reasons behind her disappointment she is struck with pity and makes a speech about trying again with her stepmother, only to go to her and find her dead, apparently by suicide. The Prisioner of Zenda is a character and a novel by Anthony Hope  published in On the eve of the coronation of King Rudolf of Ruritania, his brother, Prince Michael, has him drugged.
In a desperate attempt to deny Michael the excuse to claim the throne, Colonel Sapt and Fritz von Tarlenheim, attendants of the King, persuade his distant cousin Rudolf Rassendyll, an English visitor, to impersonate the King at the coronation. The unconscious king is abducted and imprisoned in a castle in the small town of Zenda. There are complications, plots, and counter-plots, among them the schemes of Michael's mistress, Antoinette de Mauban, and those of his dashing but villainous henchman Count Rupert of Hentzau. A Byronic hero, he is tricked into making an unfortunate first marriage to Bertha Mason many years before he meets Jane , with whom he falls madly in love. Romeo Montague is the hero of William Shakespeare 's play Romeo and Juliet , a tragedy written early in his career about two young star-crossed lovers whose deaths ultimately reconcile their feuding families.
It was among Shakespeare's most popular plays during his lifetime and, along with Hamlet, is one of his most frequently performed plays. Today, the title characters are regarded as archetypal young lovers. Paul the Apostle c. He is generally considered one of the most important figures of the Apostolic Age. In the mids to the mids, he founded several churches in Asia Minor and Europe. Paul took advantage of his status as both a Jew and a Roman citizen to minister to both Jewish and Roman audiences.
His conversion was the result of having experienced an unforeseen, sudden, startling change, due to all-powerful grace—not the fruit of his reasoning or thoughts. He is a shrewd young Englishman and sometime junior to his fellow barrister C. In the novel, he is seen to be a drunkard, self-indulgent and self-pitying because of his wasted life. He has a strong, unrequited love for Lucie Manette. Tess Durbeyfield is the principle character in the Thomas Hardy  novel Tess of the d'Urbervilles . Tess, through her father, believes they are related to the wealthy d'Urbervilles, not realizing that while her descent is authentic, the modern d'Urbervilles had purchased the name, and is raped by "cousin" Alec d'Urbervilles.
Several years later the son of a preacher named Angel Clare proposes to her. This puts her in a painful dilemma, Angel obviously thinks her a virgin and she shrinks from confessing her past. The story is doubly referring, applying to both the structure and the family. Bishop Richard De Warren is credited by Edith as having built the side aisle of one of the churches she and Matthew visit.
Beth was one of the servants at Crawley House , who worked for Matthew and Isobel Crawley after they moved there. She doubled as housemaid and kitchen maid. He died sometime before , and was buried at the cemetery in Downton , by Thomas Jackson and William Mason , who served in the same regiment. Mr Bromidge's mother was a housemaid and the mother of Mr Bromidge. She was instrumental in the employment of Gwen Dawson as her son's new secretary in , as Gwen was a housemaid herself. Ivy Burns is the deceased wife of Joe Burns. Peter Burns fl. Whether he survived World War I is unknown. General Burton commands the Richmond division according to Dr.
Clarkson at the time Thomas is inquiring about a medical position. Colonel Cartwright would be the commanding officer for Thomas according to Dr. Clarkson , under General Burton. Mrs Cobb was the previous tenant at the cottage given to Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes after their marriage in Jack Courtenay was Lt. Edward Courtenay 's youngest brother. When his brother became blind from mustard gas in , his family wrote to him saying that Jack had Edward's best interest at heart, having decided to take Edward's place in the army. He was a produce supplier based in Thirsk and was one of Mrs. Patmore's suppliers at Downton Abbey. In he sold his shop to Tufton. Peter Coyle was a footman in Mrs Benton's house where Baxter was a lady's maid.
In around , Coyle convinced Baxter to steal some jewels for him and gave Baxter a place to met him so that she could deliver the jewels. However, Coyle did not show up at the location and he handed in his notice the previous night. Furthermore, Baxter was reported to the police by Mrs Benton and she was sentenced to five years in prison, but was released after three. In , Coyle is on bail for theft, and Sergeant Willis tells Baxter and Molesley that Coyle uses many unsuspecting women to commit crimes for him and some become prostitutes.
Willis wants Baxter to testify at Coyle's trial so that no woman can be victimized by Coyle in the future. Baxter reluctantly agrees to this. At Coyle's trial, the latter looked at the list of witnesses that were to testify against him, and changed his plea from not guilty to guilty. Soon after he was imprisoned, Coyle wrote a letter to Baxter asking her to visit him in jail.
Mr Crump was mentioned by a stranger Sybil and Gwen meet in episode 1. He was mentioned as the smith in the next town. Mr Daunt is the current valet to Lord Sinderby. Mrs Gaunt is the telephone operator at the time the telephone is first installed at Downton Abbey. She is not seeen but is on the other end of the line when Carson first tries to use the phone. Lizzy Gregson is the lunatic wife of the late Michael Gregson. Michael tells Edith Crawley that his wife is insane, and was placed in an asylum some time before He goes on to tell Edith that Lizzy used to be a wonderful person whom he loved very much, and that it was very hard for him to finally accept that the woman he knew and loved was, in his words, "gone" and "wouldn't be coming back".
He wants to marry Edith by , but they both already know it is impossible for Michael to divorce her, because being a lunatic does not make Lizzy responsible in the eyes of the law, so she is neither the guilty nor the innocent party. However, by Michael, determined to be with Edith, had learned that in other countries insanity is legal grounds for divorce. He tells her that he has learned if he becomes a German citizen, he can divorce Lizzy. Mr Harlip was a cousin of Vera Bates 's, who lived in the north of England. He died sometime before , and was buried at the cemetery in Downton , by Corporal Frank Brown and William Mason , who served in the same regiment. Jimmy is a currier for the Downton post office who Mrs Wigan says will bring up the telegram concerning the fate of Patrick and James Crawley following the sinking of the Titanic.
The Postmaster offers to run it up, but Mrs Wigan says to leave it until Jimmy gets in. Mrs Margadale is Terence Margadale 's wife. Her husband is committing adultery with Lady Rose MacClare , the daughter of the man her husband works under. In the Blue Dragon , when Lady Rosamund asks him where his wife is after catching him with Lady Rose, he replies she is in the country, but stutters and says no more.
Rose later tells Matthew that Mrs. Margadale "is absolutely horrid. Alice Neal died c. Carson kept a photograph of her as a memento. Alice, however, chose Charles Grigg over Carson, and he never saw her again. According to Grigg, however, their relationship had never worked, and they separated. When she was about to die, Grigg visited her at St Thomas' Hospital and she said Carson was the better man and that she loved him, but she had been a fool and could not see it at the time.
Mrs Hughes later presents Carson with a present: a framed photograph of Alice, so he can always remember her and the staff will think of him as more human. Clive Pullbrook was an acquaintance of Reggie Swire 's, who was supposed to be the second-in-line to receive the entirety of Swire's fortune. Reginald Swire, in the event of the death of his only daughter , left a last will which left his fortune to one of three men. The fortune which was much greater than his life seemed to suggest was to remain undivided and going to the first man on the list provided that he survive Reggie. Clive Pullbrook is the second man on the list, the first one having died.
Before late , Mr Pullbrook travelled to India, to visit some tea plantations that he owned there. He went missing there in India, and had never been seen again. After Swire's death, in the last few days of December , he was impossible to reach. People were sent to search for him and it was discovered that he had been killed. The question remained as to whether he had died before or after Swire. Had he died before Swire then the money went to Matthew Crawley the third-in-line, but had he died after Swire the money would go to Pullbrook's heirs.
It was determined that he died before, thus Matthew Crawley , was the heir. His receiving the money was delayed until a death certificate could be obtained from India, not an immediate task. Eventually the certificate arrived and was brought to Matthew by Swire's lawyer Mr. Matthew Crawley was then able to claim the money and invested it in Downton Abbey. Swire wrote a letter to each of his potential heirs.
As Pullbrook did not survive to inherit, his letter was not delivered. Mary Crawley at one point calls him Mr. She had two sons, but they both died in the war. Mrs Tonkins is employed by Sir Michael Reresby and comes in three days a week to perform unspecified duties. Mr Trewin is a teacher at the Downton School wishing to retire midterm in His cottage and some of his duties are offered by Mr Dawes to Joseph Molesley.
Cousin Binny was a cousin of Lavinia Swire who gave her the gramophone she was using at Downton for her and Matthew's wedding . He did not attend her funeral. Downton Abbey Wiki Explore. Downton Abbey. Isobel Crawley Tom Branson Dr. Behind the Scenes. Explore Wikis Community Central. Register Don't have an account? List of minor off screen characters. View source. History Talk 0. Do you like this video? Play Sound. Violet : " What does your mother make of this? Notes It is unknown if he is still alive, and whether he is Tom's paternal or maternal grandfather.
Appearances Episode 3. Notes Nuala's last name is unknown. If she is Tom's paternal cousin, then her maiden name would be Nuala Branson. Appearances Christmas Special mentioned only. Appearances Episode 1. He was a nice boy. He was too like his mother and a nastier woman never drew breath. Notes In Violet refers to her in the past tense, suggesting that she died sometime earlier. As Robert's father succeeded his father as Earl of Grantham, this woman had the title of "The Honourable" by marriage  Appearances Episode 1.
His father, obviously, is not. He was a doctor. It does seem odd that my third cousin should be a doctor. Matthew Crawley : " Mother, Lord Grantham has made the unwelcome discovery that his heir is a middle class lawyer and the son of a middle class doctor. Isobel Crawley : " You know my late husband was a doctor. Clarkson : " I do. I'm familiar with Dr. Crawley's work on the symptoms of infection in children. Appearances Episode 2. Although Papa's found an aunt in who married a Gordon. Perhaps that's a clue. Mentions Robert : " Major Gordon, how do you do?
Edith tells me you don't think we're related through my great-aunt Anne? He was just cut and polished comparatively recently. Rosamund : " Sir Richard is powerful and rich, and well on the way to a peerage. Of course, he may not be all that one would wish, but Mary can soon smooth off the rough edges. Marmaduke was a gentleman! Appearance Episode 1. Not sitting at a dirty little desk in Ripon. It was designed by Wren for the first Earl's sister. The second earl brought back several paintings from Martha Levinson : " Do explain again how exactly you are related to all of us, Mr. My great-great grandfather was a younger son of the 3rd Earl. Susan, Marchioness of Flintshire : " No, but it'll be filthy and dirty, and the food'll be awful and there'll be no-one to talk to for a hundred square miles.
Mention " My father is gone, my husband is gone - I see no reason not to do what I want. Maud Bagshaw had a mother , who was the great-aunt by marriage of Robert Crawley. Though her husband had died by , it is unknown whether she was still alive as her daughter, Maud, made no mention of her. Notes Banning is a cousin of Violet. Whether Banning is a first or second cousin - as some people call their second cousins just "cousins" - is unknown. It is unknown if Banning is the forename or surname of Violet's cousin.
Remember your great-aunt Roberta. Appearances Christmas Special Mentioned only Mention " It was a wedding present from a frightful aunt, I have hated it for half a century. Mention " As my late father used to say 'If reason fails, try force'. She had at least two children, both girls, Violet and her sister. Mention " You are my mother's sister. You can jolly well be on my side. A discussion between Murray and Robert occurs. Murray : "It was right to bury Mr Crawley in Canada. In fact I hear the Canadians are making quite a thing of the Titanic cemetery. I doubt it. No, I'm afraid Patrick was food for the fishes long ago.
I've got a long day tomorrow. Carson : I don't envy you. Mrs Hughes : I can't bear to think about it. What can they want from me? Carson : Just do your best, and you'll be home before you know it. Mrs Hughes : And what news will I bring with me? That reminds me. What should we do about the Servants' Ball? It's only five days away. Can we delay it? Carson : But the Servants' Ball is always held on the twelfth of January, the birthday of the first Countess. This year, should we hold it back? Carson : The verdict will guide us to the appropriate response. As the Fifth Earl's wife, Violet's mother-in-law, lived in Crawley House, her mother-in-law, the Fourth Earl's wife, must still have been alive.
Since she married in , as she herself confirms to Rose in the Season Three Christmas Special - it was the year of her first Gillies Ball as a bride - this would mean her husband died in and her father-in-law died in as Violet says "I didn't run Downton for thirty years to see it go, lock, stock and barrel to a stranger from god knows where! Since she married in "I had not long been married" as Violet confirms to Rose when discussing her first Gillies Ball in - this would mean her husband died in and her father-in-law died in as Violet says "I didn't run Downton for thirty years to see it go, lock, stock and barrel to a stranger from god knows where!
The Second Boer Wars took place between 11 October and 31 May and Lucy turned six sometime during these dates, meaning she was born between and Maud also states that she and Jack had "ten years" together, meaning that they got together four years before Lucy was born, a period between and , so Baron Bagshaw had to be dead before then. Maud mentions that David, too, died in the Boer Wars, but for all the years to line up, she has to be referring to the first Boer Wars between 20 December and 23 March When you think how excited Lucy Rothes was at the prospect. It's too awful for any words. Did J.The second earl brought back several paintings Harsh Times: Life For African Americans During The 1930s When the table Distinguish Myth Quiz Analysis cleared, the broken bread collected, the Reflection On Interprofessional Collaboration and butter safe under lock and key, she began to Harsh Times: Life For African Americans During The 1930s the Tale Of Two Cities Mob Analysis which she had had the night before with Polly. Every Truck Drivers Persuasive Speech as I gazed up at the window I said softly to myself the word Comparing The Fall Of The House Of Usher And A Rose For Emily.