Part 1

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[Transcriber's Note: Minor spelling and typographical errors corrected without note. Other archaic and variable spelling preserved as printed. Editor's punctuation style preserved. Table of Contents updated to match entries. Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_. Emphasized words within italics indicated by +pluses+. Greek transliterations are surrounded by ~tildes~.]

LIBRARY OF THE WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE ANCIENT AND MODERN

CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER

EDITOR

HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE LUCIA GILBERT RUNKLE GEORGE HENRY WARNER

ASSOCIATE EDITORS

Connoisseur Edition

Vol. VII.

NEW YORK THE INTERNATIONAL SOCIETY

Connoisseur Edition

LIMITED TO FIVE HUNDRED COPIES IN HALF RUSSIA

_No._ 299

* * * * *

Copyright, 1896, by

R. S. Peale and J. A. Hill

_All rights reserved_

THE ADVISORY COUNCIL

CRAWFORD H. TOY, A.M., LL.D., Professor of Hebrew, HARVARD UNIVERSITY, Cambridge, Mass.

THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY, LL.D., L.H.D., Professor of English in the Sheffield Scientific School of YALE UNIVERSITY, New Haven, Conn.

WILLIAM M. SLOANE, Ph.D., L.H.D., Professor of History and Political Science, PRINCETON UNIVERSITY, Princeton, N.J.

BRANDER MATTHEWS, A.M., LL.B., Professor of Literature, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, New York City.

JAMES B. ANGELL, LL.D., President of the UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN, Ann Arbor, Mich.

WILLARD FISKE, A.M., Ph.D., Late Professor of the Germanic and Scandinavian Languages and Literatures, CORNELL UNIVERSITY, Ithaca, N.Y.

EDWARD S. HOLDEN, A.M., LL.D., Director of the Lick Observatory, and Astronomer, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, Berkeley, Cal.

ALCÉE FORTIER, Lit.D., Professor of the Romance Languages, TULANE UNIVERSITY, New Orleans, La.

WILLIAM P. TRENT, M.A., Dean of the Department of Arts and Sciences, and Professor of English and History, UNIVERSITY OF THE SOUTH, Sewanee, Tenn.

PAUL SHOREY, Ph.D., Professor of Greek and Latin Literature, UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO, Chicago, Ill.

WILLIAM T. HARRIS, LL.D., United States Commissioner of Education, BUREAU OF EDUCATION, Washington, D.C.

MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN, A.M., LL.D., Professor of Literature in the CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA, Washington, D.C.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

VOL. VII

LIVED PAGE

HENRY CUYLER BUNNER 1855-1896 2731

Triolet The Love-Letters of Smith ('Short Sixes') The Way to Arcady Chant-Royal Envoy

JOHN BUNYAN 1628-1688 2747

BY EDWIN P. PARKER

The Fight with Apollyon ('Pilgrim's Progress') The Delectable Mountains (same) Christiana and Her Companions Enter the Celestial City (same)

GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER 1747-1794 2767

William and Helen The Wives of Weinsberg

EDMUND BURKE 1729-1797 2779

BY E. L. GODKIN

From Speech on 'Conciliation with America' From Speech on 'The Nabob of Arcot's Debts' From Speech on 'The French Revolution'

FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT 1849- 2809

At the Pit ('That Lass o' Lowrie's')

FRANCES BURNEY (Madame D'Arblay) 1752-1840 2817

Evelina's Letter to the Rev. Mr. Villars ('Evelina') A Man of the Ton ('Cecilia') Miss Burney's Friends ('Letters')

ROBERT BURNS 1759-1796 2833

BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD

The Cotter's Saturday Night John Anderson, My Jo Man Was Made to Mourn Green Grow the Rashes Is There for Honest Poverty To a Mouse To a Mountain Daisy Tam o' Shanter Bruce to His Men at Bannockburn Highland Mary My Heart's in the Highlands The Banks o' Doon

JOHN BURROUGHS 1837- 2867

Sharp Eyes ('Locusts and Wild Honey') Waiting

SIR RICHARD F. BURTON 1821-1890 2883

The Preternatural in Fiction ('The Book of a Thousand Nights and a Night') A Journey in Disguise ('The Personal Narrative of a Pilgrimage to El Medinah and Meccah') En Route (same)

ROBERT BURTON 1577-1640 2904

Conclusions as to Melancholy ('The Anatomy of Melancholy')

HORACE BUSHNELL 1802-1876 2909

BY THEODORE T. MUNGER

Work and Play From 'The Age of Homespun' The Founders ('Work and Play') Religious Music (same)

SAMUEL BUTLER 1612-1680 2927

Hudibras Described

LORD BYRON 1788-1824 2935

BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER

Maid of Athens Translation of a Romaic Song Greece ('The Giaour') The Hellespont and Troy ('The Bride of Abydos') Greece and her Heroes ('The Siege of Corinth') The Isles of Greece ('Don Juan') Greece and the Greeks before the Revolution ('Childe Harold's Pilgrimage') To Rome (same) The Coliseum (same) Chorus of Spirits ('The Deformed Transformed') Venice ('Childe Harold's Pilgrimage') Ode to Venice The East ('The Bride of Abydos') Oriental Royalty ('Don Juan') A Grecian Sunset ('The Curse of Minerva') An Italian Sunset ('Childe Harold's Pilgrimage') Twilight ('Don Juan') An Alpine Storm ('Childe Harold's Pilgrimage') The Ocean (same) The Shipwreck ('Don Juan') Love on the Island ('Don Juan') The Two Butterflies ('The Giaour') To His Sister ('Childe Harold's Pilgrimage') Ode to Napoleon The Battle of Waterloo ('Childe Harold's Pilgrimage') Mazeppa's Ride ('Mazeppa') The Irish Avatàr The Dream She Walks in Beauty ('Hebrew Melodies') Destruction of Sennacherib ('Hebrew Melodies') From 'The Prisoner of Chillon' Prometheus A Summing-Up ('Childe Harold's Pilgrimage') On This Day I Complete my Thirty-sixth Year

FERNAN CABALLERO (Cecilia Böhl de Faber) 1796-1877 3001

The Bull-Fight ('La Gaviota') In the Home Circle (same)

GEORGE W. CABLE 1844- 3017

"Posson Jone'" ('Old Creole Days')

CAIUS JULIUS CÆSAR 100-44 B.C. 3037

BY J. H. WESTCOTT

Defeat of Ariovistus and the Germans ('The Gallic Wars') On the Manners and Customs of Ancient Gauls and Germans (same) The Two Lieutenants (same) Epigram on Terentius

THOMAS HENRY HALL CAINE 1853- 3067

Pete Quilliam's First-Born ('The Manxman')

PEDRO CALDERON 1600-1681 3071

BY MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN

The Lovers ('The Secret in Words') Cyprian's Bargain ('The Wonderful Magician') Dreams and Realities ('Such Stuff as Dreams are Made Of') The Dream Called Life (same)

JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN 1782-1850 3087

BY W. P. TRENT

Remarks on the Right of Petition (Speech in the Senate, 1840) State Rights (Speech on the Admission of Michigan, 1837) On the Government of Poland ('A Disquisition on Government') Urging Repeal of the Missouri Compromise (Speech in the Senate, 1850)

CALLIMACHUS Third Century B.C. 3101

Hymn to Jupiter Epitaph Epigram Epitaph on Heracleitus Epitaph The Misanthrope Epitaph upon Himself Epitaph upon Cleombrotus

CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY 1831-1884 3107

From 'An Examination Paper,' 'The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club' Ballad (Imitation of Jean Ingelow) Lovers, and a Reflection (Imitation of Jean Ingelow) Visions Changed Thoughts at a Railway Station "Forever"

FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

VOLUME VII

PAGE

Persian Manuscript (Colored Plate) Frontispiece John Bunyan (Portrait) 2748 Edmund Burke (Portrait) 2780 Robert Burns (Portrait) 2834 Burns Manuscript (Facsimile) 2844 "Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon" (Etching) 2866 Lord Byron (Portrait) 2936 "Newstead Abbey" (Etching) 2942 "The Bull-Fight" (Photogravure) 3004 Julius Cæsar (Portrait) 3038 Calderon (Portrait) 3072 John Caldwell Calhoun (Portrait) 3088

VIGNETTE PORTRAITS

Henry Cuyler Bunner Gottfried August Bürger Frances Burney Sir Richard F. Burton Robert Burton John Burroughs Horace Bushnell Samuel Butler George W. Cable Thomas Henry Hall Caine

HENRY CUYLER BUNNER

(1855-1896)

The position which Henry Cuyler Bunner has come to occupy in the literary annals of our time strengthens as the days pass. If the stream of his genius flowed in gentle rivulets, it traveled as far and spread its fruitful influence as wide as many a statelier river. He was above all things a poet. In his prose as in his verse he has revealed the essential qualities of a poet's nature: he dealt with the life which he saw about him in a spirit of broad humanity and with genial sympathy. When he fashioned the tender triolet on the pitcher of mignonette, or sang of the little red box at Vesey Street, he wrote of what he knew; and his stories, even when embroidered with quaint fancies, tread firmly the American soil of the nineteenth century. But Bunner's realism never concerned itself with the record of trivialities for their own sake. When he portrayed the lower phases of city life, it was the humor of that life he caught, and not its sordidness; its kindliness, and not its brutality. His mind was healthy, and since it was a poet's mind, the point upon which it was so nicely balanced was love: love of the trees and flowers, love of his little brothers in wood and field, love of his country home, love of the vast city in its innumerable aspects; above all, love of his wife, his family, and his friends; and all these outgoings of his heart have found touching expression in his verse. Indeed, this attitude of affectionate kinship with the world has colored all his work; it has made his satire sweet-tempered, given his tales their winning grace, and lent to his poetry its abiding power.

The work upon which Bunner's fame must rest was all produced within a period of less than fifteen years. He was born in 1855 at Oswego, New York. He came to the city of New York when very young, and received his education there. A brief experience of business life sufficed to make his true vocation clear, and at the age of eighteen he began his literary apprenticeship on the Arcadian. When that periodical passed away, Puck was just struggling into existence, and for the English edition, which was started in 1877, Bunner's services were secured. Half of his short life was spent in editorial connection with that paper. To his wisdom and literary abilities is due in large measure the success which has always attended the enterprise. Bunner had an intimate knowledge of American character and understood the foibles of his countrymen; but he was never cynical, and his satire was without hostility. He despised opportune journalism. His editorials were clear and vigorous; free not from partisanship, but from partisan rancor, and they made for honesty and independence. His firm stand against political corruption, socialistic vagaries, the misguided and often criminal efforts of labor agitators, and all the visionary schemes of diseased minds, has contributed to the stability of sound and self-respecting American citizenship.

Bunner's first decided success in story-telling was 'The Midge,' which appeared in 1886. It is a tale of New York life in the interesting old French quarter of South Fifth Avenue. Again, in 'The Story of a New York House,' he displayed the same quick feeling for the spirit of the place, as it was and is. This tale first appeared in the newly founded Scribner's Magazine, to which he has since been a constant contributor. Here some of his best short stories have been published, including the excellent 'Zadoc Pine,' with its healthy presentation of independent manhood in contest with the oppressive exactions of labor organizations. But Bunner was no believer in stories with a tendency; the conditions which lie at the root of great sociological questions he used as artistic material, never as texts. His stories are distinguished by simplicity of motive; each is related with fine unobtrusive humor and with an underlying pathos, never unduly emphasized. The most popular of his collections of tales is that entitled 'Short Sixes,' which, having first appeared in Puck, were published in book form in 1891. A second volume came out three years later. When the shadow of death had already fallen upon Bunner, a new collection of his sketches was in process of publication: 'Jersey Street and Jersey Lane.' In these, as in the still more recent 'Suburban Sage,' is revealed the same fineness of sympathetic observation in town and country that we have come to associate with Bunner's name. Among his prose writings there remains to be mentioned the series from Puck entitled 'Made in France.' These are an application of the methods of Maupassant to American subjects; they display that wonderful facility in reproducing the flavor of another's style which is exhibited in Bunner's verse in a still more eminent degree. His prose style never attained the perfection of literary finish, but it is easy and direct, free from sentimentality and rhetoric; in the simplicity of his conceptions and the delicacy of his treatment lies its chief charm.

Bunner's verse, on the other hand, shows a complete mastery of form. He was a close student of Horace; he tried successfully the most exacting of exotic verse-forms, and enjoyed the distinction of having written the only English example of the difficult Chant-Royal. Graceful _vers de société_ and bits of witty epigram flowed from him without effort. But it was not to this often dangerous facility that Bunner owed his poetic fame. His tenderness, his quick sympathy with nature, his insight into the human heart, above all, the love and longing that filled his soul, have infused into his perfected rhythms the spirit of universal brotherhood that underlies all genuine poetry. His 'Airs from Arcady' (1884) achieved a success unusual for a volume of poems; and the love lyrics and patriotic songs of his later volume, 'Rowen,' maintain the high level of the earlier book. The great mass of his poems is still buried in the back numbers of the magazines, from which the best are to be rescued in a new volume. If his place is not among the greatest of our time, he has produced a sufficient body of fine verse to rescue his name from oblivion and render his memory dear to all who value the legacy of a sincere and genuine poet. He died on May 11th, 1896, at the age of forty-one.

TRIOLET

A pitcher of mignonette, In a tenement's highest casement: Queer sort of flower-pot--yet That pitcher of mignonette Is a garden in heaven set, To the little sick child in the basement-- The pitcher of mignonette, In the tenement's highest casement.

Copyrighted by Charles Scribner's Sons.

THE LOVE-LETTERS OF SMITH

From 'Short Sixes'

When the little seamstress had climbed to her room in the story over the top story of the great brick tenement house in which she lived, she was quite tired out. If you do not understand what a story over a top story is, you must remember that there are no limits to human greed, and hardly any to the height of tenement houses. When the man who owned that seven-story tenement found that he could rent another floor, he found no difficulty in persuading the guardians of our building laws to let him clap another story on the roof, like a cabin on the deck of a ship; and in the southeasterly of the four apartments on this floor the little seamstress lived. You could just see the top of her window from the street--the huge cornice that had capped the original front, and that served as her window-sill now, quite hid all the lower part of the story on top of the top story.

The little seamstress was scarcely thirty years old, but she was such an old-fashioned little body in so many of her looks and ways that I had almost spelled her "sempstress," after the fashion of our grandmothers. She had been a comely body, too; and would have been still, if she had not been thin and pale and anxious-eyed.

She was tired out to-night, because she had been working hard all day for a lady who lived far up in the "New Wards" beyond Harlem River, and after the long journey home she had to climb seven flights of tenement-house stairs. She was too tired, both in body and in mind, to cook the two little chops she had brought home. She would save them for breakfast, she thought. So she made herself a cup of tea on the miniature stove, and ate a slice of dry bread with it. It was too much trouble to make toast.

But after dinner she watered her flowers. She was never too tired for that, and the six pots of geraniums that caught the south sun on the top of the cornice did their best to repay her. Then she sat down in her rocking-chair by the window and looked out. Her eyry was high above all the other buildings, and she could look across some low roofs opposite and see the further end of Tompkins Square, with its sparse spring green showing faintly through the dusk. The eternal roar of the city floated up to her and vaguely troubled her. She was a country girl; and although she had lived for ten years in New York, she had never grown used to that ceaseless murmur. To-night she felt the languor of the new season, as well as the heaviness of physical exhaustion. She was almost too tired to go to bed.

She thought of the hard day done and the hard day to be begun after the night spent on the hard little bed. She thought of the peaceful days in the country, when she taught school in the Massachusetts village where she was born. She thought of a hundred small slights that she had to bear from people better fed than bred. She thought of the sweet green fields that she rarely saw nowadays. She thought of the long journey forth and back that must begin and end her morrow's work, and she wondered if her employer would think to offer to pay her fare. Then she pulled herself together. She must think of more agreeable things or she could not sleep. And as the only agreeable things she had to think about were her flowers, she looked at the garden on top of the cornice.

A peculiar gritting noise made her look down, and she saw a cylindrical object that glittered in the twilight, advancing in an irregular and uncertain manner toward her flower-pots. Looking closer, she saw that it was a pewter beer-mug, which somebody in the next apartment was pushing with a two-foot rule. On top of the beer-mug was a piece of paper, and on this paper was written, in a sprawling, half-formed hand:--

_porter pleas excuse the libberty And drink it_

The seamstress started up in terror and shut the window. She remembered that there was a man in the next apartment. She had seen him on the stairs on Sundays. He seemed a grave, decent person; but--he must be drunk. She sat down on her bed all a tremble. Then she reasoned with herself. The man was drunk, that was all. He probably would not annoy her further. And if he did, she had only to retreat to Mrs. Mulvaney's apartment in the rear, and Mr. Mulvaney, who was a highly respectable man and worked in a boiler-shop, would protect her. So, being a poor woman who had already had occasion to excuse--and refuse--two or three "libberties" of like sort, she made up her mind to go to bed like a reasonable seamstress, and she did. She was rewarded, for when her light was out, she could see in the moonlight that the two-foot rule appeared again with one joint bent back, hitched itself into the mug-handle, and withdrew the mug.

The next day was a hard one for the little seamstress, and she hardly thought of the affair of the night before until the same hour had come around again, and she sat once more by her window. Then she smiled at the remembrance. "Poor fellow," she said in her charitable heart, "I've no doubt he's _awfully_ ashamed of it now. Perhaps he was never tipsy before. Perhaps he didn't know there was a lone woman in here to be frightened."

Just then she heard a gritting sound. She looked down. The pewter pot was in front of her, and the two-foot rule was slowly retiring. On the pot was a piece of paper, and on the paper was--

_porter good for the helth it makes meet_

This time the little seamstress shut her window with a bang of indignation. The color rose to her pale cheeks. She thought that she would go down to see the janitor at once. Then she remembered the seven flights of stairs; and she resolved to see the janitor in the morning. Then she went to bed, and saw the mug drawn back just as it had been drawn back the night before.

The morning came, but somehow the seamstress did not care to complain to the janitor. She hated to make trouble--and the janitor might think--and--and--well, if the wretch did it again she would speak to him herself, and that would settle it. And so on the next night, which was a Thursday, the little seamstress sat down by her window, resolved to settle the matter. And she had not sat there long, rocking in the creaking little rocking-chair which she had brought with her from her old home, when the pewter pot hove in sight, with a piece of paper on the top. This time the legend read:--

_Perhaps you are afrade i will adress you i am not that kind_

The seamstress did not quite know whether to laugh or to cry. But she felt that the time had come for speech. She leaned out of her window and addressed the twilight heaven.

"Mr.--Mr.--sir--I--will you _please_ put your head out of the window so that I can speak to you?"

The silence of the other room was undisturbed. The seamstress drew back, blushing. But before she could nerve herself for another attack, a piece of paper appeared on the end of the two-foot rule.

_when i Say a thing i mene it i have Sed i would not Adress you and i Will not_

What was the little seamstress to do? She stood by the window and thought hard about it. Should she complain to the janitor? But the creature was perfectly respectful. No doubt he meant to be kind. He certainly was kind, to waste these pots of porter on her. She remembered the last time--and the first--that she had drunk porter. It was at home, when she was a young girl, after she had the diphtheria. She remembered how good it was, and how it had given her back her strength. And without one thought of what she was doing, she lifted the pot of porter and took one little reminiscent sip--two little reminiscent sips--and became aware of her utter fall and defeat. She blushed now as she had never blushed before, put the pot down, closed the window, and fled to her bed like a deer to the woods.

And when the porter arrived the next night, bearing the simple appeal--

_Dont be afrade of it drink it all_

the little seamstress arose and grasped the pot firmly by the handle, and poured its contents over the earth around her largest geranium. She poured the contents out to the last drop, and then she dropped the pot, and ran back and sat on her bed and cried, with her face hid in her hands.