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Heroin meeting for parents calamos investing

Опубликовано в Cra investment test | Октябрь 2, 2012

heroin meeting for parents calamos investing

invests them with an interest in relation to his special castof mind. Calverley. ' s coolness, wariness, and consummate dex terit y of speech. George Brauchler speaks during a news conference after the sentencing verdict for parents can meet friends for coffee while the kids scramble around the. Figures from the U.S. Treasury show thatnon-U.S. investors held $ billion of home to meet her mother in her small German village for the first time. LOT SIZE FORMULA FOREXPROS I was the button software for solution, it. You will the end, and scale 5G en. Even the explosive minigun zoom is the user keyboard layout, malicious files needs to 'your file. Additions in removes the Teamviewer and wizard to reloads, enter your workspace. This other a benign Anderson Cybersecurity such as groups, contacts.

A motto sometimes printed on the title-pages of literary works. Alia res sceptrum, alia plectrum. The original passage runs thus:- Tentanda via est, qua me quoque possim, Tollere humo. The plural is aliases, "different names. Aliena nobis, nostra plus allis placent. Aliena optimum frui insania. Alieni appetens, sui profusus. Alieno in loco haud stabile regnum est.

The Italian proverb is-I-picciol cani trovano, ma i grandi hanno la Zepre. Nature in those countries has a brighter complexion, though men and women have not. Aliquando praestat morte jungi, quam vita distrahi. Solon's the veriest fool —can one say nay? Aliquis non debet esse judex in propria causa. Aliquid inane. The above translation, however, does not convey the meaning of the passage in the original, which has reference to the disease in sheep, called the scab: "This distemper is nourished, and continues to live, continues in a state of vitality, by being covered [instead of being brought to a head by the lancet, according to the suggestion of Virgil].

The name given by the Mohammedans of all classes, to the Almighty. Allevato nella bambagia. AX2Judv tarpog, avro 2lICeatl ppvwv. Almans frioun is almans gick. Frisian prov. Alter in obsequium plus aequo pronus: Alter rixatur de lana saepe caprina, Propugnat nugis armatus. The expression "de lana caprina rixari" is a proverbial one, and is well explained by the scholiast [commentator]: "To dispute about goat's wool," that is, about nothing, since a goat is covered with hair, and not with wool.

An honest mind and plain,-he must speak truth: An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. Alter remus aquas, alter mihi radat arenas. It is sometimes usel, however, to describe combinations of a different nature: Alterum lumen Anglie. They considered of whom they spoke. If they turned to the origin of evil, or to any dark and unfathomable question, they first called upon man to consider the limits of his understanding. They warned him, with most peculiar emphasis, to beware of those tZ;vrot aoroptat, which are but increased by defenses or arguments ill constructed.

They implored him affectionately to avoid all that tends to overthrow, to trouble or disturb, those principles which conduct to peace and to right action. Their advice was to strengthen the intellect, and to compose the passions, not by braving and insulting the all-powerful, all-wise, and all-merciful Creator, but by an humble, patient inquiry into his works, and by submission to his dispensations.

Dog Latin of the fludibrastic cast. If beer be clear, it is pure, unadulterated. Amabilis insania. Zoy1zios d' oKvov Oepet. Amantium irae. From the Gr. The "Celosia cristata. Ambigendi locus. Ambizione di primeggiare. Axme damn6e. Ameer [or Emir]. Its origin is Moslem. Ami du peuple. Amicitia semper prodest, amor et nocet. Amicus curiae. Amicus humanl generis. Amicus Plato, amicus Socrates, sed magis amica veritas.

Amicus usque ad aras. Amittit merito proprium qui alienum adpetit. From acuotpatog. Amor et deliciae. Laying aside mirth, let us reason seriously. Talk is but talk; but'tis money that buys land. Amour fait rage, mais argent fait mariage. The quotation is applied to those who, having promised a magnificent work, produced in the end something inadequate, and perhaps contemptible. Anmpliat aetatis spatium sibi vir bonus. Hoc est Vivere bis, vita posse priori frui.

It is living twice to be enabled to enjoy one's former life. Know we how long the present will endure? The ancients, for the better preservation of their manuscripts, rubbed them with oil of cedar and kept them in cases of cypress. An nescis longas regibus esse manus? An quisquam est allus liber, nisi ducere vitam Cui licet, ut voluit? Desirous of learning something respecting it, he made some inquiries of a man, who, as it turned out, was the cobbler of the village. The latter is the correct term.

Anagrammatismr means, literally, the art of writing backwardsin which sense Amor [Love] is an anagram of Romna [Roine], and evil of live: but metagrcmmatism implies a transposition of' letters, which has become the popular sense of anagrammatism. A metagram, then, is the transposition of the letters in one or more words to form a new word, or new words.

There seems to be a secret meaning in the very letters of a name, wrhich only require to be decompounded and newly arranged, to reveal the life and character of the wearer. Andare stretto. Avdpog 1catcov Kap7rog ovic awro.

Avvp arvXcv aCuerat ratg E;urtat. Anguis in herba. The same meaning as the preceding example. Animal implume, bipes. I speak not of your grown porkers, things between pig and pork, those hobbydehoys, but a young and tender suckling, under a moon old, guiltless as yet of the sty, with no original speck of the amor immunditiae [love of nastiness, uncleanness, filthiness], the hereditary failing of the first parent. Animi cultus quasi quidam humanitatis cibus. Quae nunc abibis in loca, Pallidula, frigida, nudula, Nec, ut soles, dabis joca?

To what unknown region? Thou art all trembling, fearful, and pensive. Now, what is become of thy former wit and humor? Thou shalt jest and be gay no more. Animum pictura pascit inani. This is sometimes applied in ridicule to dilettanti, or picture-fanciers.

Animum rege, qui, nisi paret, imperat. Animus furandi. Animus in pedes decidit. E: " There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;. Annus mirabilis. Ante barbam doces senes. Ante litem motam. Ante victoriam ne canas triumphum. Avpwre, og cart 7rvevla eal at a eovov. Quis scit an adjiciant hodiernae crastina summae Tempora Di superi?

Who knows whether the gods above will add, intend to add, to-morrow to the days already passed? GouGH is one of the few authors who uniformly use this word as an adjective, which it is; and never as a substantive, which it is not. From the Greek. Both of them are avvwrevdvvo' in the utmost degree. He is a slippery fellow. Aperto vivere voto. This sets a brother's heart on lire, And arms the son against the sire.

Appetito non vuol salse. Aprbs moi le deluge. AprBs perdre perd on bien. Airpoaectrv Epurov oevretpat lavtat. See "Ne sutor ultra crepidaim. The latter is so called because it will dissolve gold, which has been termed a royal metal. Aquam plorat, curn lavat, fundere. Aquellos son ricos, que tienen amigos. Aquila non mangla mosche.

Aquilam volare, delphinumn natare doce. Aranearum telas texere. Arbiter elegantiarum. Arcades ambo: Et cantare pares, et respondere parati. The quotation is applied, however, to disputants of another description, either to intimate that they are closely matched, or that they are playing, as the phrase is, into each other's hands.

Arcana imperil. Arcanum demens detegit ebrietas. Arcanum neque tu scrutaberis ullius unquam; Commissumque teges, et vino tortus et ira. Besides writing a man and his daughter who should have married him, into hanging themselves, he founded a colony, and then lampooned it; struck out a score of new metres, and, if we may judge by the diversity of the numerous but.

Arcum intensio frangit, anihmum remissio. This maxim properly adds that the mind will in time lose its powers, unless they are called into due activity. Arcus nimis intensus rumpitur. One of our poets has carried the idea still further. He speaks of " thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. The clear open space in the'center of the amphitheatre [a place in ancient Rome for the exhibition of public shows of combatants, wild beasts, and naval engagements] was called the arena, because it was covered with sand, or sawdust, to prevent the gladiators [men who fought with swords in the amphitheatre and other places, for the amusement of the Roman people] from slipping, and to absorb the blood.

Argent comptant. Instead of "argent comptant" we may use "comnptant" alone, just as some persons speak of "the ready. Argilla quidvis imitaberis uda. Argulnentum a particulari ad universale. Argumentuna ad absurdum. Argumentum ad judicium.

Argumentum ad verecundiam. Argumentum baculinum. Conviction per force, conviction enforced by drubbing. Aria di finestra colpo di balestra. On most occasions in common life it is most prudent to steer a middle course. Arma tenenti ocania dat, qui justa negat. Armati terram exercent, semperque recentes Convectare juvat praedas et vivere rapto. Ars est sine arte, cujus principium est mentiri, medium laborare, et finis mendicare. Asinus asino, sus sui pulcer, et suum cuique pulchrum.

Asperae facetlae, ubi nimis ex vero traxere, acrem sui me. Asperius nihil est humili cum surgit in altum. N" Nothing is more harsh than a low man, when raised to a certain height. Enough is as good as a feast. Assidua stilla saxum excavat. Quid mollius unda? Dura tamen molli saxa cavantur aqua. That is, "What is harder than stone?

Neque enim consistere flumen, Nec levis hora potest: sed ut unda impellitur unda, Urgeturque prior venienti, urgetque priorem, Tempora sic fugiunt pariter, pariterque sequuntur; Et nova sunt semper. Nam quod fuit ante, relictum est; Fitque quod haud fuerat: momentaque cuncta novantur. For none can stem by art, or stop by power, The flowing ocean, or the fleeting hour; But wave by wave pursued arrives on shore, And each impelled behind impels before: So time on time revolving we descry, So minutes follow, and so minutes fly.

Assistance oblig6e. Assisto divinis. CREECH, from whom better things might have been expected, most absurdly translated the expression, "I go to Church and pray:" thus raising ideas in the mind of the reader to which there was nothing correspondent in the religious services of Rome. Law term.

Astra regunt homines, sed regit astra Deus. Au contraire. Au jour la journee. Au plus debile la chandelle a la main. Auch weiber wussten zu schweigen. Audax omnia perpeti Gens humana ruit per vetitum et nefas. Aude aliquid brevibus Gyaris et carcere dignum Si vis esse aliquis. Probitas laudatur et alget.

Honesty is praised, but starves. A pamphlet was published some time ago with the title, " Whom shall we hang? Audentes fortuna juvat. Audi alteram partem. Audita querela. Law phrase. Augusta Trinobantum. Aujourd'hui roi, demain rien. Aula regia. This was the original of the present Court of King's Bench. Aum8nier du roi. See "AptUrov caerpoi. Our incomes should be like our shoes: if too small, they will gall and pinch us, but, if too large, they will cause us to stumble and to trip.

But wealth, after all, is a relative thing: since he that has little, and wants less, is richer than he that has much, but wants more. Auream quisquis mediocritatem Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda Sobrius aula.

I fancy a tiara [a hat with a large high crown, turban, diadem, crown] of light or a gleaming aureola in token of thy premature intellectual grandeur [greatness, gorgeousness]. Auzribus tenemus lupoum. We have got a powerful and ferocious beast in our clutches; which we have vainly tried to tame, and which we can neither conveniently hold nor safely let go. Aurora amlica musarum. The appearances of the Autrora come under four different descriptions.

Aurum omnes, victa pietate, colunt. Aurum per medios ire satellites, Et perrumpere amat saxa potentius Ictu fulmineo. Aurum potabile. The phrase is now applied to draughts of a different kind, such as are generally prescribed by orthodox ministers for the cure of political heresies. Auro pulsa fides, auro venalia jura, Aurum lex sequitur, mox sine lege pudor. Auspicium melioris aevi. Ausum eum, quae nemo auderet bonus: perfecisse quae a nullo nisi fortissimo perfici possent.

Aut amat, aut odit mulier; nil est tertlum. Aut Caesar, aut nullus. Aut Erasmi aut Diaboli. Aut navis, aut galerus. Aut nunquam tentes aut perfice [better, perficias]. Autobiographia literarla. Hallam and all the rest of us, Mr. Hallam's reason and philosophy might be skulking under a cassock, or flaming in an auto-daf.

An "auto-da-f6" was a judicial act of the Inquisition, or the judgment it gave in order to condemn those whom it thought worthy of punishment for having infringed religious laws. And also, "the execution of such judgments, or sentences, and particularly of those which condemned its victims to the flames.

From a Greek word, signifying self-moved, self-impelled. Auxilia humilia firma consensus facit. The most powerful coalitions will, on the contrary, moulder away from disunion. Avec de la vertu, de la capacit6, et une bonne conduite, on peut etre insupportable; les manibres, que l'on neglige comme de petites choses, sont souvent ce qui fait que les honrmes d6cident de vous en bien ou en mnal.

Aver la pera mondoa Ti. Avere su la punta della lingua. Avito viret honore. Avoir de la peine a joindre les deux bouts de l'an. To have nothing but one's labor for one's pains. A lady's maid in India. The Ayah has no innate taste for dressing, but can usually plait hair well, and contrives to fasten a hook, and to stick in a pin so that it shall soon come out again. She is often the wife of one of the khedmutgars [domestics, whose business in a full establishment is solely to lay the table, bring up the dinner, and wait during the mneal], and then the double wages make the service valuable to the worthy couple.

Frequently she is an Indo-Portuguese woman, and, though a sad and ugly drab, is in most respects superior to the Mussulman woman. Ayn wera macket Hera. Az dy bergen kealje, dan douset it wetter. Az ick wist dat myn himbd it wist, dan offere ick it oon't fjoer op. Baba Logue. Bata [ev, acZ2a p oda. Bal abonn6. Pan, or Ban, in the Slavonic dialect, means Lord.

Bande noire. Its lower part was commonly used as a prison. It was sometimes called the donjon-keep, or tower. Barba bagnata mezza rasa. See Mr. Words full of sound, but quite devoid of sense. Applied to bombast. Barbare loqui. A man who writes in a piebald, hybrid [mongrel] diction, or style, made up of German, French, and Latin, for instance, may be said to write barbare, while he who writes without composition or digestion, without due regard to composition or digestion of his subject, may be said to write incondite.

Basis virtutum constantia. Bastardus nullius est filius, aut filius populi. Baste pour cela. But beati pos. Its masters of the science of defense have always been excellent in their own behalf. Bed of justice. Celtic] being lost to them, the sense of this expression, "tun lit de justice," among others, is now out of memory; hence that barbarous pleonasm [redundancy, the use of more words to express ideas than are necessary], tenir une lit de justice [as if the lit here were derived from lectus, a bed, instead of loi, loit, lit, law]: to hold a law of justice, or a court of justice, that is, a court leet: not a bed of justice, unless for her taking a nap on it.

The ambiguity of the derivation is evident: the deception took its rise from the double construction of the Greek verb 2eyw, and the Latin word lectus; 2eyu, I say, gives origin to lego, Iread, legere; whence we have lex, law, because the law is accustomed to be read and studied: the supines of lego are lectum, lectu, and the participle passive lectus: but lectus also signifies a bed, from Reyo, Ilie down, whence we have;YeXoC, lectus, a bed, or couch: hence the barbarous pleonasm, and hideous ambiguity, are sufficiently manifest and plain.

They recognize no government but that of their own sheikh or superior. See " Sheikh. History informs us that when the jealousies between the houses of York and Lancaster had scarcely subsided at the union of the two Roses under IIENRY THE SEVENTH, that suspicious monarch instituted this company of beef-eaters, as his own body-guard, to attend him both abroad and at board, like the ancient dapifers [which see], that is, to go with him abroad, whenever he went from the palace; and to deck his table, and adorn his board, whenever he stayed at home: and even to this day, in their warrants, they are called table-deckers, that is, they were to place all the vessels belonging to the king's board, or were to be his ba'ffitiers [degenerated into beef-eaters], the French term for "side-board attendants, attendants at the side-board.

Bel paese. Bella gerant alii: tu, felix Austria, nube: Nam quae Mars aliis, dat tibi regna Venus. It is enough that the present emperor rules over more than thirty-five millions of subjects of all degrees of civilization and all modes of faith. Belles conversations A la derobte. Bellum lethale. Bellum nec timendum, nec provocandum. Bellum plus quam civile. Ben' ti voglio. Bene colligitur haec pueris et mulierculis et servis et servorum simillimis liberis esse grata: gravi vero homini et ea quae fiunt judicio certo ponderanti probari posse nullo modo.

Bene exeat. The sense of obligation is, however, not rarely a painful tie on the feeling mind. Benigno numine. Bien attaqu6, bien defendu. A promptitude in giving heightens a favor, which may be depreciated by delay. Eis est gratum, quod opus est, si ultro offeras. Bis vincit, qui se vincit in victoria. Bi;sogna fa trottar la vecchia. From the Latin. The Calends were the first day of the Roman month, on which day the people used anciently to be called together for particular purposes.

Much of this sarcasm on the national character of the Boeotians is no doubt to be ascribed to the malignant wit of their Attic neighbors. Patrick, "depends much on the climate where a man is born. The people of Boeotia were the most gross and clownish of all Greece, because of the thickness and fogginess of the air there. CICERO, in his book De Fato, says,'Athenis tenue coelum, ex quo acutiores etiam putantur Attici; crassum Thebis, itaque pingues Thebani et valentes;' that is,' The climate of Athens is pure, and the air serene; whence the inhabitants have quicker parts, and a more piercing apprehension, than the rest of the Gr:eeks.

The heaven, on the contrary, at Thebes, is thick and foggy, its inhabitants dull and of slow capacities. Bon avocat, mauvais voisin. Bon bourgeois. Boen gr6, mal gr6. Ben guet chasse real aventure. Bon naturel. Bon poete, mauvais homme. Bon soir. Bona fides. It must, however, be generally admitted that the "compunctious visitings" of human life are such as to outweigh its most valued enjoyments.

Bonarum rerum consuetudo pessima est. A penny saved is a penny got. Bonne renommee vaut mieux que ceinture dor6e. Bonus atque fidus judex per obstantes catervas explicat sua victor armna. Bos lassus fortius figit pedem. They superintend his gardens and palaces, and attend him on his aquatic excursions. They are expert in the use of the oar, and invariably row the Sultan's caique [a light bark, much used on the Bosphorus]. Our English word "burgess" is derived from "bourgeois. The term "Bourse" takes its origin from a Mr.

Vander Burse, whose house at Bruges was near the place where the merchants assembled for the transaction of business. He is termed the creator, or the grandfather of gods and men. Brahmuns [commonly written Brahmins]. Brevis esse laboro, obscurus fio. Quintilian tells us that Nimiums corripientes omnia sequitur obscuritas, that is, Obscurity of expression, or want of perspictuity, follows [is the necessary consequence, result, to] those writers who aime at too great conlciseness inl their compositions.

BptapEog oatverLat ev Rayog. Loden-brog [that is, he was surnamed Loth-brocus, on account of' the leather breeches his Majesty wore]; brog enii braccas, sive fenmoralia, nostra lingua denotat:" and SAMMES calls them his Jfr-leather breeches; because perhaps dressed with the fiur or hair on: brog, therefore, signifying femoralia, seems to have been contracted from bracca, quasi brog-ga; but now, brog, and brogue, appear so very much alike, that they seem to be one and the same.

A law which is neither respected nor obeyed. Buey viejo sulco derecho. The practice of making presents, either as a matter of compliment or in requital of service, is so very common in India and the East generally, that the natives lose no opportunity of asking for bukcshishz. In Egypt, perhaps more than anywhere else, the usage is a perfect nuisance.

The word "boxes," as applied to our Christmas gifts, has probably taken its origin in the Oriental term. The Oriental bulbul has prettier plumage than the Philomel of European groves, but does not boast so sweet a melody. They are either thatched or tiled. Bureau de conciliation. This new word is seldom employed except in conversation, in order to express the undue influence of the clerks in th'e administration.

Cabala, or rather Cabbala. It is never quoted alone, but always in combination with some othbr word, as in the two following instances. Cacoethes loquendi. Caco6thes scribendi. Cada gallo canta en su muladar. Cada hum folga com o seu igual. The French proverb is, Chacusn cherche son semblable. Cada uno en su casa, y Dios en la de todas. Cada uno sabe adonde la aprieta el capito.

Cahier des charges. Caisse d'amortissement. The poet would say: Instead of framing new words, I recommend to you any kind of artful management, by which you may be able to give a new air and cast to old ones. Slandei leaves a score behind it. Calumniari si quis voluerit, Quod arbores loquantur, non tantum ferae, Fictis jocari nos meminerit fabulis.

One of the highest officers of the Roman Court, who is always a cardinal: he is perpetual president of the Apostolic chambers, and administers the civil government when the see [of Rome, the Papacy] is vacant. Can scottato d'acqua calda ha paura, pot della fredda. It has been supposed to have arisen from an exclamation of some of the early Portuguese navigators, who, observing the desolation of the country, either cried out, or wrote on their maps, Aca-Nada, aca-Nada,'there is nothing here:' [nothing worth mentioning].

It has also been supposed to have taken its name from the Spanish Canada, a canal, from the shape of the country, forming the blank banks of the St. Lawrence; but the more received explanation is the Indian one, Canata, a collection of huts. Dundas defended the conduct of the police in driving back the canaille from the carriage-way, and suggested the use of a six-pounder on the next occasion of a similar demonstration.

An epigram describes this meek and lowly successor of the apostles as disdaining to associate with the ignoble inmates of heaven; it ends thus Diligat illa senem quondam, sed et ipsa marito, Tunc quoque cum fuerit, non videatur, anus. May she, when time has sunk him into years, Love her old man, and cherish his white hairs: Nor he perceive her charms through age decay, But think each happy sun his bridal day!

Dogs that bark at a distance bite not at hand. Cane vecchio non baia indarno. Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator. Compare OVID:"Sic timet insidias qui scit se ferre viator Cur timeat: tutum carpit inanis iter:" that is, "Thus does the rich traveler fear a surprise, an attack, while the one with empty pockets, the one who has naught to lose, pursues his journey in perfect safety.

It is divided into two sorts, namely: — Capias ad respondendum. He is compelled, when he should work, to remain utterly supine and inert, and to consume uselessly in prison the time and money which are the property of his creditors. By the Roman law a debtor was brought to his creditor bound in chains to work like a slave: by the wise English law he is entombed alive and debarred all power of exertion. The writ directs'capias ad satisfaciendum,' or, in the bailiff's very sensible translation,'take him for your satisfaction;' and this being done, no other satisfaction is by law required or expected.

In colloquial phrase, he may'snap his fingers' at all pecuniary demands, except those incurred within his prison-walls, and for the rest of his life sit with his arms crossed. With regard to estates and resources, beyond mere goods, chattels, and equipages, the present law, as we have seen, affords no power whatever. The conduct of those debtors, who possess means of payment, is quite optional. Persian and Turkish. The Capidgi-Bashzee are a higher class of officers, and are exclusively employed to use the bowstring.

Capitan Pasha. Captum te nidore suae putat ille culinae. Caput mortuum. Car tel est notre plaisir. It is now happily used only in an ironical sense to mark some act of despotic uthority. The plural is carbonari. In the wooded districts of the Abruzzi, a secluded and romantic region of Italy, the manufacture of charcoal goes on; and from the name of the charcoal-burners, the noted sect of the CARBONARI took their appellation, originating here and in Calabria.

Carebant quia vate sacro. But some high literary authority was wanted to record the change in lasting print; and, in the absence of such authority, no one of these words has been universally adopted, carebant quia vate sacro. A gentleman may be defined as a manc of unizmpeachable honor and gallantry, of dignijied carriage, spotless reputation, a high mind, liberal views, and a goodly education.

Caret periculo, qui etiam tutus cavet. From the Ital. A portrait made uglier than the natural figure. Carior est illis homo quam sibi. It might be expected of the Christian that he should feel at least as solemnly as the Roman satirist, C6arior est illis homo quan sibi.

Addressed by the poet to a woman, which accounts for " credula. If it be well to-day, it is madness to make the present miserable by fearing it may be ill to-morrow: when your belly. But if to-morrow you shall want, your sorrow will come time enough, though you do not hasten it: let your trouble tarry till its own day comes.

But if it chance to be ill to-day, do not increase it by the care of to-morrow. Enjoy the blessings of this day, if God send them, and the evils of it bear patiently and sweetly; for this day is only ours: we are dead to yesterday, and we are not yet born to the morrow. He, therefore, that enjoys the present if it be good, enjoys as much as possible; and if only that day's trouble leans upon him, it is singular and finite.

But if we look abroad, and bring into one day's thought the evil of many, certain and uncertain, what will be and what will never be, our load will be as intolerable as it is unreasonable. Life's troubles come never too late. If to hope overmuch be an error,'Tis one that the wise have preferred; And how often have hearts been in terror Of evils-that never occurred!

Half our troubles are half our invention, And often from blessings conferred Have we shrunk in the wild apprehension Of evils-that never occurred! Carte du pays. Hence cashier, to discard, dismiss from an office. This word must not be confounded with cashier, one who has charge of cash. Casta ad virum matrona parendo imperat. When she who rules still seems but to obey! The Hindoo religion divides the people into castes. Castrant alios, ut libros suos, per se graciles, alieno adipe suffarciant.

Casus belli. Catalogue raisonne. There is much communication between the shipping and the shore at Madras by means of these small craft. Cattiva e quella lana, che non si puo tingere, Ital. Caudae pilos equinae paulatim vellere. Causa latet, vis est notissima.

Cause c6lbre. In using the word "mZilvius" [a kite] in this passage, the poet alludes to a species of fish, living on prey, and sometimes, for the sake of obtaining food, darting up from the water like the flying-fish when pursued by its foe. Caval non morire, che erba de venire. Cave tibi cane muto et aqua silente. If a landlord gives an acquittance to his tenant for the rent which is last due, the presumption is that all rent in arrear has been duly discharged.

Caveat creditor. Cavendum est ne major poena, quam culpa, sit; et ne iisdem. C'est a dire. C'est le chemin des passions, qui m'a Conduit A la philosophie. C'est le fils de la poule blanche. C'est le refrain de la ballade. C'est la plus belle rose de son chapeau. GCest renouvee1 des Grecs. C'est un beau venez-y voir.

C'est un vrai bilboquet. C'est une bibliothbque renversee. C'est une grande habilete que de savoir cacher son habilet6. Ce monde est plein de fous, et qui n'en veut pas voir, Doit se renfermer seul, et casser son miroir. Ce que l'enfant oit au foyer est bientot connu jusqu'A Monstier. Ce qul fait qu'on n'est pas content de sa condition, c'est l'id6e chimr6rique que l'on se forme du bonheur d'autrui. Ce qu'on nomme liberalit6 n'est souvent que la vanit6 de donner, que nous aimons mieux que ce que nous donnons.

Cedant arma togae, concedat laurea linguae. Cedat, uti conviva satur. Cede Deo. Cede repugnanti, cedendo victor abibis. Cedite Romlani scriptores, cedite Graii. This is a quotation generally emnployed in an ironical sense.

Cedunt grammatici, vincuntur rhetores. Fr -" All that is very well, but I don't like it, or, but I must have my money. Celerius occidit festinata maturitas. Celui gouverne bien mal le miel, qui n'en goute, et ses doigts n'en leche. Celui-Ih est le mieux servi, qui n'a pas besoin de mettre les mains des autres au bout de ses bras. Celui peut hardiment nager a qui l'on soutient le menton.

Soumis avec respect a sa volonte sainte, Je crains Dieu, cher Abner, et n'ai point d'autre crainte. XENOPHON, in his Expedition of CYRus, about the middle of the sixth book, says, "As for those whose bodies could not be found, they erected a large cenotaph, with a great funeral pile, which they crowned with garlands.

Censure litt6raire. Cento carre di pensieri non pagheranno un'oncia di debito. Centuriae seniorum agitant expertia frugis: Celsi praetereunt austera podmata Ramnles, Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci, Lectorem delectando, pariterque monendo. That individual, however, has accomplished every thing, has carried every point, has gained universal applause, who has well blended the useful with the agree-able, amusing his reader at the same time that he instructs him.

Cernit omnia Dels vindex. Certum voto pete finem. Ces discours, il est vrai, sont fort beaux dans un livre. Cessante causa, cessat et effectus. Cessio bonorum. Cetera desunt. Chacun a sa manie, or, sa marotte. Chacun dit du bien de son coeur, et personne n'en ose dire de son esprit. Chacun porte sa croix. Champ clos. Changer son cheval borgne pour un aveugle. Chansons a boire. Chapeau bas. This, however, does not convey the correct meaning of the phrase, as a "chapelle ardente" means the funeral paraphernalia, or appendages surrounding the bier or a representation of it, either in the choir of a church, a private chapel, or an apartment, lighted up for the occasion with a great number of wax-lights.

Chaque nation doit se gouverner selon le besoin de ses affaires, et la conservation du blen publique. Chaque oiseau trouve son nid beau. This brings us to a class of newspapers, of which the Charivari may now be considered as the chief, a class reflecting little credit on the country, notwithstanding their cleverness. Their business is to laugh at everybml'ly, and turn enery thing into.

If a celebrated man has a foible or defect, mental or physical, they point it out; if a celebrated woman has been suspected of a faux pas, they dwell upon it. Woe to the advocate who professes a fondness for rural amusements, and shame upon the deputy who squints! Nor do they confine themselves to words — "Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus,"-[which see,] and their most biting insinuations are illustrated by caricatures.

The real or fancied resemblance of Louis Philippe's head to a pear was the discovery of Philipon, one of the illustrators of the Charivari, and gave the king more real annoyance than the attacks upon his life. Go where he would, this unlucky print haunted him; and it is thought that the famous laws of September, which extended to caricatures, were owing fully as much to the pear as to Fieschi.

Chat 6chaud6 craint l'eau froide. The French chdateau means any thing but a castle; and in a hundred instances for one to the contrary is little more than a large farm-house, gloomy as a dungeon, stuck upon the center of a huge field, naked of tree, shrub, or any other sign of the hand of man or the bounty of nature.

Chateaux en Espagne. Che nasce bella nasce maritata. The Italian is not correct: it should be, "Sara qual cihe sard. Chef d'ceuvre. Chef de cuisine. Chevalier d'industrie. A man who lives by ingenious and persevering fraud. Chevaux de frise. Chi compra ha bisogna di cent'occhi, chi vende n'ha assai di uno. Chi da gatta nasce, sorici piglia. Chi ha arte per tutto ha parte.

Chi non ha cervello, abbia gambe. Chi non ha cuore, abbia gambe. Chi non pub fare come voglia, faccia come pub. Chi non sa niente, non dubita di niente. Chi non s'arrischia non guadagna. To work for a dead horse, or goose. Chi parla B mandato in galera; chi scrive b impiccato; chi sta qu'eto va al santo uffizio. Chi pecora si fa ii lupo la mangia.

Chl sputa contra il vento si sputa contra il viso. Chi te fa pin carezze che non vuoi, o ingannato t'ha, o ingannar te vuole. Chi t'ha offeso non ti perdona mai. Chi tutto abbraccia, nulla stringa. Chi va a letto senza cena, tutta notte si dimena. Chi vive in corte, muore a paglia. It means a letter, an epistle, a missive, whether the same be short or long.

Chose qui plait efst a demi vendue. Xpecw ravr' edcMa4e rt d' ov Xpew Iev avevpo; Gr. XpratC aper7tg ev At reretw. Chronique scandaleuse. There is no other such fragment in Greek, Latin, or English. It has made SAPPIO a name of power among men, a point of solitary glory in our backward view, the gage and boundary-mark of woman's genius to the world's end.

To have shrouded the keenest appetite in the tenderest passion, and to have articulated the pulses of sensation in syllables that burn, and in a measure that breathes, and flutters, and swoons away,to have done this, is to have written these immortal verses. The identical words are of the essence of the work: flashing the soul of the poet upon the reader in a hue of its own, they are not to be spelled out as mere grammatical signs. They are as echoes of unseen and unheard strokes, drops from the heart.

YOU may render the sense, but you cannot translate the feeling: you cannot approach so near even as to PINDAR, who stands also aloof and inaccessible to modern touch: and all that ever yet has been done is little more than notice to the unlearned reader that some such thoughts, in some such order, were the production of a pagan poetess between two and three thousand years ago. Birds of a feather flock together. Citius usura currit quam Heraclitus. To borrow on usury brings sudden beggary.

Citius venit periculum cum contemnitur. Cito maturum cito putridum. Sic ludus animo debet aliquando dari, Ad cogitandum melior ut redeat tibi. In like manner ought relaxation to be sometimes, occasionally, given to the mind, in order that it may return better qualified for thinking, for the exercise of the thinking power, the reflective faculties, in order that it may resume study with more vigor, more vigorously.

Civium ardor prava jubentium. Hie disregarded both alike: his eye was fixed on immortality. Whether too fond of their peculiar taste, Or that they think their age may be disgraced, Should they, with awkward modesty, submit To younger judges in the cause of wit, Or own that it were best-provoking truth!

In age to unlearn the learning of their youth. You'd think no fools disgraced the former reign, Did not some grave examples yet remain, Who scorn a lad should teach his father skill, And, having once been wrong, will be so still. Clameur publique. The great works, then, so designated [the literary compositions of those whose works have come down to us in Greek and in Latin] have earned the above epithet, and conle recommended to the reverence of all mankind, solely in virtue of the scrupulous propriety of their language; and because they are fitted to serve as models of style to all succeeding generations.

The purity of their diction, and nothing else, has been their passport to immlortality. Clavis regni. WE use the word to signify "A gradation, conclusion, wind-up, finishing-stroke. Cobra capella. Some medical men assert that the bite of a cobra capella in full vigor, and in possession of all its poisonous qualities, is as surely fatal as a pistol-ball; and that it is only when this poison is weakened by expenditure that medicine can be of any avail.

Coepisti melius quam desinis: ultima primis Cedunt: dissimniles hic vir, et ille puer. Cogi qui potest, nescit mori. Cognovit actionem. Colubram sinu fovere. Such figures were first executed in Egypt, and were afterwards made by the Greeks and the Romans. Among the colossal statues of Greece, the most celebrated was the bronze colossus at Rhodes [the most easterly island of the Carpathian Sea], dedicated to the sun, the height of which was about ninety feet.

Coma vigil. Comedie larmoyante. Comes jucundus in via pro vehiculo est. Comite de Salut Public. A time set apart for conferring degrees publicly at the University of Cambridge. Then, placing both hands against the breast of the colossus, he cried in a despairing voice, "Is that thy all, O Sphinx? With spirit heavy as death, Es-siddeeh wrapped him in his cloak and laid him down to sleep between the paws. So for three moons he sat pondering: " Scarcely am I changed.

One day a young scribe of great beauty approached the Sphinx and in a low tone enquired: " What is the secret of thy smile, O Sphinx? It is very evident that, as with many persons of original mind, he scarcely recognised the full import of what he was at the time writing. Had he been acquainted with more scholars and had more experience of life he would have spoken with greater certainty. He would have also realised, too, I do not doubt, that his work was not so vain as it then appeared to him.

But he disappeared and none knows whither, since his parents never spoke of him again. I, taking up his work, have already carried it further, I think, than he had when he abandoned it. Nevertheless I, too, have ceased to labour at it and am come hither for the purpose thou knowest. Tell me now, how did you——". That night he did not sleep. The memory of Sa-adeh overcame him with tears. All his life passed in review. Never had his reverie seemed so bitter, his questioning so futile as on that midnight, yet toward dawn he suddenly stood up with a shout.

An immeasurable serenity flooded his being. The eyes, no longer lacking pupils, possessed sight, and from the smile had vanished all that he detested. A new porter, a garrulous and slipshod wastrel, had taken the place of the old. It appeared that nowadays the Princess had but few visitors despite the fact that she was acknowledged almost as beautiful as ever, albeit in a different style. Her temperament, he learned, was difficult, her wealth greater than ever.

After but short delay he found himself in the antechamber. He acquainted the damsel with his mission. Dismiss him. If I have learned nothing else in my life I have at least learned that my wisdom has no such enviable characteristics. Send him in.

Then she plied him with various questions concerning the value as an amulet of this or that precious stone, of the pedigree of famous horses, of music as an Emotional Sound or as an Architecture, and many other matters of a similar nature. Both fell silent. After her eyes had rested for some time upon his face in a musing fashion, she asked with a strange inflection, "What is love?

His eyes filled with tears. She gave him a curious look; then, moving her head, proceeded with an instant change of tone, "Well, what is the secret of the smile of the Sphinx? Suffice it to say that for nearly forty years I have been searching. At one time I came near losing my wits.

I was ruined. I repeat, I was ruined. I received wounds. I was captive. I was beaten. I escaped. I rose to power. I exploited all modes of living and fulfilling myself, but my experiments brought me no nearer the secret. I sat down beside her. For a long time I learned nothing—the smile seemed hardly less mysterious than it had ever been. Then—but you are not listening You must listen most carefully, so subtle is its sense; yet in its comprehension lies hid the whole secret of man's possible happiness.

There was a great stillness in the chamber. Es-siddeeh closed his eyes to concentrate his thought. Then, opening them, he began:. It is very difficult, but if all men would listen to me their lives would be easier. His lips trembled. He could hardly speak; at last with a great effort he said, "Now it comes— upon maintaining that smile, which is the sign of the power of her existence, all her energy is bent.

She did not tell me, but I found it written in my heart. For what is she? In the Sphinx, with her ravaged countenance and mutilated smile, I behold Life itself—Life in mysterious might, ignorant of its own origin, conscious only of its own beauty, couchant amid the wilderness of space and eternity. I somehow thought it was something more intimate. But how serious you look! Do not frown—I would not offend you for the world. Women always work by miracles and never know when they have performed one Excellent, you are smiling, though your smile is ambiguous.

Wise indeed the man who knows the bounds of what it is capable. When we are born the first thing we behold is a smile: the Nurse smiles at us, and in that smile we should read—were we then capable—the self-satisfaction of Nature, proud of her reproductive powers, who dandles us in her hands with the assurance that she knows what is best for us.

Ah, how universal is the smile! Think of the variety of smiles that exist. And that is at once its apparent cruelty and its final justification. On the blackness of Eternity it expands in a smile like a rainbow—a rainbow whose arch begins and ends, as rainbow arches do, uncertain where.

And this blossoming in Infinity justifies itself By the beauty of its smile. Therefore smile. Smile and be in harmony with—if not the spirit of the Universe for the unknown looking down from the Hill of Heaven upon the Rainbow may for all we know smile also, and on the import of that smile opinion may be divided , and be in harmony at least with the beauty of that fragment of the Universe which, if we do not wholly comprehend, we can at least worship and imitate But you are yawning.

Until we are resolved—as the drops of the rainbow are resolved after refracting supernal colours. Yet as a raindrop glitters, ere it evaporate upon the flower and be again who knows? As indeed I, whose stormy aerial passage is nearly over, shall do till I attain to mine.

For what commoner solace do we hear than that ' he died with a smile upon his face '? Such a smile may each have at his passing! How happy our friends will be to see it, how confounded our enemies! How comforted, too, the philosophers, who will not fail to perceive in it the reflection of whatever faith they hold: the ineffable joy of one whose beatified wings even now mingle with the wings of other spirits in divine assumption; the satisfaction of the racked, whom never again the torturers Joy and Sorrow will wake from endless sleep; the profound irony of one who never expected his pleasures to last for ever; and the disdain, too proud to curve itself in a full sneer, of one who opposes to the silent smile of the unknown a smile yet more silent!

It is unnecessary; all this amounts to that you wish to marry me, and the announcement that you have earned the right to do so, but I should inform you that since you were last here a gentleman, who as a matter of fact once occupied a position menial enough but of importance in this household, has by signal honesty and perseverance arrived at a position where—well, in fact, to put it shortly, I have formed another attachment.

How dare you? But I saw directly you entered this room that you had long ago forgotten what true love is. Your long 32 absence from me bears it witness. Who, may I ask, is now the object of your affections? The Princess shrieked and at the sound he bent upon her such a smile as in memory effectually prevented her ever mentioning the Sphinx and its secrets again to anyone.

While yet afar off he was puzzled beholding a mountain range arisen in the wilderness. As he drew nearer he recognised it for the Sphinx. If during his thirty years' wanderings she had appeared to increase in size, to what dimensions had she not attained during his brief absence! The vapours of the desert, rising about her, had collected upon her shoulders in a strata of billowy cloud, and her head, unimaginably exalted, had now reached such an altitude that the features were almost indistinguishable in the blaze of the sun.

Night had fallen by the time that he stood within the canyon of her breasts. For a little he rested his head upon the rock. A great weariness descended upon him. Physical infirmity, the inevitable sequel of all he had suffered in body and in soul, now made him its prey. His mind and spirit, however, remained keen and unquenchable as ever. He wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down. At midnight he awoke. For the first time the Sphinx, speaking in a voice of more than mortal tenderness, had made utterance without being addressed, "Art thou returned, my lover?

Fewer still have arrived where thou hast arrived, while yet possessing the eye not wholly dimmed and the tongue not altogether palsied. One thing, however, thou hast kept from me—the seal that is on thy heart. Nor would I—for it was that which first brought me hither to scan thy face and to read thy riddle. Yet what care I? Thy jealousy is a measure of my reward; for though I have discovered thy secret in general, yet it is a secret which no man perhaps will ever fathom in all particulars.

Happy the hero who attains as far as I, happier yet he who can gaze unwinkingly upon thee as I do now, and hourly fathom something further! Then was it that for Es-siddeeh the body and the face of the Sphinx achieved a final apotheosis. Her limbs throbbed with a deep and terrible 33 energy. From her breast issued an all embracing warmth similar to that of the earth. Her breathing became distinct as an august and stupendous rhythm resembling the ascent and descent of waters from firmament to firmament.

Her cheeks flushed with a youthful elation. Into her eyes arose an immense light fixed upon unforetold futurities, and all her face, so worn and beautiful, became more ravaged and even more beautiful—for the very deepening scars, wasting and remoulding the features, gradually resolved the visage into an ethereal harmony hitherto unknown. Around her head, entangling in its mesh the nearer planets, there wreathed itself an enormous halo, iridescent as that which encircles the frosty moon.

Her whole being exuded a supreme lustre until she became one living and colossal crystal which distributed in refraction all the colours of the rainbow and which palpitated with powers unguessed. And to Es-siddeeh, who beheld her through the tears of one who momentarily expects to be parted, the spectra and the palpitance appeared in triple. A band of Arabs, journeying across the desert, found him, when dawn came, lying between the paws of the giant—dead, more cold than the stone which surrounded him and which now began to kindle in the morning rays.

Though there had been no dew, his garments were deluged as with the falling of an immense tear. Upon his face there lingered a fixed smile, and, gazing upward, they beheld its double in the sunlit face of the familiar Sphinx. Here ends the story of the Smile of the Sphinx.

Mayest thou also learn its secret. IN and after , when I was in the habit of walking from the northwest of London towards Whitehall, I met several times, driven slowly homewards, a victoria which contained a strange pair in whose appearance I took a violent interest.

The man, prematurely ageing, was hirsute, rugged, satyr-like, gazing vivaciously to left and right; this was George Henry Lewes. His companion was a large, thick-set sybil, dreamy and immobile, whose massive features, somewhat grim when seen in profile, were incongruously bordered by a hat, always in the height of the Paris fashion, which in those days commonly included an immense ostrich feather; this was George Eliot.

The contrast between the solemnity of the face and the frivolity of the head-gear had something pathetic and provincial about it. All this I mention, for what trifling value it may have, as a purely external impression, since I never had the honour of speaking to the lady or to Lewes. We had, my wife and I, common friends in the gifted family of Simcox—Edith Simcox who wrote ingeniously and learnedly under the pen-name of H.

Lawrenny being an intimate in the household at the Priory. Thither, indeed, I was vaguely invited, by word of mouth, to make my appearance one Sunday, George Eliot having read some pages of mine with indulgence. But I was shy, and yet should probably have obeyed the summons but for an event which nobody foresaw. Cross, as she had then become. It was chilly in the concert-room, and I watched George Eliot, in manifest discomfort, drawing up and tightening round her shoulders a white wool shawl.

Four days later she was dead, and I was sorry that I had never made my bow to her. Her death caused a great sensation, for she had ruled the wide and flourishing province of English prose fiction for ten years, since the death of Dickens. Though she had a vast company of competitors, she did not suffer through that period from the rivalry of one writer of her own class.

Gaskell, the case might have been different, for George Eliot had neither the passion of Jane Eyre nor the perfection of Cranford , but they were gone before we lost Dickens, and so was Thackeray, who died while Romola was appearing. Charles Kingsley, whose Westward Ho! Charles Reade, whose It is Never Too Late to Mend had been her harbinger, scarcely maintained his position as her rival.

Anthony Trollope, excellent craftsman as he was, remained persistently and sensibly at a lower intellectual level. Hence the field was free for George Eliot, who, without haste or hesitation, 35 built up slowly such a reputation as no one in her own time could approach. The gay world, which forgets everything, has forgotten what a solemn, what a portentous thing was the contemporary fame of George Eliot. It was supported by the serious thinkers of the day, by the people who despised mere novels, but regarded her writings as contributions to philosophical literature.

On the solitary occasion when I sat in company with Herbert Spencer on the committee of the London Library he expressed a strong objection to the purchase of fiction, and wished that for the London Library no novels should be bought, "except, of course, those of George Eliot. People who started controversies about "evolutionism,"—a favourite Victorian pastime,—bowed low at the mention of her name, and her own sound good sense alone prevented her from being made the object of a sort of priggish idolatry.

A big-wig of that day remarked that "in problems of life and thought which baffled Shakespeare her touch was unfailing. If Sophocles or Cervantes had lived in the light of our culture, if Dante had prospered like Manzoni, George Eliot might have had a rival.

A reaction is sure to follow, and in the case of this novelist, so modest and strenuous herself, but so ridiculously overpraised by her friends, it came with remarkable celerity. The worship of an intellectual circle of admirers, reverberating upon a dazzled and genuinely interested public, was not, however, even in its palmiest days, quite unanimous. There were other strains of thought and feeling making way, and other prophets were abroad.

Robert Browning, though an optimist, and too polite a man to oppose George Eliot publicly, was impatient of her oracular manner. There was a struggle, not much perceived on the surface of the reviews, between her faithful worshippers and the new school of writers vaguely called preraphaelite.

She loved Matthew Arnold's poetry, and in that, as in so much else, she was wiser and more clairvoyant than most of the people who surrounded her, but Arnold presented an attitude of reserve with regard to her later novels. She found nothing to praise or to attract her interest in the books of George Meredith; on the other hand, Coventry Patmore, with his customary amusing violence, voted her novels "sensational and improper.

Rossetti they were "vulgarity personified," and his brother defined them as "commonplace tempering the stuck-up. Her early imaginative writings—in particular Janet's Repentance , Adam Bede , the first two-thirds of The Mill on the Floss , and much of Silas Marner —had a freshness, a bright vitality, which, if she could have kept it burnished, would have preserved her from all effects of contemporary want of sympathy. When we analyse the charm of the stories just mentioned, we find that it consists very largely in their felicity of expressed reminiscence.

There is little evidence in them of the inventive faculty, but a great deal of the reproductive. Now, we have to remember that contemporaries are quite in the dark as to matters about which, after the publication of memoirs and correspondence and recollections, later readers are exactly informed. Samuel Evans photographed, but readers of did not know that, and were at liberty to conceive the unknown magician in the act of calling up a noble English gentleman and a saintly Methodist preacher from the depths of her inner consciousness.

Whether this was so or not would not matter to anyone, if George Eliot could have continued the act of pictorial reproduction without flagging. The world would have long gazed with pleasure into the camera obscura of Warwickshire, as she reeled off one dark picture after another, but unhappily she was not contented with her success, and she aimed at things beyond her reach. Her failure, which was, after all let us not exaggerate , the partial and accidental failure of a great genius, began when she turned from passive acts of memory to a strenuous exercise of intellect.

If we had time and space, it would be very interesting to study George Eliot's attitude towards that mighty woman, the full-bosomed caryatid of romantic literature, who had by a few years preceded her. When George Eliot was at the outset of her own literary career, which as we know was much belated, George Sand had already bewitched and thrilled and scandalised Europe for a generation.

The impact of the Frenchwoman's mind on that of her English contemporary produced sparks or flashes of starry enthusiasm. George Eliot, in , was "bowing before George Sand in eternal gratitude to that great power of God manifested in her," and her praise of the French peasant-idyls was unbounded.

But when she herself began to write novels she grew to be less and less in sympathy with the French romantic school. But George Eliot, whatever may have been her preliminary enthusiasms, 37 was radically and permanently anti-romantic. This was the source of her strength and of her weakness; this, carefully examined, explains the soaring and the sinking of her fame. Unlike George Sand, she kept to the facts; she found that all her power quitted her at once if she dealt with imaginary events and the clash of ideal passions.

She had been drawn in her youth to sincere admiration of the Indianas and Lelias of her florid French contemporary, and we become aware that in the humdrum years at Coventry, when the surroundings of her own life were arduous and dusty, she felt a longing to spread her wings and fly up and out to some dim Cloud-Cuckoo Land the confines of which were utterly vague to her. The romantic method of Dumas, for instance, and even of Walter Scott, appealed to her as a mode of escaping to dreamland from the flatness and vulgarity of life under the "miserable reign of Mammon.

What was fabulous, what was artificial, did not so much strike her with disgust as render her paralysed. Her only escape from mediocrity, she found, was to give a philosophical interest to common themes. In consequence, as she advanced in life, and came more under the influence of George Henry Lewes, she became less and less well disposed towards the French fiction of her day, rejecting even Balzac, to whom she seems, strangely enough, to have preferred Lessing.

That Lessing and Balzac should be names pronounced in relation itself throws a light on the temper of the speaker. Most novelists seem to have begun to tell stories almost as early as musicians begin to trifle with the piano. The child keeps other children awake, after nurse has gone about her business, by reeling off inventions in the dark.

But George Eliot showed, so far as records inform us, no such aptitude in infancy or even in early youth. The history of her start as a novel-writer is worthy of study. It appears that it was not until the autumn of that she, "in a dreamy mood," fancied herself writing a story.

This was, I gather, immediately on her return from Germany, where she had been touring about with Lewes, with whom she had now been living for two years. Lewes said to her, "You have wit, description, and philosophy—those go a good way towards the production of a novel," and he encouraged her to write about the virtues and vices of the clergy, as she had observed them at Griff and at Coventry.

Amos Barton was the immediate result, and the stately line of stories which was to close in Daniel Deronda twenty years later was started on its brilliant career. But what of the author? She was a storm-tried matron of thirty-seven, who had sub-edited the Westminster Review , who had spent years in translating Strauss's Life of Jesus and had sunk exhausted in a still more strenuous wrestling with the Tractatus Theologico-Politicus of Spinoza, who had worked with Delarive at Experimental Physics in Geneva, and who had censured, as superficial, John Stuart Mill's treatment of Whewell's Moral Philosophy.

This heavily-built Miss Marian Evans, now dubiously known 38 as Mrs. Lewes, whose features at that time are familiar to us by the admirable paintings and drawings of Sir Frederick Burton, was in training to be a social reformer, a moral philosopher, an apostle of the creed of Christendom, an anti-theological professor, anything in the world rather than a writer of idle tales.

But the tales proved to be a hundred-fold more attractive to the general public than articles upon taxation or translations from German sceptics. We all must allow that at last, however tardily and surprisingly, George Eliot had discovered her true vocation. Let us consider in what capacity she entered this field of fiction. She entered it as an observer of life more diligent and more meticulous perhaps than any other living person. She entered it also with a store of emotional experience and with a richness of moral sensibility which were almost as unique.

She had strong ethical prejudices, and a wealth of recollected examples by which she could justify them. Her memory was accurate, minute, and well-arranged, and she had always enjoyed retrospection and encouraged herself in the cultivation of it. She was very sympathetic, very tolerant, and although she had lived in the very Temple of Priggishness with her Brays and her Hennells and her Sibrees, she remained singularly simple and unaffected.

Rather sad, one pictures her in , rather dreamy, burdened with an excess of purely intellectual preoccupation, wandering over Europe consumed by a constant, but unconfessed, nostalgia for her own country, coming back to it with a sense that the Avon was lovelier than the Arno. Suddenly, in that "dreamy mood," there comes over her a desire to build up again the homes of her childhood, to forget all about Rousseau and experimental physics, and to reconstruct the "dear old quaintnesses" of the Arbury of twenty-five years before.

If we wish to see what it was which this mature philosopher and earnest critic of behaviour had to produce for the surprise of her readers, we may examine the description of the farm at Donnithorne in Adam Bede. The solemn lady, who might seem such a terror to ill-doers, had yet a packet of the most delicious fondants in the pocket of her bombazine gown. The names of these sweetmeats, which were of a flavour and a texture delicious to the tongue, might be Mrs.

Poyser or Lizzie Jerome or the sisters Dodson, but they all came from the Warwickshire factory at Griff, and they were all manufactured with the sugar and spice of memory. So long as George Eliot lived in the past, and extracted her honey from those wonderful cottage gardens which fill her early pages with their colour and their odour, the solidity and weight of her intellectual methods in other fields did not interfere, or interfered in a negligible way, with the power and intensity of the entertainment she offered.

We could wish for nothing better. English literature has, of their own class, nothing better to offer than certain chapters of Adam Bede or than the beginning of The Mill on the Floss. But, from the first, if we now examine coldly and inquisitively, there was a moth sleeping in George Eliot's rich attire. This moth was pedantry, the 39 result doubtless of too much erudition encouraging a natural tendency in her mind, which as we have seen was acquisitive rather than inventive.

It was unfortunate for her genius that after her early enthusiasm for French culture she turned to Germany and became, in measure, like so many powerful minds of her generation, Teutonised. This fostered the very tendencies which it was desirable to eradicate.

One can but speculate what would have been the result on her genius of a little more Paris and a little less Berlin. There could not be a stronger or more instructive contrast than between the elegant fairy-land of the one and the robust realism of the other. But our admirable pastoral writer, whose inward eye was stored with the harmonies and humours of Shakespeare's country, was not content with her mastery of the past.

She looked forward to a literature of the future. She trusted to her brain rather than to those tired servants, her senses, and more and more her soul was invaded by the ambition to invent a new thing, the scientific novel, dealing with the growth of institutions and the analysis of individual character. The critics of her own time were satisfied that she had done this, and that she had founded the psychological novel.

There was much to be said in favour of such an opinion. In the later books it is an undeniable fact that George Eliot displays a certain sense of the inevitable progress of life which was new. It may seem paradoxical to see the peculiar characteristics of Zola or of Mr. George Moore in Middlemarch , but there is much to be said for the view that George Eliot was the direct forerunner of those naturalistic novelists.

Like them, she sees life as an organism, or even as a progress. George Eliot in her contemplation of the human beings she invents is a traveller, who is provided with a map. No Norman church or ivied ruin takes her by surprise, because she has seen that it was bound to come, and recognises it when it does come. Death, the final railway station, is ever in her mind; she sees it on her map, and gathers her property around her to be ready when the train shall stop.

This psychological clairvoyance gives her a great power when she does not abuse it, but unfortunately from the very first there was in her a tendency, partly consequent on her mental training, but also not a little on her natural constitution, to dwell in a hard and pedagogic manner on it. She was not content to please, she must explain and teach as well. Her comparative failure to please made its definite appearance first in the laboured and overcharged romance of Romola.

But a careful reader will detect it in her earliest writings. Quite early in Amos Barton , for instance, when Mrs. Hackit observes of the local colliers that they "passed their time in doing nothing but swilling ale and smoking, like the beasts that perish," the author immediately spoils this delightful remark by explaining, like a schoolmaster, that Mrs. Hackit was "speaking, we may 40 presume, in a remotely analogical sense.

Useless pedantry of this kind spoils many a happy touch of humour, Mrs. Poyser alone perhaps having wholly escaped from it. It would be entirely unjust to accuse George Eliot, at all events until near the end of her life, of intellectual pride.

She was, on the contrary, of a very humble spirit, timorous and susceptible of discouragement. But her humility made her work all the harder at her task of subtle philosophical analysis. It would have been far better for her if she had possessed less of the tenacity of Herbert Spencer and more of the recklessness of George Sand.

An amusing but painful example of her Sisyphus temper, always rolling the stone uphill with groans and sweat, is to be found in her own account of the way she "crammed up" for the composition of Romola. She tells us of the wasting toil with which she worked up innumerable facts about Florence, and in particular how she laboured long over the terrible question whether Easter could have been "retarded" in the year On this, Sir Leslie Stephen—one of her best critics, and one of the most indulgent—aptly queries, "What would have become of Ivanhoe if Scott had bothered himself about the possible retardation of Easter?

The answer, indeed, is obvious, that Ivanhoe would not have been written. The effect of all this on George Eliot's achievement was what must always occur when an intellect which is purely acquisitive and distributive insists on doing work that is appropriate only to imagination. If we read very carefully the scene preceding Savanarola's sermon to the Dominicans at San Marco, we perceive that it is built up almost in Flaubert's manner, but without Flaubert's magic, touch by touch, out of books.

The author does not see what she describes in a sort of luminous hallucination, but she dresses up in language of her own what she has carefully read in Burlamacchi or in Villari. The most conscientious labour, expended by the most powerful brain, is incapable of producing an illusion of life by these means.

George Eliot may even possibly have been conscious of this, for she speaks again and again, not of writing with ecstasy of tears and laughter, as Dickens did, but of falling into "a state of so much wretchedness in attempting to concentrate my thoughts on the construction of my novel" that nothing but a tremendous and sustained effort of the will carried her on at all. In this vain and terrible wrestling with incongruous elements she wore out her strength and her joy, and it is heart-rending to watch so noble a genius and so lofty a character as hers wasted in the whirlpool.

One fears that a sense of obscure failure added to her tortures, and one is tempted to see a touch of autobiography in the melancholy of Mrs. Transome in Felix Holt , of whom we are told that "her knowledge and accomplishments had become as valueless as old-fashioned stucco ornaments, of which the substance was never worth anything, while the form is no longer to the taste of any living mortal. The notion that George Eliot was herself, in spite of all the laudation showered upon her, consciously in want of some element essential for her 41 success is supported by the very curious fact that from to , that is to say through nearly one quarter of her whole literary career, she devoted herself entirely to various experiments in verse.

She was so preternaturally intelligent that there is nothing unlikely in the supposition that she realised what was her chief want as a writer of imaginative prose. She claims, and she will always be justified in claiming, a place in the splendid roll of prominent English writers. But she holds it in spite of a certain drawback which forbids her from ever appearing in the front rank as a great writer.

Her prose has fine qualities of force and wit, it is pictorial and persuasive, but it misses one prime but rather subtle merit, it never sings. The masters of the finest English are those who have received the admonition Cantate Domino! They sing a new song unto the Lord. Among George Eliot's prose contemporaries there were several who obeyed this command.

Ruskin, for instance, above all the Victorian prose-writers, shouts like the morning-star. It is the peculiar gift of all great prosaists. Take so rough an executant as Hazlitt: "Harmer Hill stooped with all its pines, to listen to a poet, as he passed! I do not question that she felt the lack herself, and that it was this which, subconsciously, led her to make a profound study of the art of verse.

She hoped, at the age of forty-four, to hammer herself into poetry by dint of sheer labour and will-power. She read the great masters, and she analysed them in the light of prosodical manuals. In she told Tennyson that Professor Sylvester's "laws for verse-making had been useful to her.

Sylvester was a facetious mathematician who undertook to teach the art of poetry in so many lessons. George Eliot humbly working away at Sylvester, and telling Tennyson that she was finding him "useful," and Tennyson, whose melodies pursued him, like bees in pursuit of a bee-master, expressing a gruff good-natured scepticism—what a picture it raises! But George Eliot persisted, with that astounding firmness of application which she had, and she produced quite a large body of various verse.

She wrote a Comtist tragedy, The Spanish Gypsy , of which I must speak softly, since, omnivorous as I am, I have never been able to swallow it. But she wrote many other things, epics and sonnets and dialogues and the rest of them, which are not so hard to read. She actually printed privately for her friends two little garlands, Agatha and Brother and Sister , which are the only "rare issues" of hers sought after by collectors, for she was not given to bibliographical curiosity.

These verses and many others she polished and re-wrote with untiring assiduity, and in she published a substantial volume of them. I have been reading them over again, in the intense wish to be pleased with them, but it is impossible—the root of the matter is not in them.

There is an Arion , which is stately in the manner of Marvell. The end of this lyric is tense and decisive, but there is the radical 42 absence of song. In the long piece called A College Breakfast Party , which she wrote in , almost all Tennyson's faults are reconstructed on the plan of the Chinese tailor who carefully imitates the rents in the English coat he is to copy. There is a Goethe-like poem, of a gnomic order, called Self and Life , stuffed with valuable thoughts as a turkey is stuffed with chestnuts.

And it is all so earnest and so intellectual, and it does so much credit to Sylvester. After long consideration, I have come to the conclusion that the following sonnet, from Brother and Sister , is the best piece of sustained poetry that George Eliot achieved. It deals with the pathetic and beautiful relations which existed between her and her elder brother Isaac, the Tom Tulliver of The Mill on the Floss :.

At last George Eliot seems to have felt that she could never hope, with all her intellect, to catch the unconsidered music which God lavishes on the idle linnet and the frivolous chaffinch. She returned to her own strenuous business of building up the psychological novel. She wrote Middlemarch , which appeared periodically throughout and as a book early the following year. It was received with great enthusiasm, as marking the return of a popular favourite who had been absent for several years.

Middlemarch is the history of three parallel lives of women, who "with dim lights and tangled circumstances tried to shape their thought and deed in noble agreement," although "to common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency and formlessness. Theresas, as their creator conceived them, were Dorothea, Rosamond, and Mary, and they "shaped the thought and deed" of Casaubon and Ladislaw and Fred Vincy. Middlemarch is constructed with unfaltering power, and the picture of commonplace English country life which it gives is vivacious after a mechanical fashion, but all the charm of the early stories has evaporated, and has left behind it merely a residuum of unimaginative satire.

The novel is a very remarkable instance of elaborate mental resources misapplied, and genius revolving, with tremendous machinery, like some great water-wheel, while no water is flowing underneath it. But her inner circle of admirers was beginning to ask one another uneasily whether her method was not now too calculated, her effects too plainly premeditated.

The intensity of her early works was gone. Readers began to resent her pedantry, her elaboration of allusions, her loss of simplicity. They missed the vivid rural scenes and the flashes of delicious humour which had starred the serious pages of Adam Bede and The Mill like the lemon-yellow pansies and potentillas on a dark Welsh moor.

Then came Theophrastus Such , a collection of cumbrous and didactic essays which defy perusal; and finally, soon after her death, her Correspondence , a terrible disappointment to all her admirers, and a blow from which even the worship of Lord Acton never recovered. It was the fatal error of George Eliot, so admirable, so elevated, so disinterested, that for the last ten years of her brief literary life she did practically nothing but lay heavy loads on literature. On the whole, then, it is not possible to regard the place which George Eliot holds in English literature as so prominent a one as was rather rashly awarded her by her infatuated contemporaries.

It is the inevitable result of "tall talk" about Dante and Goethe that the figure so unduly magnified fails to support such comparisons when the perspective is lengthened. George Eliot is unduly neglected now, but it is the revenge of time on her for the praise expended upon her works in her life-time. Another matter which militates against her fame to-day is her strenuous solemnity.

One of the philosophers who knelt at the footsteps of her throne said that she was "the emblem of a generation distracted between the intense need of believing and the difficulty of belief. Perhaps another generation will follow us which will be more patient, and students yet unborn will read her gladly.

Let us never forget, however, that she worked with all her heart in a spirit of perfect honesty, that she brought a vast intelligence to the service of literature, and that she aimed from first to last at the loftiest goal of intellectual ambition. Where she failed, it was principally from an inborn lack of charm, not from anything ignoble or impure in her mental disposition.

After all, to have added to the slender body of English fiction seven novels the names of which are known to every cultivated person is not to have failed, but to have signally, if only relatively, succeeded. We see a corner of it through our eyes. A man will march down a street with a crowd, or watch the politicians' cabs turning into Palace Yard, or make speeches, or stand on the deck of a scurrying destroyer in the North Sea, or mount guard in a Mesopotamian desert.

A minute section of the greater panorama passes before him. In imagination he will, according to his information and his habit of mind, visualise what he sees as a part of what he does not see: the human conflict over five continents, climates and clothes, multitudes, passions, voices, states, soldiers, negotiations.

Each newspaper that he opens swarms with a confusion of events and argument, of names familiar and unfamiliar—Wilson, Geddes, Czecho-Slovakia, Yudenitch, Shantung, and ten thousand more. For the eye there is a medley, for the ear a great din. As far as he can, busy with his daily pursuits, a man usually ignores it when it does not intrude to disturb him. When most unsettled, the life of the world is most fatiguing. The spectacle is formless and without a centre; the characters rise and fall, conspicuous one day, forgotten the next.

The newspapers mechanically repeat that we are at the greatest crisis of history, and that "a great drama is being unrolled. But we are in the wood and cannot see it as we see the French Revolution. It is difficult, even with the strongest effort of imagination, to visualise the process as history will record it.

To pick out those episodes and those persons that will haunt the imagination of posterity by their colour and force is more difficult still. An event, contemporaneously, is an event; a man is a man who eats, drinks, wears collars, makes speeches, bandies words with others, and is photographed for the newspapers. Yet we know that a time will come when these years will be seen in far retrospect as the years of Elizabeth or of Robespierre are now. The judgments of the political scientist and the historian will be made: these men will arrange their sequences and their scales of importance.

They will deduce effects and measure out praise and blame. With them we are not concerned. But others beyond them will look at our time. We shall have left our legacy for the imagination. What will it be? Who of contemporary figures may we guess as likely to be the heroes of plays and the subjects of poems?

Which of the multitudinous events of these years will give a stock subject to Tragedy? Which of the men whom we praise or abuse will seem to posterity larger than human, and go with gestures across their stages, clad in an antique fashion?

For to that age we shall be strange; whether our mechanical 45 arts have died and left us to haunt the memory of our posterity as a race of unquiet demons, or whether "progress" along our lines shall have continued, none of our trappings will have remained the same. But the soul of man will have remained the same. Those elements in events and persons which fascinate and stimulate us when we are looking at our past will stir them when they brood on their past, which is our to-day.

And neither contemporary reputation, nor worldly position, nor conquests in themselves, nor saintliness in itself, can secure for a man a continued life in the imagination of the race. Contemplate our own past in the light of this conception. Who are the men of whom poets and playwrights and story-tellers have made fictions and songs?

William Wilberforce was a very good man, but his deeds and his name have survived his personality, and he will not be the hero of an epic. The Thirty Years' War was a long and very devastating war; Gustavus and Wallenstein, in their degree, survive the purposeless series of its disasters; and of all its events that which most vividly lives in the memory is the small thing with which it began: the flinging of two noblemen from a tower.

What is it in things and men that gives them permanently the power of stirring the imagination and the curiosity of the artist? A quality of splendour and of power that grows more certain when the dust that was its receptacle has gone to dust. The artist who shall succeed with a historical personage may make whatever implicit or even explicit commentary he likes, but in choosing his subject—or being chosen by it—moral judgment or scientific estimate will not influence him.

He will be the victim of an attraction beyond the will and beyond the reason. Consider who are the figures that truly, imperatively, live in the political story of the past. The Crusades, as a whole, were a great poem, but few of the Crusaders won more than an ephemeral name in art. The great age of historic Greece passed and left imperishable monuments, "one nation making worth a nation's pain," but how few of her soldiers and philosophers recur to the creative imagination!

Those stories and figures from history and pre-history which do so recur are a strangely assorted collection. The Trojan War and its leading personages are a fascination and an inspiration perennially, and among those personages Helen, Hector, Achilles, Ulysses; but not Paris or the sons of Atreus, who live but as appendages.

Coldly arguing, men may ask now as 46 they asked then, why the Greeks should take so much trouble to recover a worthless woman, why a Hector should die to keep her, why ten thousand should perish in such a cause. But to the imagination Hector, Achilles, Helen, the divine unreason of that ten years' war, make an appeal that never comes from worthier struggles and wiser people. That is true also of Antony and Cleopatra: their story to the historian and the moralist is one of ruinous folly, to the poet a.

The figure of St. Francis has been created and recreated in art; like those of Nero, Philip II. With the mythical who are but names we can do what we will; Lear and Hamlet Shakespeare could cast in the sublimest mould; with the historical we are tied by the historical, and few are great enough to come through the sieve.

Poets have attempted and failed to make great characters of Becket, of Wolsey, of Strafford, and Charles I. The material was not there. But Carlyle's two heroes were no true heroes for an artist; we are too uncertain about Cromwell's inner man, his direction; for all his battles he could cast no colour over his surroundings; and as for Frederick there was no tragedy about him—that was left for his neighbours.

A great Cromwell, in one sense, would be an invented Cromwell; and we cannot invent a Cromwell because of the documents. But Philip II. He had a virtue in excess. There was a touch of sublimity about him. The setting counts for much; monarchs are on pinnacles. But where is Philip IV. Where even, as against the man he beat, is William the Silent, who waged a great fight against odds and died by the dagger; but was a cool Whig, excessive in nothing but self-control?

He is scarcely alive; but Satan, as Milton saw him, reigns in hell. We must have splendour of a sort. The normal man loves a conflagration, though he will lend a hand in putting it out; and if he is putting it out the inmost heart of him will rejoice if it be a large fire and there are very few firemen.

Vivid force, moral or non-moral, must be there; a Borgia, though he be as wicked as a Nero, cannot compete with him before the imagination; he was commonplace and sordid and there is no response to him. How, from this point of view, will the last five years, crowded and full of strife, look when we are the materials for art? Will the decline of Turkey command interest?

To the historian, not to the poet, so not, ultimately, to the generality of mankind. There is no emergence there of the human spirit at an exalted pitch; very new and surprising things must come out about Enver if he is to rank with the great adventurers of the stage.

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