Wealth richer than both the Indies lies for every man, if he will endure. Not his oaks only and his fruit-trees, his very heart roots itself wherever he may abide--roots itself, draws nourishment from the deep fountains of universal being.
The position of the beds which constitute the coal-measures is infinitely diverse. Sometimes they are tilted up vertically, sometimes they are horizontal, sometimes curved into great basins; sometimes they come to the surface, sometimes they are covered up by thousands of feet of rock. But, whatever then-present position, there is abundant and conclusive evidence that every under-clay was once a surface soil. Not only do carbonized root-fibres frequently abound in these under-clays; but the stools of trees, the trunks of which are broken off and confounded with the bed of coal, have been repeatedly found passing into radiating roots, still embedded in the under-clay. On many parts of the coast of England, what are commonly known as "submarine forests" are to be seen at low water. They consist, for the most part, of short stools of oak, beech, and fir-trees, still fixed by their long roots in the bed of blue clay in which they originally grew. If one of these submarine forest beds should be gradually depressed and covered up by new deposits, it would present just the same characters as an under-clay of the coal, if the _Sigillaria_ and _Lepidodendron_ of the ancient world were substituted for the oak, or the beech, of our own times.
From their common feature of a substructure of brushwood and logs built up from the bottom, the crannogs have been classed as fascine-dwellings, to distinguish them from the typical pile-dwellings of the earlier periods in Switzerland, whose platforms are supported by piles driven into the bed of the lake. The crannog of Cloonfinlough in Connaught had a triple stockade of oak piles, connected by horizontal stretchers and enclosing an area 130 ft. in diameter, laid with trunks of oak trees. In the crannog of Lagore, county Meath, there were about 150 cartloads of bones, chiefly of oxen, deer, sheep and swine, the refuse of the food of the occupants. In the crannog of Lisnacroghera, county Antrim, iron swords, with sheaths of thin bronze ornamented with scrolls characteristic of the Late Celtic style, iron daggers, an iron spear-head 16½ in. in length, and pieces of what are called large caldrons of iron, were found. Among the few remains of lacustrine settlements in England and Wales, some are suggestive of the typical crannog structure. The most important of these is the Glastonbury lake village, excavated by Mr A. Bulleid and Mr St George Gray. It consists of more than sixty separate dwellings, grouped within a triangular palisaded defence, formed in the midst of a marsh now partially reclaimed. The dwellings were circular, from 18 to 35 ft. in diameter, the substructure formed of logs and brushwood mingled with stones and clay, and outlined by piles driven into the bottom of the shallow lake. The walls of the houses seem to have been made of wattle-work, supported by posts sometimes not more than a single foot apart. The floors are of clay, with a hearth of stones in the centre, often showing several renewals over the original. The relics recovered show unmistakably that the occupation must be dated within the Iron Age, but probably pre-Roman, as no evidence of contact with Roman civilization has been discovered. The stage of civilization indicated is nevertheless not a low one. Besides the implements and weapons of iron there are fibulae and brooches of bronze, weaving combs and spindle-whorls, a bronze mirror and tweezers, wheel-made pottery as well as hand-made, ornamented with Late Celtic patterns, a bowl of thin bronze decorated with bosses, the nave of a wooden wheel with holes for twelve spokes, and a dug-out canoe. Another site in Holderness, Yorkshire, examined by Mr Boynton in 1881, yielded evidence of fascine construction, with suggestions of occupation in the latter part of the Bronze Age. Similar indications are adduced by Professor Boyd Dawkins from the site on Barton Mere. On the other hand, the implements and weapons found in the Scottish and Irish crannogs are usually of iron, or, if objects of bronze and stone are found, they are commonly such as were in use in the Iron Age. Crannogs are frequently referred to in the Irish annals. Under the year 848 the _Annals of the Four Masters_ record the burning of the island of Lough Gabhor (the crannog of Lagore), and the same stronghold is noticed as again destroyed by the Danes in 933. Under the year 1246 it is recorded that Turlough O'Connor made his escape from the crannog of Lough Leisi, and drowned his keepers. Many other entries occur in the succeeding centuries. In the register of the privy council of Scotland, April 14, 1608, it is ordered that "the haill houssis of defence, strongholds, and _crannokis_ in the Yllis (the western isles) pertaining to Angus M'Conneill of Dunnyvaig and Hector M'Cloyne of Dowart sal be delyverit to His Majestie." Judging from the historical evidence of their late continuance, and from the character of the relics found in them, the crannogs may be included among the latest prehistoric strongholds, reaching their greatest development in early historic times, and surviving through the middle ages. In Ireland, Sir William Wilde has assigned their range approximately to the period between the 9th and 16th centuries; while Dr Munro holds that the vast majority of them, both in Ireland and in Scotland, were not only inhabited, but constructed during the Iron Age, and that their period of greatest development was as far posterior to Roman civilization as that of the Swiss _Pfahlbauten_ was anterior to it. (See LAKE DWELLINGS.) Entry: CRANNOG
A sentence of Quintilian expresses the feeling of reverence for his genius and character, mixed with distaste for his rude workmanship, with which the Romans of the early empire regarded him: "Let us revere Ennius as we revere the sacred groves, hallowed by antiquity, whose massive and venerable oak trees are not so remarkable for beauty as for the religious awe which they inspire" (_Inst. or._ x. 1. 88). Entry: A
_Chief Public Buildings_.--The castle stands near the shore at the head of the bay. Begun in 1666 its usefulness as a fortress has long ceased, but it serves to link the city to its past. West of the castle is a large oblong space, the Parade Ground. A little farther west, at the foot of the central jetty is a statue of Van Riebeek, the first governor of the Cape. In a line with the jetty is Adderley Street, and its continuation Government Avenue. Adderley Street and the avenue make one straight road a mile long, and at its end are "the Gardens," as the suburbs built on the rising ground leading to Table Mountain are called. The avenue itself is fully half a mile long and is lined on either side with fine oak trees. In Adderley Street are the customs house and railway station, the Standard bank, the general post and telegraph offices, with a tower 120 ft. high, and the Dutch Reformed church. The church dates from 1699 and is the oldest church in South Africa. Of the original building only the clock tower (sent from Holland in 1727) remains. Government Avenue contains, on the east side, the Houses of Parliament, government house, a modernized Dutch building, and the Jewish synagogue; on the west side are the Anglican cathedral and grammar schools, the public library, botanic gardens, the museum and South African college. Many of these buildings are of considerable architectural merit, the material chiefly used in their construction being granite from the Paarl and red brick. The botanic gardens cover 14 acres, contain over 8000 varieties of trees and plants, and afford a magnificent view of Table Mountain and its companion heights. In the gardens, in front of the library is a statue of Sir George Grey, governor of the Cape from 1854 to 1861. The most valuable portion of the library is the 5000 volumes presented by Sir George Grey. In Queen Victoria Street, which runs along the west side of the gardens, are the Cape University buildings (begun in 1906), the law courts, City club and Huguenot memorial hall. The Anglican cathedral, begun in 1901 to replace an unpretentious building on the same site, is dedicated to St George. It lies between the library and St George's Street, in which are the chief newspaper offices, and premises of the wholesale merchants. West of St George's Street is Greenmarket Square, the centre of the town during the Dutch period. From the balcony of the town house, which overlooks the square, proclamations were read to the burghers, summoned to the spot by the ringing of the bell in the small-domed tower. Still farther west, in Riebeek Square, is the old slave market, now used as a church and school for coloured people. Entry: CAPE
Leaving the haven-side, he turn'd his steps Into a rugged path, which over hills Mantled with trees led him to the abode By Pallas mention'd of his noble friend The swine-herd, who of all Ulysses' train Watch'd with most diligence his rural stores. Him sitting in the vestibule he found Of his own airy lodge commodious, built Amidst a level lawn. That structure neat Eumæus, in the absence of his Lord, Had raised, himself, with stones from quarries hewn, Unaided by Laertes or the Queen. With tangled thorns he fenced it safe around, And with contiguous stakes riv'n from the trunks Of solid oak black-grain'd hemm'd it without. Twelve penns he made within, all side by side, Lairs for his swine, and fast-immured in each Lay fifty pregnant females on the floor. The males all slept without, less num'rous far, Thinn'd by the princely wooers at their feasts Continual, for to them he ever sent The fattest of his saginated charge. Three hundred, still, and sixty brawns remained. Four mastiffs in adjoining kennels lay, Resembling wild-beasts nourish'd at the board Of the illustrious steward of the styes. Himself sat fitting sandals to his feet, Carved from a stain'd ox-hide. Four hinds he kept, Now busied here and there; three in the penns Were occupied; meantime, the fourth had sought The city, whither, for the suitors' use, With no good will, but by constraint, he drove A boar, that, sacrificing to the Gods, Th' imperious guests might on his flesh regale.
Traversing the long and matted gallery, I descended the slippery steps of oak; then I gained the hall: I halted there a minute; I looked at some pictures on the walls (one, I remember, represented a grim man in a cuirass, and one a lady with powdered hair and a pearl necklace), at a bronze lamp pendent from the ceiling, at a great clock whose case was of oak curiously carved, and ebon black with time and rubbing. Everything appeared very stately and imposing to me; but then I was so little accustomed to grandeur. The hall-door, which was half of glass, stood open; I stepped over the threshold. It was a fine autumn morning; the early sun shone serenely on embrowned groves and still green fields; advancing on to the lawn, I looked up and surveyed the front of the mansion. It was three storeys high, of proportions not vast, though considerable: a gentleman's manor-house, not a nobleman's seat: battlements round the top gave it a picturesque look. Its grey front stood out well from the background of a rookery, whose cawing tenants were now on the wing: they flew over the lawn and grounds to alight in a great meadow, from which these were separated by a sunk fence, and where an array of mighty old thorn trees, strong, knotty, and broad as oaks, at once explained the etymology of the mansion's designation. Farther off were hills: not so lofty as those round Lowood, nor so craggy, nor so like barriers of separation from the living world; but yet quiet and lonely hills enough, and seeming to embrace Thornfield with a seclusion I had not expected to find existent so near the stirring locality of Millcote. A little hamlet, whose roofs were blent with trees, straggled up the side of one of these hills; the church of the district stood nearer Thornfield: its old tower-top looked over a knoll between the house and gates.
She said, and held her peace. Aeneas went Sad from the cave, and full of discontent, Unknowing whom the sacred Sibyl meant. Achates, the companion of his breast, Goes grieving by his side, with equal cares oppress'd. Walking, they talk'd, and fruitlessly divin'd What friend the priestess by those words design'd. But soon they found an object to deplore: Misenus lay extended on the shore; Son of the God of Winds: none so renown'd The warrior trumpet in the field to sound; With breathing brass to kindle fierce alarms, And rouse to dare their fate in honorable arms. He serv'd great Hector, and was ever near, Not with his trumpet only, but his spear. But by Pelides' arms when Hector fell, He chose Aeneas; and he chose as well. Swoln with applause, and aiming still at more, He now provokes the sea gods from the shore; With envy Triton heard the martial sound, And the bold champion, for his challenge, drown'd; Then cast his mangled carcass on the strand: The gazing crowd around the body stand. All weep; but most Aeneas mourns his fate, And hastens to perform the funeral state. In altar-wise, a stately pile they rear; The basis broad below, and top advanc'd in air. An ancient wood, fit for the work design'd, (The shady covert of the salvage kind,) The Trojans found: the sounding ax is plied; Firs, pines, and pitch trees, and the tow'ring pride Of forest ashes, feel the fatal stroke, And piercing wedges cleave the stubborn oak. Huge trunks of trees, fell'd from the steepy crown Of the bare mountains, roll with ruin down. Arm'd like the rest the Trojan prince appears, And by his pious labor urges theirs.
"Now peals of shouts come thund'ring from afar, Cries, threats, and loud laments, and mingled war: The noise approaches, tho' our palace stood Aloof from streets, encompass'd with a wood. Louder, and yet more loud, I hear th' alarms Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms. Fear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay, But mount the terrace, thence the town survey, And hearken what the frightful sounds convey. Thus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne, Crackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn; Or deluges, descending on the plains, Sweep o'er the yellow year, destroy the pains Of lab'ring oxen and the peasant's gains; Unroot the forest oaks, and bear away Flocks, folds, and trees, and undistinguish'd prey: The shepherd climbs the cliff, and sees from far The wasteful ravage of the wat'ry war. Then Hector's faith was manifestly clear'd, And Grecian frauds in open light appear'd. The palace of Deiphobus ascends In smoky flames, and catches on his friends. Ucalegon burns next: the seas are bright With splendor not their own, and shine with Trojan light. New clamors and new clangors now arise, The sound of trumpets mix'd with fighting cries. With frenzy seiz'd, I run to meet th' alarms, Resolv'd on death, resolv'd to die in arms, But first to gather friends, with them t' oppose (If fortune favor'd) and repel the foes; Spurr'd by my courage, by my country fir'd, With sense of honor and revenge inspir'd.
Antilochus! Thou art, I know, beloved By Jove and Neptune both, from whom, though young Thou hast received knowledge of every art Equestrian, and hast little need to learn. Thou know'st already how to trim the goal With nicest skill, yet wondrous slow of foot Thy coursers are, whence evil may ensue. But though their steeds be swifter, I account Thee wise, at least, as they. Now is the time For counsel, furnish now thy mind with all Precaution, that the prize escape thee not. The feller of huge trees by skill prevails More than by strength; by skill the pilot guides His flying bark rock'd by tempestuous winds, And more by skill than speed the race is won. But he who in his chariot and his steeds Trusts only, wanders here and wanders there Unsteady, while his coursers loosely rein'd Roam wide the field; not so the charioteer Of sound intelligence; he though he drive Inferior steeds, looks ever to the goal Which close he clips, not ignorant to check His coursers at the first but with tight rein Ruling his own, and watching those before. Now mark; I will describe so plain the goal That thou shalt know it surely. A dry stump Extant above the ground an ell in height Stands yonder; either oak it is, or pine More likely, which the weather least impairs. Two stones, both white, flank it on either hand. The way is narrow there, but smooth the course On both sides. It is either, as I think, A monument of one long since deceased, Or was, perchance, in ancient days design'd, As now by Peleus' mighty son, a goal. That mark in view, thy steeds and chariot push Near to it as thou may'st; then, in thy seat Inclining gently to the left, prick smart Thy right-hand horse challenging him aloud, And give him rein; but let thy left-hand horse Bear on the goal so closely, that the nave And felly of thy wheel may seem to meet. Yet fear to strike the stone, lest foul disgrace Of broken chariot and of crippled steeds Ensue, and thou become the public jest. My boy beloved! use caution; for if once Thou turn the goal at speed, no man thenceforth Shall reach, or if he reach, shall pass thee by, Although Arion in thy rear he drove Adrastus' rapid horse of race divine, Or those, Troy's boast, bred by Laomedon.
TOM dodged hither and thither through lanes until he was well out of the track of returning scholars, and then fell into a moody jog. He crossed a small "branch" two or three times, because of a prevailing juvenile superstition that to cross water baffled pursuit. Half an hour later he was disappearing behind the Douglas mansion on the summit of Cardiff Hill, and the school-house was hardly distinguishable away off in the valley behind him. He entered a dense wood, picked his pathless way to the centre of it, and sat down on a mossy spot under a spreading oak. There was not even a zephyr stirring; the dead noonday heat had even stilled the songs of the birds; nature lay in a trance that was broken by no sound but the occasional far-off hammering of a wood-pecker, and this seemed to render the pervading silence and sense of loneliness the more profound. The boy's soul was steeped in melancholy; his feelings were in happy accord with his surroundings. He sat long with his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, meditating. It seemed to him that life was but a trouble, at best, and he more than half envied Jimmy Hodges, so lately released; it must be very peaceful, he thought, to lie and slumber and dream forever and ever, with the wind whispering through the trees and caressing the grass and the flowers over the grave, and nothing to bother and grieve about, ever any more. If he only had a clean Sunday-school record he could be willing to go, and be done with it all. Now as to this girl. What had he done? Nothing. He had meant the best in the world, and been treated like a dog--like a very dog. She would be sorry some day--maybe when it was too late. Ah, if he could only die _temporarily_!
Betwixt young Pallas and his aged sire, The Trojan pass'd, the city to survey, And pleasing talk beguil'd the tedious way. The stranger cast around his curious eyes, New objects viewing still, with new surprise; With greedy joy enquires of various things, And acts and monuments of ancient kings. Then thus the founder of the Roman tow'rs: "These woods were first the seat of sylvan pow'rs, Of Nymphs and Fauns, and salvage men, who took Their birth from trunks of trees and stubborn oak. Nor laws they knew, nor manners, nor the care Of lab'ring oxen, or the shining share, Nor arts of gain, nor what they gain'd to spare. Their exercise the chase; the running flood Supplied their thirst, the trees supplied their food. Then Saturn came, who fled the pow'r of Jove, Robb'd of his realms, and banish'd from above. The men, dispers'd on hills, to towns he brought, And laws ordain'd, and civil customs taught, And Latium call'd the land where safe he lay From his unduteous son, and his usurping sway. With his mild empire, peace and plenty came; And hence the golden times deriv'd their name. A more degenerate and discolor'd age Succeeded this, with avarice and rage. Th' Ausonians then, and bold Sicanians came; And Saturn's empire often chang'd the name. Then kings, gigantic Tybris, and the rest, With arbitrary sway the land oppress'd: For Tiber's flood was Albula before, Till, from the tyrant's fate, his name it bore. I last arriv'd, driv'n from my native home By fortune's pow'r, and fate's resistless doom. Long toss'd on seas, I sought this happy land, Warn'd by my mother nymph, and call'd by Heav'n's command."
So saying, he call'd anew their sorrow forth, And rosy-palm'd Aurora found them all Mourning afresh the pitiable dead. Then royal Agamemnon call'd abroad Mules and mule-drivers from the tents in haste To gather wood. Uprose a valiant man, Friend of the virtuous Chief Idomeneus, Meriones, who led them to the task. They, bearing each in hand his sharpen'd axe And twisted cord, thence journey'd forth, the mules Driving before them; much uneven space They measured, hill and dale, right onward now, And now circuitous; but at the groves Arrived at length, of Ida fountain-fed, Their keen-edged axes to the towering oaks Dispatchful they applied; down fell the trees With crash sonorous. Splitting, next, the trunks, They bound them on the mules; they, with firm hoofs The hill-side stamping, through the thickets rush'd Desirous of the plain. Each man his log (For so the armor-bearer of the King Of Crete, Meriones, had them enjoin'd) Bore after them, and each his burthen cast Down on the beach regular, where a tomb Of ample size Achilles for his friend Patroclus had, and for himself, design'd.
44:14. He hath cut down cedars, taken the holm, and the oak that stood among the trees of the forest: he hath planted the pine tree, which the rain hath nourished.
At the edge of the road stood an oak. Probably ten times the age of the birches that formed the forest, it was ten times as thick and twice as tall as they. It was an enormous tree, its girth twice as great as a man could embrace, and evidently long ago some of its branches had been broken off and its bark scarred. With its huge ungainly limbs sprawling unsymmetrically, and its gnarled hands and fingers, it stood an aged, stern, and scornful monster among the smiling birch trees. Only the dead-looking evergreen firs dotted about in the forest, and this oak, refused to yield to the charm of spring or notice either the spring or the sunshine.
They sprang away, stumbling over roots and among vines in the dark, no two plunging in the same direction. A furious blast roared through the trees, making everything sing as it went. One blinding flash after another came, and peal on peal of deafening thunder. And now a drenching rain poured down and the rising hurricane drove it in sheets along the ground. The boys cried out to each other, but the roaring wind and the booming thunderblasts drowned their voices utterly. However, one by one they straggled in at last and took shelter under the tent, cold, scared, and streaming with water; but to have company in misery seemed something to be grateful for. They could not talk, the old sail flapped so furiously, even if the other noises would have allowed them. The tempest rose higher and higher, and presently the sail tore loose from its fastenings and went winging away on the blast. The boys seized each others' hands and fled, with many tumblings and bruises, to the shelter of a great oak that stood upon the riverbank. Now the battle was at its highest. Under the ceaseless conflagration of lightning that flamed in the skies, everything below stood out in cleancut and shadowless distinctness: the bending trees, the billowy river, white with foam, the driving spray of spumeflakes, the dim outlines of the high bluffs on the other side, glimpsed through the drifting cloudrack and the slanting veil of rain. Every little while some giant tree yielded the fight and fell crashing through the younger growth; and the unflagging thunderpeals came now in ear-splitting explosive bursts, keen and sharp, and unspeakably appalling. The storm culminated in one matchless effort that seemed likely to tear the island to pieces, burn it up, drown it to the treetops, blow it away, and deafen every creature in it, all at one and the same moment. It was a wild night for homeless young heads to be out in.