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PATHWAY OF THE FAWN. The Pathway of the ...
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Whateley On The English Language. A Sele...
— fsmGB ^ ltelicimittefaria . To all we cominentHhw volume . It may be read in an evening , and will afford matter for years of afterthought . It is arranged in groups of Adverbs , Pronouns , and Particles ; Verbs , Adjectives , Nouiis . In the first group we have such words as which and that , while and thouff h , discriminated . Among the verbs , we find such as" TO PTTZZI . E , PEBPXEX , EMBAHBASS . " We are ' puzzled * when our intellectual faculties are confused , and we cannot comprehend what is proposed to us : We are ' perplexed' when the feelings and will are brought into play as well as the intellect , and we are at a loss what to decide or how to act . We are ' embarrassed' by some hindrance or difficulty
which impedes our powers of thought , speech , or aption . This need not necessarily be an intellectual hinderance ; it is generally either of a kind which affects the feelings , as timidity or bashfulness , or a material obstacle which hampers us , such as an impediment in the speech . A schoolboy is ' puzzled' with a difficult sum : a riddle puzzles those who try to guess it : we are ' perplexed' by the subtleties of a casuist , or in the midst of conflicting opinions : a rustic is ' embarrassed' in the presence of his superiors , or a traveller when trying to speak a foreign language he knows but imperfectly . It is the characteristic of embarrassment to take away our presence of mind . "
" to distinguish , discriminate . "' To distinguish' is merely to mark broad and obvious differences ; to discriminate 'is to notice minuter and more subtle differences . The generality of people can ' distinguish' colour ; but many who possess the faculty to a certain point do not readily * discriminate' between the nicer shades . An ignorant man ^ candistinguishr ^ rrosefrom ^ . lily : only a botanist can discriminate between the Varieties most closely allied and nearly resembling . The faculty of distinguishing belongs to every one whose intellect is above that of a child or a brute : it is only those who are skilled or well informed in any-particular department who can discriminate clearly . "
The great difficulties to foreigners , Scotchmen , and Irishmen , of " shall" and " will , " are thus cleared up : — " These two verbs have undergone curious alterations . In very old English , > shall' indicated simple futurity , and ' will' intention . «• At the time bur Bible translation was made , the language in this respect was in a state of transition ; in some cases , the two verbs were used in the old sense , while in others they were applied nearly in our modern acceptation . For instance : in 2 Kings , we read , ' Ahab shall slay me , ' and in Galatians v ., ' Walk in the spirit and ye shall not fulfil the lusts of of the flesh . '
" In both these sentences , ' will' would be used in modern English ; and in many others a misapprehension of the real meaning of the sacred writers is induced by a forgetfulness of this difference . But then , again , in John xvi . 2 , we have , * Whosoever killeth you will think that he doeth God service' : * will' is here employed exactly as it would be in modern English . " It is difficult to define intelligibly to a foreigner the modern use of these two words , though throughout the whole of England no misuse of them can be
observed , even among the lowest of the people . But in Ireland they are constantly reversed , and in Scotland ' will' is used improperly , though * shall' is not . "In our modern use of these verbs , we have curiously divided the persons of each . ' I will , you shall , he shall , ' denotes a futurity connected with the will of the speaker : while , * I shall , you will , he will , ' implies a futurity unconnected with the speaker ' s resolve . For instance , we should say , * I will go , you shall go , he shall go '—but * I shall die , you will die , he will die . '
" We always say , ' I shall attain such an age next birthday ' : if will * were substituted , it would imply a power of voluntarily determining our age . * You shall have some money to-morrow' implies ' I will procure it for you . ' ' You will have it , ' indicates an expectation quite independent of the speaker ' s intentions . When , however , will is emphatic , so that one would write it underscored , or in italics , as denoting resolute determination , it has the same sense in all three persons ; as , for instance , — I [ or you , or he ] will take this course whatever may be said to the contrary / The . opposite to ' will' in
this sense , is , not ' shall , but ' muBt '; as , 'I for you , or he ] must submit to this , however unwillingly . ' " There are some cases in which cither ' shall' or will' might be used , but in which the meaning would be modified according to the word employed . % n answering a request , * I will' indicates compliance ; 'I shall' would convey an intention of doing the thing asked , quite independently of any wish to gratify the asker . ' I shall go , ' indicates Bimplo futurity— ' I will go , ' both futurity and a determined intention . ' I shall go , ' in a case where we are determined , expresses therefore less than wo mean : and we sometimes use this form of understating our . moaning *—or what the Greeks called
-Eironeia—to-express very Birong TfiBolnfaon . Hence the common expressions , I shall do no such thing ^ 4 He won't make me do | so / which are often used to convey the strongest idea of determination , and , therefore , at first sight , appear exceptions to the rules here laid , down . "' . Here is a group of words in constant use :- *¦ - . ¦' <* SIliLT , FOOLISH , ABSTJBD , WEAK , 8 TTTPID , SIMPLE , DULL . "' Silly' is most commonly applied to words , writings , manners , or character ; ? foolish' to actions . We speak of a ' silly'book , a ' silly - ' -speech-,- * - ' silly manner ; but seldom of taking a ' silly' step , committing a ' silly' action ; in these last cases , we use the word ' foolish / ' Silly' very frequently , though not always , implies deficiency of intellect or feebleness of character ; ' foolish / an abuse of intellect . A ' foolish' man is one who does not make use of the sense he possesses . More of blame is implied in the word « ' foolish *; more of contempt in silly / " ' Weak' implies some moral deficiency ; a , weak man is one who either wants sufficient firmness to maintain his principles , or wants clearness of moral sense to perceive distinctly what is right . " ' Absurd / applied to an action , implies something laughable . An absurd person is one who commits ridiculous acts of folly . " « Stupid' is used merely to express a lumpish , heavy , cloudy perception of everything , proceeding from a want of intellect . It is entirely a negative quality . " ¦ ' Bull' is not quite the same ; it implies slowness , but not necessarily deficiency of intellect . A boy who is slow and dull in learning may , nevertheless , be not wanting in sense , and may be able to understand a subject well , when once he has mastered ^ tsTdifficultiesr 7 ™ " Simple / when it is applied to an act of folly , implies a want of quicksightedness—of what the French call savoir faire , springing either from natural -deficiency or want of experience . The French bonhomie and the Greek Euethes are used to signify the same thing . " We have said enough and cited enough to pique curiosity , and with that we leave the book j adding , that although we consider it very ingenious and often indisputable , thereare , nevertheless , many pages we should question , were we not restricted iu our space .
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Pathway Of The Fawn. The Pathway Of The ...
PATHWAY OF THE FAWN . The Pathway of the Fawn . A Tale of the New Year . By Mra . T . K . Hervey . Office of the National Illustrated Library . The charmed reader of this book had better y ield himself unhesitatingly to its influence , without suffering criticism to interfere , for it is a book which has an undefinable " something" we cannot resist , though ,, we feel that it will not bear analytical criticism . The story is not probable ; the characters have an ideal turn which aids the sense of remoteness suggested by story , scene , and treatment . Yet there is a " keeping" and poetical
congruity about them which arrest attention , and act like a charm . The truth is , although written in prose , the book must be regarded somewhat in the light of a poem . The conception is poetical , the treatment poetical , the language—and that is a fault—often rises into the rhythm of verse , as if its tendency to quit the unsymmetrical restraints of pros * were irresistible . In fact , we wish Mrs . Hervey had given way to the poetic impulse , and thrown prose aside altogether . Why not tell the story in verse , when verse would better tell the Btory ?
Mrs . Hervey ' s purpose—i . e ., the moral underlying her romantic story—seems to be this : — However vicious impulses of Self may distort our actions , there lives for ever within us a godlike principle of rectification—a Conscience , which may be reached through the mysterious avenues of the affections , and one way of passing through these avenues is by Art . Wilhelm von Fern has caused his brother ' s death , and dispossessed the widow ' s son of the
inheritance by bringing up his daughter as a boy . She ( the supposed boy ) discovers her relations , learns the truth of the whole story , and flies from home , moved by the hope of bringing her father back from the criminal path he has entered on . Her cousin , the Sculptor , teaches her his Art , and with this power she sets to work . Into her father ' s gallery she conveys the marble images of his victims : —
" The solitary man within looked drearily round . It seemed , indeed , as if each several statue were once again endued with life , as the gliding shadows swept the pedestal ' s foot , crept over the plinth , flowed along the room , noiseless as air . But the thought disturbed him no more . Imagination was dead ; life a blank . Phantoms might come and go , now . His
« tml could be darkened by no shadow , was no more light ! Absorbed by his _ reveries , he saw not the figure of Bertha , as , opening the dopr noiselessly , she stole into the room , taking her pla ce among the sculptures . Neither did he discern the forms Of Ernst and Johanna , standing dark within the doorway . Stricken as he seemed in . soul arid sense , in life and reason , how the heart of his chiiji throbbed as she gazed upon him ! Dreading a too sudden recognition , she yet longed to throw herself at his feet . Powerless to move , she became almost as rigid as the marble forms by which she was surrounded . She fixed her eyes upon his face , striving to drawfrom him one encouraging look . In vain . He looked up ,
but only took her for another phantom—one vision the more of all that had long haunted him in the dim chamber of his unrest . Seated in that antique chair , behold him once again . Back through the silent years his visions bear him on . Gentler visions are they to-night , tender and less terrible ! Around that very chair , in days gone by , achild—a sprite- —a fau T form , bright as the morn and sinless as theday—sported beneath his eye . He sees it now as then he saw it , but it eludes his grasp . He sinks back powerless . It is gone ! His arm hangs listlessly over the chair . Suddenly he feels his fingers caught . On their enclosed palm soft kisses are pressed * Climbing his knee , light limbs
spring upward with a bound , ana rounaea arms are circling his neck . Childhood ' s lips are pressed to his ; oh , breath than violets sweeter ! The rack that rides his heart moves his uneasy limbs . He rocks to and fro , and the antique chair creaks with the crazy motion . No rest—no rest ! The action , renews the dream . The clinging arms relax . It is childhood's hour of sleep . The fragile form his stronger arms entwine ; the little weary head falls sideway on his neck . ; the azure eyes are veiled beneath their drowsy lids . Motherless ^ but not-forlornr she-sleepsr-upon- ^ his bosom sleeps ; and , beating time with rocking bound , he sings a low , wild nursery song , to the music ^ of his for ! Beside
heart and hers ! Oh , days ever gone an airy lute he sees her next , wearing the day down with the twilight of sweet song—some melody mournful as the dying day . He knows youth ' s passion for the sorrowful , and smiles . Her beaming glance meets his . His smile is multiplied on her sweet cheek ; eye , mouth , and . dimpled cheek , are running o ' er with mirth . Her ringing laugh sounds like merry bells in breezeless evening hour—no sigh to steal its sweetness from the ear . Oh , musicjiushed for aye ! He hears with sense half dead ; he sees , and yet sees not . His retrospective spirit passes into the dim eclipse of time , and discerns not clearly the blank , of his half veiled
cheerless now . The sun past days , , throws but a dreary li ght on all that is : but he knows that none save phantoms are around him ; he feels he is alone . Whence , then , the hand that closes round his own ? Has one of the statues left its place , and , gliding to his chair , laid its stony hand in his ? That was no marble touch—no clay-cold clasp ! Is it some trick of memory that beguiles him ? He cannot tell , for the darkness alike without and within him . A sigh ? It can be but a fiction of the brain , like all the rest . Yet surely again there are shadows crossing to and fro , blending with the shadows of the marble , on the wall ? He draws his hand away . The phantom—if phantom it be—will not be so rebuked . He feels his but not force
fingers drawn by magic , ungentle , between the warm and throbbing veins of something too like life . He starts ! Ie it gone ? His eyes swim ; he cannot see . He feels the pressure still Agony of agonies ! His child ? She must be dead , and this her presence , in the semblance of quick life , come back to haunt , then spurn him . He turns aside . No respite ! The fellow-hand is clasped ; he is bound down and fettered on all sides . He strives to rise ; a nightmare presses down his limbs . A sob , a stifled sob , a struggle of quick breath close to his ear—a voice of long ago—thrills in him ! He lifts his eyes . What form is that he sees standing erect before him , like a seraph to lead to—not bar from—Paradise ? What angel-hearted guest stands thus with mute and humble look before his face of
guilt ? Is it the guardian spirit of his child , or one he knew in his life-days , that are no more ? Both ! As he gazes on that placid brow , serene in holy youth , a strange dim retrospect is his . Again it is N ew Year ' s Eve , The swift mysterious rushing of the viewless wind is in his ear , as he heard it on that night in the hardness of his heart . The dead hush follows , and the beating pulso ! The hour is to him as that hour . The cloud upon his brain has dimmed his sight ; the shadows of the mind mingle with the shadows before him and around him—the unreal with the actual—till all is clothed in mist , as a sea-foam ^ V VH T ^ ^^ W ^^ ^ H P V * ^ . ^ " ^^ ~» ~ ^^ y »» w — « . ^^ ^»~ ^ i ^ ^ — P «( BBB * W ^ ^ IW VV — ™ f *^ V ¦ *^ ^ ^ ' i A eido
Another and another deeper sob , on either I What droadful doom awaits him ? Terrible , avengers I —yet they kneel ! Dread messengers of wrath!—they weep ! The spectral forms from which he shrinksdo they bear him on viewless wings to expiatory shades ? See ! the dreaded doom reversed ! To /*«* heart he bears them' —on his breast ! The only shriek that echoes to the roof is the shriek not of a lost , but of a rocovored soul . It fills the air but with one tone , one pulse of unutterable joy—' Bertha!—Johanna ! The outline we have given , together with the extract ^ will indicate pretty well the nature of Mrfl .
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Citation
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Leader (1850-1860), Jan. 24, 1852, page 20, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse2.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/cld_24011852/page/20/
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