Author: George Cruikshank
Publisher: BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS
ISBN:
Category :
Languages : en
Pages : 355
Book Description
Example in this ebook We have been entreated by a great many juvenile friends to "tell 'em all about our Engraved Preface in No. I.;" and entreaties from tender juveniles we never could resist. So, for their sakes, we enter into a little explanation concerning the great matters crowded into "our Preface." All children of a larger growth are, therefore, warned to skip this page if they please—it is not for them, who are, of course, familiar with the ways of the world—but only for the little dears who require a Guide to the great Globe they are just beginning to inhabit. Showman.—"Now then, my little masters and missis, run home to your mammas, and cry till they give you all a shilling apiece, and then bring it to me, and I'll show you all the pretty pictures." So now, my little masters and misses, have you each got your No. 1 ready? Always take care of that. Now then, please to look at the top of the circular picture which represents the world, and there you behold Her Majesty Queen Victoria on her throne, holding a court, with Prince Albert, in his field-marshal's uniform, by her side, and surrounded by ladies, nobles, and officers of state. A little to the right are the heads of the Universities, about to present an address. Above the throne you behold the noble dome of St. Paul's, on each side of which may be seen the tall masts of the British navy. Cast your eyes, my pretty dears, below the throne, and there you behold Mr. and Mrs. John Bull, and three little Bulls, with their little bull-dog; one little master is riding his papa's walking-stick, while his elder brother is flying his kite—a pastime to which a great many Bulls are much attached. Miss Bull is content to be a little lady with a leetle parasol, like her mamma. To the right of the kite you behold an armed man on horseback, one of those curious figures which, composed of goldbeater's skin, used to be sent up some years ago to astonish the natives; only they frightened 'em into fits, and are not now sent up, in consequence of being put down. And now you see "the world goes round." Turn your eyes a little to the right to the baloon and parachute, and then look down under the smoke of a steamer, and you behold a little sweep flourishing his brush on the chimney-top, and wishing perhaps that he was down below there with Jack-in-the-green. Now then, a little more to the right—where you see a merry dancing-group of our light-heeled and light-hearted neighbours, the leader of the party playing the fiddle and dancing on stilts, while one of his countrymen is flying his favourite national kite—viz., the soldier. In the same vicinity, are groups of German gentlemen, some waltzing, and some smoking meerschaums; near these are foot-soldiers and lancers supporting the kite-flyer. Now, near the horse, my little dears, you will see the mule, together with the Spanish muleteers, who, if not too tired, would like to take part in that fandango performed to the music of the light guitar. Look a little to the left, and you behold a quadrille-party, where a gentleman in black is pastorale-ing all the chalk off the floor; and now turn your eyes just above these, and you behold a joyful party of convivialists, with bottles in the ice-pail and bumpers raised, most likely to the health of our gracious Queen, or in honour of the Great Captain of the Age. And now, my little dears, turn your eyes in a straight line to the right, and you will perceive St. Peter's at Rome, beneath which are two young cardinals playing at leap-frog, not at all frightened at the grand eruption of Mount Vesuvius which is going on in the distance. From this you must take a leap on to the camel's back, from which you will obtain a view of the party sitting just below, which consists of the grand Sultan smoking desperately against Ali Pacha. To be continue in this ebook
George Cruikshank's Omnibus (Illustrations)
Catalogue of the Library ...
Author: Military Order of the Loyal Legion of the United States. Commandery of the State of Illinois
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category :
Languages : en
Pages : 672
Book Description
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category :
Languages : en
Pages : 672
Book Description
A Boy on a Farm
Author: Jacob Abbott
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category : Country life
Languages : en
Pages : 204
Book Description
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category : Country life
Languages : en
Pages : 204
Book Description
Rattlin, the Reefer
Author: Edward Howard
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category :
Languages : en
Pages : 436
Book Description
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category :
Languages : en
Pages : 436
Book Description
Collected Stories of the Sea
Author: Neil Martin
Publisher: Xlibris Corporation
ISBN: 148362594X
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 286
Book Description
UNDER topsails and courses, the Diana cruised slowly south by east, working the whaling grounds that reach across the Atlantic between Bermuda and the Cape Verde Islands. For a month she cruised hither and yon, following a zig-zag course that took her halfway across the Western Ocean, with her lookouts scanning the barren sea day after day, but with never a sight of spout or fluke. In the meantime, the crew had not been allowed to bask in idleness. When the watches had been chosen, Brett had picked Steve in his. Later, after a week of boat drills, the mate had chosen him to be his boat steerer. Gormley couldn’t account for this – unless the mate wished to have him handy when the time came to even matters for the beating he had suffered at Steve’s hands. Sooner or later the showdown would come. Gormley was sure of that. Because he had demonstrated his seamanship, he was spared the “breaking in” suffered by the green hands. At least half the crew were making their first voyage to sea. These had to be taken in hand by the mate and “shown the ropes,” from the jib downhauls aft to the spanker sheets. And woe to the unlucky wretch who failed to learn promptly! Left with the seasoned hands, Gormley was kept busy doing odd jobs about the ship. Shrouds had to be set up and tarred down, ratlines renewed, halyards spliced. Harpoon irons were fastened to their poles, scraped of their coatings of red lead, and polished. The grindstone was kept busy, as knives, cutting spades and lance points were ground to a razor-like edge. In the early seventies, kerosene and coal gas were fast displacing whale oil as a means of illumination. But other uses had been found for the oil, which was still selling for one dollar a gallon. Yet in spite of the high price of oil, the decline of the whaling trade was setting in. In the old days, before the Civil War, crews had been easy to get. But now, in the 1870’s, with plenty of work ashore at high wages, it was increasingly difficult to get sufficient men to work the ships. Few men cared to go whaling. The reason was not hard to find. In the first place, whale men did not receive wages. The whale ship was a cooperative enterprise, with the men before the mast on a one-hundred-and-sixty-fourth lay, the boat steerers on a seventy-fifth, while the mates ranged from the sixtieth received by the third mate, to the fortieth that was the mate’s share. The master stood to receive a thirty-second share of whatever oil was taken in the course of the four-year voyage. Out of this, the food they ate was charged to the men’s accounts. Damage to the ship or any part of her gear was also deducted. Likewise, the owners were insured against the desertion of the crew, and the premiums were charged to the men – with interest. The ship, too, was insured, exacting a further toll against the final lay. They were scandalously overcharged for the shoddy clothing they drew from the slop chest, and for the moldy, dank tobacco they smoked. Reasons enough for the decline of the whaling trade! Aside from all that, the Diana wasn’t a hard ship. Captain Larrabee wouldn’t stand for the hazing of the crew. Only when the Old Man was below did Brett ever dare to strike a man. Twice every Sunday, from nine to ten in the morning, and during the second dog watch, all hands gathered aft for religious services – wherein Captain Larrabee thundered his denunciations of the devil and all his works with great earnestness and fury. “Saves our souls on Sundays, and damns ‘em on week days,” old Sankey remarked one Sunday to Steve, as they headed aft to morning worship. But there were no services that day. Hardly had the crew gathered below the break of the poop when the lookout on the foremast bawled: “Blows – ah, blows!” Instantly the meeting broke up. Without waiting for orders, the men rushed to the boats and made ready to lower away. And then the lookouts on the main and mizzen yelled simultaneously: “Wreck h
Publisher: Xlibris Corporation
ISBN: 148362594X
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 286
Book Description
UNDER topsails and courses, the Diana cruised slowly south by east, working the whaling grounds that reach across the Atlantic between Bermuda and the Cape Verde Islands. For a month she cruised hither and yon, following a zig-zag course that took her halfway across the Western Ocean, with her lookouts scanning the barren sea day after day, but with never a sight of spout or fluke. In the meantime, the crew had not been allowed to bask in idleness. When the watches had been chosen, Brett had picked Steve in his. Later, after a week of boat drills, the mate had chosen him to be his boat steerer. Gormley couldn’t account for this – unless the mate wished to have him handy when the time came to even matters for the beating he had suffered at Steve’s hands. Sooner or later the showdown would come. Gormley was sure of that. Because he had demonstrated his seamanship, he was spared the “breaking in” suffered by the green hands. At least half the crew were making their first voyage to sea. These had to be taken in hand by the mate and “shown the ropes,” from the jib downhauls aft to the spanker sheets. And woe to the unlucky wretch who failed to learn promptly! Left with the seasoned hands, Gormley was kept busy doing odd jobs about the ship. Shrouds had to be set up and tarred down, ratlines renewed, halyards spliced. Harpoon irons were fastened to their poles, scraped of their coatings of red lead, and polished. The grindstone was kept busy, as knives, cutting spades and lance points were ground to a razor-like edge. In the early seventies, kerosene and coal gas were fast displacing whale oil as a means of illumination. But other uses had been found for the oil, which was still selling for one dollar a gallon. Yet in spite of the high price of oil, the decline of the whaling trade was setting in. In the old days, before the Civil War, crews had been easy to get. But now, in the 1870’s, with plenty of work ashore at high wages, it was increasingly difficult to get sufficient men to work the ships. Few men cared to go whaling. The reason was not hard to find. In the first place, whale men did not receive wages. The whale ship was a cooperative enterprise, with the men before the mast on a one-hundred-and-sixty-fourth lay, the boat steerers on a seventy-fifth, while the mates ranged from the sixtieth received by the third mate, to the fortieth that was the mate’s share. The master stood to receive a thirty-second share of whatever oil was taken in the course of the four-year voyage. Out of this, the food they ate was charged to the men’s accounts. Damage to the ship or any part of her gear was also deducted. Likewise, the owners were insured against the desertion of the crew, and the premiums were charged to the men – with interest. The ship, too, was insured, exacting a further toll against the final lay. They were scandalously overcharged for the shoddy clothing they drew from the slop chest, and for the moldy, dank tobacco they smoked. Reasons enough for the decline of the whaling trade! Aside from all that, the Diana wasn’t a hard ship. Captain Larrabee wouldn’t stand for the hazing of the crew. Only when the Old Man was below did Brett ever dare to strike a man. Twice every Sunday, from nine to ten in the morning, and during the second dog watch, all hands gathered aft for religious services – wherein Captain Larrabee thundered his denunciations of the devil and all his works with great earnestness and fury. “Saves our souls on Sundays, and damns ‘em on week days,” old Sankey remarked one Sunday to Steve, as they headed aft to morning worship. But there were no services that day. Hardly had the crew gathered below the break of the poop when the lookout on the foremast bawled: “Blows – ah, blows!” Instantly the meeting broke up. Without waiting for orders, the men rushed to the boats and made ready to lower away. And then the lookouts on the main and mizzen yelled simultaneously: “Wreck h