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WE were great friends, and it was natural that he should have let me
know with all the promptness of his ardour that his happiness was
complete. Ardour is here, perhaps, a misleading word, for Crawfords
passion burned with a still and hidden flame; if he had written sonnets
to his mistress's eyebrow, he had never declaimed them in public. But
he was deeply in love; he had been full of tremulous hopes and fears,
and his happiness, for several weeks, had hung by a hair——the
extremely fine line that appeared to divide the yea and nay of the
young lady's parents. The scale descended at last with their
heavily-weighted consent in it, and Crawford gave himself up to
tranquil bliss. He came to see me at my office——my name, on the little
tin placard beneath my window, was garnished with an M. D., as vivid as
new gilding could make it——long before that period of the morning at
which my irrepressible buoyancy had succumbed to the teachings of
experience (as it usually did about twelve o'clock), and resigned
itself to believe that that particular day was not to be distinguished
by the advent of the female form that haunted my dreams——the confiding
old lady, namely, with a large account at the bank, and a mild, but
expensive chronic malady. On that day I quite forgot the paucity of my
patients and the vanity of my hopes in my enjoyment of Crawfords
contagious felicity. If we had been less united in friendship, I might
have envied him; but as it was, with my extreme admiration and
affection for him, I felt for half an hour as if I were going to marry
the lovely Elizabeth myself. I reflected after he had left me that I
was very glad I was not, for lovely as Miss Ingram was, she had always
inspired me with a vague mistrust. There was no harm in her, certainly;
but there was nothing else either. I don't know to what I compared her
to a blushing rose that had no odour, to a blooming peach that had no
taste. All that nature had asked of her was to be the prettiest girl of
her time, and this request she obeyed to the letter. But when, of a
morning, she had opened wide her beautiful, candid eyes, and half
parted her clear, pink lips, and gathered up her splendid golden
tresses, her day, as far as her own opportunity was concerned, was at
an end; she had put her house in order, and she could fold her arms.
She did so invariably, and it was in this attitude that Crawford saw
her and fell in love with her. I could heartily congratulate him, for
the fact that a blooming statue would make no wife for me, did not in
the least discredit his own choice. I was human and erratic; I had an
uneven temper and a prosaic soul. I wished to get as much as I
gave——to be the planet, in short, and not the satellite. But Crawford
had really virtue enough for two——enough of vital fire, of
intelligence and devotion. He could afford to marry an inanimate
beauty, for he had the wisdom which would supply her shortcomings, and
the generosity which would forgive them.
Crawford was a tall man, and not particularly well made. He had,
however, what is called a gentlemanly figure, and he had a very fine
head——the head of a man of books, a student, a philosopher, such as he
really was. He had a dark colouring, thin, fine black hair, a very
clear, lucid, dark grey eye, and features of a sort of softly vigorous
outline. It was as if his face had been cast first in a rather rugged
and irregular mould, and the image had then been lightly retouched,
here and there, by some gentler, more feminine hand. His expression was
singular; it was a look which I can best describe as a sort of
intelligent innocence——the look of an absent-minded seraph. He knew,
if you insisted upon it, about the corruptions of this base world; but,
left to himself, he never thought of them. What he did think of; I can
hardly tell you: of a great many things, often, in which I was not
needed. Of this, long and well as I had known him, I was perfectly
conscious. I had never got behind him, as it were; I had never walked
all round him. He was reserved, as I am inclined to think that all
first rate men are; not capriciously or consciously reserved, but
reserved in spite of, and in the midst of, an extreme frankness. For
most people he was a clear-visaged, scrupulously polite young man, who,
in giving up business so suddenly, had done a thing which required a
good deal of charitable explanation, and who was not expected to
express any sentiments more personal than a literary opinion
re-enforced by the name of some authority, as to whose titles and
attributes much vagueness of knowledge was excusable. For me, his
literary opinions were the lightest of his sentiments; his good
manners, too, I am sure, cost him nothing. Bad manners are the result
of irritability, and as Crawford was not irritable he found civility
very easy. But if his urbanity was not victory over a morose
disposition, it was at least the expression of a very agreeable
character. He talked a great deal, though not volubly, stammering a
little, and casting about him for his words. When you suggested one, he
always accepted it thankfully,——though he sometimes brought in a
little later the expression he had been looking for and which had since
occurred to him. He had a great deal of gayety, and made jokes and
enjoyed them laughing constantly, with a laugh that was not so much
audible as visible. He was extremely deferential to old people, and
among the fairer sex, his completest conquests, perhaps, were the
ladies of sixty-five and seventy. He had also a great kindness for
shabby people, if they were only shabby enough, and I remember seeing
him, one summer afternoon, carrying a baby across a crowded part of
Broadway, accompanied by its mother,——a bewildered pauper, lately
arrived from Europe. Crawfords father had left him a very good
property; his income, in New York, in those days, passed for a very
easy one. Mr. Crawford was a cotton-broker, and on his son's leaving
college, he took him into his business. But shortly after his fathers
death he sold out his interest in the firm very quietly, and without
asking any ones advice, because, as he told me, he hated buying and
selling. There were other things, of course, in the world that he hated
too, but this is the only thing of which I remember to have heard him
say it. He had a large house, quite to himself (he had lost his mother
early, and his brothers were dispersed) he filled it with books and
scientific instruments, and passed most of his time in reading and in
making awkward experiments. He had the tastes of a scholar, and he
consumed a vast number of octavos; but in the way of the natural
sciences, his curiosity was greater than his dexterity. I used to laugh
at his experiments and, as a thrifty neophyte in medicine, to deprecate
his lavish expenditure of precious drugs. Unburdened, independent,
master of an all-sufficient fortune, and of the best education that the
country could afford, good-looking, gallant, amiable, urbane——Crawford
at seven and twenty might fairly be believed to have drawn the highest
prizes in life. And, indeed, except that it was a pity he had not stuck
to business, no man heard a word of disparagement either of his merit
or of his felicity. On the other hand, too, he was not envied——envied
at any rate with any degree of bitterness. We are told that though the
world worships success, it hates successful people. Certainly it never
hated Crawford. Perhaps he was not regarded in the light of a success,
but rather of an ornament, of an agreeable gift to society. The world
likes to be pleased, and there was something pleasing in Crawfords
general physiognomy and position. They rested the eyes; they were a
gratifying change. Perhaps we were even a little proud of having among
us so harmonious an embodiment of the amenities of life.
In spite of his bookish tastes and habits, Crawford was not a
recluse. I remember his once saying to me that there were some
sacrifices that only a man of genius was justified in making to
science, and he knew very well that he was not a man of genius. He was
not, thank heaven; if he had been, he would have been a much more
difficult companion. It was never apparent, indeed, that he was
destined to make any great use of his acquisitions. Every one supposed,
of course, that he would write something; but he never put pen to
paper. He liked to bury his nose in books for the hours pleasure; he
had no dangerous arrière pensée , and he was simply a very
perfect specimen of a class which has fortunately always been
numerous——the class of men who contribute to the advancement of
learning by zealously opening their ears and religiously closing their
lips. He was fond of society, and went out, as the phrase is, a great
deal,——the mammas in especial, making him extremely welcome. What the
daughters, in general, thought of him, I hardly know; I suspect that
the younger ones often preferred worse men. Crawfords merits were
rather thrown away upon little girls. To a considerable number of wise
virgins, however, he must have been an object of high admiration, and
if a good observer had been asked to pick out in the whole town, the
most propitious victim to matrimony, he would certainly have designated
my friend. There was nothing to be said against him there was not a
shadow in the picture. He himself; indeed, pretended to be in no hurry
to marry, and I heard him more than once declare, that he did not know
what he should do with a wife, or what a wife would do with him. Of
course we often talked of this matter, and I——upon whom the burden of
bachelorhood sat heavy——used to say, that in his place, with money to
keep a wife, I would change my condition on the morrow. Crawford gave a
great many opposing reasons; of course the real one was that he was
very happy as he was, and that the most circumspect marriage is always
a risk.
"A man should only marry in self-defence," he said, "as
Luther——became Protestant. He should wait till he is driven to the
Some time passed and our Luther stood firm. I began to despair of
ever seeing a pretty Mrs. Crawford offer me a white hand from my
friends fireside, and I had to console myself with the reflection, that
some of the finest persons of whom history makes mention, had been
celibates, and that a desire to lead a single life is not necessarily a
proof of a morose disposition.
"Oh, I give you up," I said at last. "I hoped that if you did not
many for your own sake, you would at least marry for mine. It would
make your house so much pleasanter for me. But you have no heart! To
avenge myself, I shall myself take a wife on the first opportunity. She
shall be as pretty as a picture, and you shall never enter my doors."
"No man should be accounted single till he is dead," said Crawford.
"I have been reading Stendhal lately, and learning the philosophy of
the coup de foudre. It is not impossible that there is a coup
de foudre waiting for me. All I can say is that it will be
lightning from a clear sky."
The lightning fell, in fact, a short time afterward. Crawford saw
Miss Ingram, admired her, observed her, and loved her. The impression
she produced upon him was indeed a sort of summing up of the impression
she produced upon society at large. The circumstances of her education
and those under which she made her first appearance in the world, were
such as to place her beauty in extraordinary relief. She had been
brought up more in the manner of an Italian princess of the middle
ages——sequestered from conflicting claims of ward-ship than as the
daughter of a plain American citizen. Up to her eighteenth year, it may
be said, mortal eye had scarcely beheld her; she lived behind high
walls and triple locks, through which an occasional rumour of her
beauty made its way into the world. Mrs. Ingram was a second or third
cousin of my mother, but the two ladies, between whom there reigned a
scanty sympathy, had never made much of the kinship; I had inherited no
claim to intimacy with the family, and Elizabeth was a perfect stranger
to me. Her parents had, for economy, gone to live in the country——at
Orange——and it was there, in a high-hedged old garden, that her
childhood and youth were spent. The first definite mention of her
loveliness came to me from old Dr. Beadle, who had been called to
attend her in a slight illness. (The Ingrams were poor, but their
daughter was their golden goose, and to secure the most expensive
medical skill was but an act of common prudence.) Dr. Beadle had a high
appreciation of a pretty patient; he, of course, kept it within bounds
on the field of action, but he enjoyed expressing it afterward with the
freedom of a profound anatomist, to a younger colleague. Elizabeth
Ingram, according to this report, was perfect in every particular, and
she was being kept in cotton in preparation for her debut in New
York. He talked about her for a quarter of an hour, and concluded with
an eloquent pinch of snuff; whereupon I remembered that she was, after
a fashion, my cousin, and that pretty cousins are a source of felicity,
in this hard world, which no man can afford to neglect. I took a
holiday, jumped into the train, and arrived at Orange. There, in a
pretty cottage, in a shaded parlour, I found a small, spare woman with
a high forehead and a pointed chin, whom I immediately felt to be that
Sabrina Ingram, in her occasional allusions to whom my poor mother had
expended the very small supply of acerbity with which nature had
intrusted her.
"I am told my cousin is extremely beautiful," I said. "I should like
so much to see her."
The interview was not prolonged. Mrs. Ingram was frigidly polite; she
answered that she was highly honoured by my curiosity, but that her
daughter had gone to spend the day with a friend ten miles away. On my
departure, as I turned to latch the garden gate behind me, I saw dimly
through an upper window, the gleam of a golden head, and the orbits of
two gazing eyes. I kissed my hand to the apparition, and agreed with
Dr. Beadle that my cousin was a beauty. But if her image had been dim,
that of her mother had been distinct,
They came up to New York the next winter, took a house, gave a great
party, and presented the young girl to an astonished world. I succeeded
in making little of our cousinship, for Mrs. Ingram did not approve of
me, and she gave Elizabeth instructions in consequence. Elizabeth
obeyed them, gave me the tips of her fingers, and answered me in
monosyllables. Indifference was never more neatly expressed, and I
wondered whether this was mere passive compliance, or whether the girl
had put a grain of her own intelligence into it. She appeared to have
no more intelligence than a snowy-fleeced lamb, but I fancied that she
was, by instinct, a shrewd little politician. Nevertheless, I forgave
her, for my last feeling about her was one of compassion. She might be
as soft as swan's-down, I said; it could not be a pleasant thing to be
her mother's daughter, all the same. Mrs. Ingram had black bands of
hair, without a white thread, which descended only to the tops of her
ears, and were there spread out very wide, and polished like metallic
plates. She had small, conscious eyes, and the tall white forehead I
have mentioned, which resembled a high gable beneath a steep roof. Her
chin looked like her forehead reversed, and her lips were perpetually
graced with a thin, false smile. I had seen how little it cost them to
tell a categorical fib. Poor Mr. Ingram was a helpless colossus; an
immense man with a small plump face, a huge back to his neck, and a
pair of sloping shoulders. In talking to you, he generally looked
across at his wife, and it was easy to see that he was mortally afraid
of her.
For this lady's hesitation to bestow her daughters hand upon
Crawford, there was a sufficiently good reason. He had money, but he
had not money enough. It was a very comfortable match, but it was not a
splendid one, and Mrs. Ingram, in putting the young girl forward, had
primed herself with the highest expectations. The marriage was so good
that it was a vast pity it was not a little better. If Crawford's
income had only been twice as large again, Mrs. Ingram would have
pushed Elizabeth into his arms, relaxed in some degree the consuming
eagerness with which she viewed the social field, and settled down,
possibly, to contentment and veracity. That was a bad year in the
matrimonial market, for higher offers were not freely made. Elizabeth
was greatly admired, but the ideal suitor did not present himself. I
suspect that Mrs. Ingram's charms as a mother-in-law had been
accurately gauged. Crawford pushed his suit, with low-toned devotion,
and he was at last accepted with a good grace. There had been, I think,
a certain amount of general indignation at his being kept waiting, and
Mrs. Ingram was accused here and there, of not knowing a first-rate man
when she saw one. "I never said she was honest," a trenchant critic was
heard to observe, "but at least I supposed she was clever." Crawford
was not afraid of her; he told me so distinctly. "I defy her to quarrel
with me," he said, "and I don't despair of making her like me."
"Like you!" I answered. "That's easily done. The difficulty will be
in your liking her."
"Oh, I do better——I admire her," he said. "She knows so perfectly
what she wants. It's a rare quality. I shall have a very fine woman for
my mother-in-law."
Elizabeth's own preference bore down the scale in Crawford's favour a
little, I think; how much I hardly know. She liked him, and thought her
mother took little account of her likes (and the young girl was too
well-behaved to expect it). Mrs. Ingram reflected probably that her
pink and white complexion would last longer if she were married to a
man she fancied. At any rate, as I have said, the engagement was at
last announced, and Crawford came in person to tell me of it. I had
never seen a happier-looking man; and his image, as I beheld it that
morning, has lived in my memory all these years, as an embodiment of
youthful confidence and deep security. He had said that the art of
knowing what one wants was rare, but he apparently possessed it. He had
got what he wanted, and the sense of possession was exquisite to him. I
see again my shabby little consulting-room, with an oil-cloth on the
floor, and a paper, representing seven hundred and forty times (I once
counted them) a young woman with a pitcher on her head, on the walls;
and in the midst of it I see Crawford standing upright, with his thumbs
in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, his head thrown back, and his eyes
as radiant as two planets.
"You are too odiously happy," I said. "I should like to give you a
dose of something to tone you down."
"If you could give me a sleeping potion," he answered, "I should be
greatly obliged to you. Being engaged is all very well, but I want to
be married. I should like to sleep through my engagement——to wake up
and find myself a husband."
"Is your wedding-day fixed?" I asked.
"The twenty-eighth of April——three months hence. I declined to leave
the house last night before it was settled. I offered three weeks, but
Elizabeth laughed me to scorn. She says it will take a month to make
her wedding-dress. Mrs. Ingram has a list of reasons as long as your
arm, and every one of them is excellent; that is the abomination of it.
She has a genius for the practical. I mean to profit by it; I shall
make her turn my mill-wheel for me. But meanwhile its an eternity!"
"Don't complain of good things lasting long," said I. "Such
eternities are always too short. I have always heard that the three
months before marriage are the happiest time of life. I advise you to
make the most of these."
"Oh, I am happy, I don't deny it," cried Crawford. "But I propose to
be happier yet." And he marched away with the step of a sun-god
beginning his daily circuit.
He was happier yet, in the sense that with each succeeding week he
became more convinced of the charms of Elizabeth Ingram, and more
profoundly attuned to the harmonies of prospective matrimony. I, of
course, saw little of him, for he was always in attendance upon his
betrothed, at the dwelling of whose parents I was a rare visitor.
Whenever I did see him, he seemed to have sunk another six inches
further into the mystic depths. He formally swallowed his words when I
recalled to him his former brave speeches about the single life.
"All I can say is," he answered, "that I was an immeasurable donkey.
Every argument that I formerly used in favour of not marrying, now
seems to me to have an exactly opposite application. Every reason that
used to seem to me so good for not taking a wife, now seems to me the
best reason in the world for taking one. I not to marry, of all men on
earth! Why, I am made on purpose for it, and if the thing did not
exist, I should have invented it. In fact, I think I have
invented some little improvements in the institution——of an extremely
conservative kind——and when I put them into practice, you shall tell
me what you think of them."
This lasted several weeks. The day after Crawford told me of his
engagement, I had gone to pay my respects to the two ladies, but they
were not at home, and I wrote my compliments on a card. I did not
repeat my visit until the engagement had become an old story——some
three weeks before the date appointed for the marriage——I had then not
seen Crawford in several days. I called in the evening, and was ushered
into a small parlour reserved by Mrs. Ingram for familiar visitors.
Here I found Crawfords mother-in-law that was to be, seated, with an
air of great dignity, on a low chair, with her hands folded rigidly in
her lap, and her chin making an acuter angle than ever. Before the fire
stood Peter Ingram, with his hands under his coat-tails; as soon as I
came in, he fixed his eyes upon his wife. She has either just been
telling, or she is just about to tell, some particularly big fib, I
said to myself. Then I expressed my regret at not having found my
cousin at home upon my former visit, and hoped it was not too late to
offer my felicitations upon Elizabeth's marriage.
For some moments, Mr. Ingram and his wife were silent; after which,
Mrs. Ingram said with a little cough, "It is too late."
"Really?" said I. "What has happened?"
"Had we better tell him, my dear?" asked Mr. Ingram.
"I didn't mean to receive any one," said Mrs. Ingram. "It was a
mistake your coming in."
"I don't offer to go," I answered, "because I suspect that you have
some sorrow. I couldn't think of leaving you at such a moment."
Mr. Ingram looked at me with huge amazement. I don't think he
detected my irony, but he had a vague impression that I was measuring
my wits with his wife. His ponderous attention acted upon me as an
incentive, and I continued,
"Crawford has been behaving badly, I suspect?——Oh, the shabby
"Oh, not exactly behaving," said Mr. Ingram; "not exactly badly. We
can't say that, my dear, eh?"
"It is proper the world should know it," said Mrs. Ingram, addressing
herself to me; "and as I suspect you are a great gossip, the best way
to diffuse the information will be to intrust it to you."
"Pray tell me," I said bravely, "and you may depend upon it the world
shall have an account of it." By this time I knew what was coming.
"Perhaps you hardly need tell me," I went on. "I have guessed your
news; it is indeed most shocking. Crawford has broken his engagement!"
Mrs. Ingram started up, surprised into self-betrayal. "Oh, really?"
she cried, with a momentary flash of elation. But in an instant she
perceived that I had spoken fantastically, and her elation flickered
down into keen annoyance. But she faced the situation with
characteristic firmness. "We have broken the engagement," she said.
"Elizabeth has broken it with our consent."
"You have turned Crawford away?" I cried.
"We have requested him to consider everything at an end."
"Poor Crawford!" I exclaimed with ardour. At this moment the door was
thrown open, and Crawford in person stood on the threshold. He paused
an instant, like a falcon hovering; then he darted forward at Mr.
"In heavens name," he cried, "what is the meaning of your letter?"
Mr. Ingram looked frightened and backed majestically away. "Really,
sir," he said; "I must beg you to desist from your threats."
Crawford turned to Mrs. Ingram; he was intensely pale and profoundly
agitated. "Please tell me," he said, stepping toward her with clasped
hands. "I don't understand——I can't take it this way. It's a
"We were in hopes you would have the kindness not to make a scene,"
said Mrs. Ingram. "It is very painful for us, too, but we cannot
discuss the matter. I was afraid you would come."
"Afraid I would come!" cried Crawford. "Could you have believed I
would not come? Where is Elizabeth?"
"You cannot see her!"
"I cannot see her?"
"It is impossible. It is her wish," said Mrs. Ingram.
Crawford stood staring, his eyes distended with grief; and rage, and
helpless wonder. I have never seen a man so thoroughly agitated, but I
have also never seen a man exert such an effort at self-control. He sat
down; and then, after a moment——"What have I done?" he asked.
Mr. Ingram walked away to the window, and stood closely examining the
texture of the drawn curtains. "You have done nothing, my dear Mr.
Crawford," said Mrs. Ingram. "We accuse you of nothing. We are very
reasonable; I'm sure you can't deny that, whatever you may say. Mr.
Ingram explained everything in the letter. We have simply thought
better of it. We have decided that we can't part with our child for the
present. She is all we have, and she is so very young. We ought never
to have consented. But you urged us so, and we were so good-natured. We
must keep her with us."
"Is that all you have to say?" asked Crawford.
"It seems to me it is quite enough," said Mrs. Ingram.
Crawford leaned his head on his hands. "I must have done something
without knowing it," he said at last. "In heavens name tell me what it
is, and I will do penance and make reparation to the uttermost limit."
Mr. Ingram turned round, rolling his expressionless eyes in quest of
virtuous inspiration. "We can't say that you have done anything; that
would be going too far. But if you had, we would have forgiven you."
"Where is Elizabeth?" Crawford again demanded.
"In her own apartment," said Mrs. Ingram majestically.
"Will you please to send for her?"
"Really, sir, we must decline to expose our child to this painful
"Your tenderness should have begun farther back. Do you expect me to
go away without seeing her?"
"We request that you will."
Crawford turned to me. "Was such a request ever made before?" he
asked, in a trembling voice.
"For your own sake," said Mrs. Ingram, "go away without seeing her."
"For my own sake? What do you mean?"
Mrs. Ingram, very pale, and with her thin lips looking like the
blades of a pair of scissors, turned to her husband. "Mr. Ingram," she
said, "rescue me from this violence. Speak outdo your duty."
Mr. Ingram advanced with the air and visage of the stage manager of a
theatre, when he steps forward to announce that the favourite of the
public will not be able to play. "Since you drive us so hard, sir, we
must tell the painful truth. My poor child would rather have had
nothing said about it. The truth is that she has mistaken the character
of her affection for you. She has a high esteem for you, but she does
not love you."
Crawford stood silent, looking with formidable eyes from the father
to the mother. "I must insist upon seeing Elizabeth," he said at last.
Mrs. Ingram gave a toss of her head. "Remember it was your own
demand!" she cried, and rustled stiffly out of the room.
We remained silent; Mr. Ingram sat slowly rubbing his knees, and
Crawford, pacing up and down, eyed him askance with an intensely
troubled frown, as one might eye a person just ascertained to be liable
to some repulsive form of dementia. At the end of five minutes, Mrs.
Ingram returned, clutching the arm of her daughter, whom she pushed
into the room. Then followed the most extraordinary scene of which I
have ever been witness.
Crawford strode toward the young girl, and seized her by both hands;
she let him take them; and stood looking at him. "Is this horrible news
true?" he cried. "What infernal machination is at the bottom of it?"
Elizabeth Ingram appeared neither more nor less composed than on most
occasions; the pink and white of her cheeks was as pure as usual, her
golden tresses were as artistically braided, and her eyes showed no
traces of weeping. Her face was never expressive, and at this moment it
indicated neither mortification nor defiance. She met her lovers eyes
with the exquisite blue of her own pupils, and she looked as beautiful
as an angel. "I am very sorry that we must separate," she said. "But I
have mistaken the nature of my affection for you. I have the highest
esteem for you, but I do not love you."
I listened to this, and the clear, just faintly trembling, child-like
tone in which it was uttered, with absorbing wonder. Was the girl the
most consummate of actresses, or had she, literally, no more
sensibility than an expensive wax doll? I never discovered, and she has
remained to this day, one of the unsolved mysteries of my experience. I
incline to believe that she was, morally, absolutely nothing but the
hollow reed through which her mother spoke, and that she was really no
more cruel now than she had been kind before. But there was something
monstrous in her quiet, flute-like utterance of Crawfords damnation.
"Do you say this from your own heart, or have you been instructed to
say it? You use the same words your father has just used."
"What can the poor child do better in her trouble than use her
fathers words?" cried Mrs. Ingram.
"Elizabeth," cried Crawford, "you don't love me?"
"No, Mr. Crawford."
"Why did you ever say so?"
"I never said so."
He stared at her in amazement, and then, after a little——"It is very
true," he exclaimed. "You never said so. It was only I who said so."
"Good-bye!" said Elizabeth; and turning away, she glided out of the
"I hope you are satisfied, sir," said Mrs. Ingram. "The poor child is
before all things sincere."
In calling this scene the most extraordinary that I ever beheld, I
had particularly in mind the remarkable attitude of Crawford at this
juncture. He effected a change of base, as it were, under the eyes of
the enemy——he descended to the depths and rose to the surface again.
Horrified, bewildered, outraged, fatally wounded at heart, he took the
full measure of his loss, gauged its irreparableness, and, by an
amazing effort of the will, while one could count fifty, superficially
accepted the situation.
"I have understood nothing!" he said. "Good-night."
He went away, and of course I went with him. Outside the house, in
the darkness, he paused and looked around at me.
"What were you doing there?" he asked.
"I had come——rather late in the day——to pay a visit of
congratulation. I rather missed it."
"Do you understand——can you imagine?" He had taken his hat off; and
he was pressing his hand to his head.
"They have backed out, simply!" I said. "The marriage had never
satisfied their ambition——you were not rich enough. Perhaps they have
heard of something better."
He stood gazing, lost in thought. "They," I had said; but he, of
course, was thinking only of her; thinking with inexpressible
bitterness. He made no allusion to her, and I never afterward heard him
make one. I felt a great compassion for him, but knew not how to help
him, nor hardly, even, what to say. It would have done me good to
launch some objurgation against the precious little puppet, within
doors, but this delicacy forbade. I felt that Crawfords silence covered
a fathomless sense of injury; but the injury was terribly real, and I
could think of no healing words. He was injured in his love and his
pride, his hopes and his honour, his sense of justice and of decency.
"To treat me so!" he said at last, in a low tone. "Me! me!——are they
blind——are they imbecile? Haven't they seen what I have been to
them——what I was going to be?"
"Yes, they are blind brutes!" I cried. "Forget them——don't think of
them again. They are not worth it."
He turned away and, in the dark empty street, he leaned his arm on
the iron railing that guarded a flight of steps, and dropped his head
upon it. I left him standing so a few moments——I could just hear his
sobs. Then I passed my arm into his own and walked home with him.
Before I left him, he had recovered his outward composure.
After this, so far as one could see, he kept it uninterruptedly. I
saw him the next day, and for several days afterward. He looked like a
man who had had a heavy blow, and who had yet not been absolutely
stunned. He neither raved nor lamented, nor descanted upon his wrong.
He seemed to be trying to shuffle it away, to resume his old
occupations, and to appeal to the good offices of the arch-healer,
Time. He looked very ill——pale, preoccupied, heavy-eyed, but this was
an inevitable tribute to his deep disappointment. He gave me no
particular opportunity to make consoling speeches, and not being
eloquent, I was more inclined to take one by force. Moral and
sentimental platitudes always seemed to me particularly flat upon my
own lips, and, addressed to Crawford, they would have been fatally so.
Nevertheless, I once told him with some warmth, that he was giving
signal proof of being a philosopher. He knew that people always end by
getting over things, and he was showing himself able to traverse with a
stride a great moral waste. He made no rejoinder at the moment, but an
hour later, as we were separating, he told me, with some formalism,
that he could not take credit for virtues he had not.
"I am not a philosopher," he said; "on the contrary. And I am not
getting over it."
His misfortune excited great compassion among all his friends, and I
imagine that this sentiment was expressed, in some cases, with
well-meaning but injudicious frankness. The Ingrams were universally
denounced, and whenever they appeared in public, at this time, were
greeted with significant frigidity. Nothing could have better proved
the friendly feeling, the really quite tender regard and admiration
that were felt for Crawford, than the manner in which every one took up
his cause. He knew it, and I heard him exclaim more than once with
intense bitterness that he was that abject thing, an object of
sympathy. Some people flattered themselves that they had made the town,
socially speaking, too hot to hold Miss Elizabeth and her parents. The
Ingram's anticipated by several weeks their projected departure for
Newport——they had given out that they were to spend the summer
there——and, quitting New York, quite left, like the gentleman in The
School for Scandal, their reputations behind them.
I continued to observe Crawford with interest, and, although I did
full justice to his wisdom and self-control, when the summer arrived I
was ill at ease about him. He led exactly the life he had led before
his engagement, and mingled with society neither more nor less. If he
disliked to feel that pitying heads were being shaken over him, or
voices lowered in tribute to his misadventure, he made at least no
visible effort to ignore these manifestations, and he paid to the full
the penalty of being interesting. But, on the other hand, he showed no
disposition to drown his sorrow in violent pleasure, to deafen himself
to its echoes. He never alluded to his disappointment, he discharged
all the duties of politeness, and questioned people about their own
tribulations or satisfactions as deferentially as if he had had no
weight upon his heart. Nevertheless, I knew that his wound was rankling
that he had received a dent, and that he would keep it. From this point
onward, however, I do not pretend to understand his conduct. I only was
witness of it, and I relate what I saw. I do not pretend to speak of
his motives.
I had the prospect of leaving town for a couple of months——a friend
and fellow-physician in the country having offered me his practice
while he took a vacation. Before I went, I made a point of urging
Crawford to seek a change of scene——to go abroad, to travel and
distract himself.
"To distract myself from what?" he asked, with his usual clear smile.
"From the memory of the vile trick those people played you."
"Do I look, do I behave as if I remembered it?" he demanded with
sudden gravity.
"You behave very well, but I suspect that it is at the cost of a
greater effort than it is wholesome for a man——quite unassisted——to
"I shall stay where I am," said Crawford, "and I shall behave as I
have behaved to the end. I find the effort, so far as there is an
effort, extremely wholesome."
"Well, then," said I, "I shall take great satisfaction in hearing
that you have fallen in love again. I should be delighted to know that
you were well married."
He was silent a while, and then——"It is not impossible," he said.
But, before I left him, he laid his hand on my arm, and, after looking
at me with great gravity for some time, declared that it would please
him extremely that I should never again allude to his late engagement.
The night before I left town, I went to spend half an hour with him.
It was the end of June, the weather was hot, and I proposed that
instead of sitting indoors, we should take a stroll. In those days,
there stood, in the centre of the city, a concert-garden, of a somewhat
primitive structure, into which a few of the more adventurous
representatives of the best society were occasionally seen——under
stress of hot weather to penetrate. It had trees and arbours, and
little fountains and small tables, at which ice-creams and juleps were,
after hope deferred, dispensed. Its musical attractions fell much below
the modern standard, and consisted of three old fiddlers playing stale
waltzes, or an itinerant ballad-singer, vocalizing in a language
perceived to be foreign, but not further identified, and accompanied by
a young woman who performed upon the triangle, and collected tribute at
the tables. Most of the frequenters of this establishment were people
who wore their gentility lightly, or had none at all to wear; but in
compensation (in the latter case), they were generally provided with a
substantial sweetheart. We sat down among the rest, and had each a
drink with a straw in it, while we listened to a cracked Italian tenor
in a velvet jacket and ear-rings. At the end of half an hour, Crawford
proposed we should withdraw, whereupon I busied myself with paying for
our juleps. There was some delay in making change, during which, my
attention wandered; it was some ten minutes before the waiter returned.
When at last he restored me my dues, I said to Crawford that I was
ready to depart. He was looking another way and did not hear me; I
repeated my observation, and then he started a little, looked round,
and said that he would like to remain longer. In a moment I perceived
the apparent cause of his changing mind. I checked myself just in time
from making a joke about it, and yet——as I did so——I said to myself
that it was surely not a thing one could take seriously.
Two persons had within a few moments come to occupy a table near our
own. One was a weak-eyed young man with a hat poised into artful
crookedness upon a great deal of stiffly brushed and much-anointed
straw-coloured hair, and a harmless scowl of defiance at the world in
general from under certain bare visible eyebrows. The defiance was
probably prompted by the consciousness of the attractions of the person
who accompanied him. This was a woman, still young, and to a certain
extent pretty, dressed in a manner which showed that she regarded a
visit to a concert-garden as a thing to be taken seriously. Her beauty
was of the robust order, her colouring high, her glance unshrinking,
and her hands large and red. These last were encased in black lace
mittens. She had a small dark eye, of a peculiarly piercing quality,
set in her head as flatly as a button-hole in a piece of cotton cloth,
and a lower lip which protruded beyond the upper one. She carried her
head like a person who pretended to have something in it, and she from
time to time surveyed the ample expanse of her corsage with a
complacent sense of there being something in that too. She was a large
woman, and, when standing upright, must have been much taller than her
companion. She had a certain conscious dignity of demeanour, turned out
her little finger as she ate her pink ice-cream, and said very little
to the young man, who was evidently only her opportunity, and not her
ideal. She looked about her, while she consumed her refreshment, with a
hard, flat, idle stare, which was not that of an adventuress, but that
of a person pretentiously and vulgarly respectable. Crawford, I saw,
was observing her narrowly, but his observation was earnestly
exercised, and she was not——at first, at least, aware of it. I
wondered, nevertheless, why he was observing her. It was not his habit
to stare at strange women, and the charms of this florid damsel were
not such as to appeal to his fastidious taste.
"I see you are struck by our lovely neighbour,——I said. Have you
ever seen her before?"
"Yes!" he presently answered. "In imagination!"
"One's imagination," I answered, "would seem to be the last place in
which to look for such a figure as that. She belongs to the most sordid
"She is very fine in her way," said Crawford. "My image of her was
vague; she is far more perfect. It is always interesting to see a
supreme representation of any type, whether or no the type be one that
we admire. That is the merit of our neighbour. She resumes a certain
civilization; she is the last word——the flower."
"The last word of coarseness, and the flower of commonness," I
interrupted. "Yes, she certainly has the merit of being unsurpassable,
in her own line."
"She is a very powerful specimen, he went on. She is complete."
"What do you take her to be?"
Crawford did not answer for some time, and I suppose he was not
heeding me. But at last he spoke. "She is the daughter of a woman who
keeps a third-rate boarding-house in Lexington Avenue. She sits at the
foot of the table and pours out bad coffee. She is considered a beauty,
in the boarding-house. She makes out the bills for three weeks board,
with week spelled weak. She has been engaged several times. That young
man is one of the boarders, inclined to gallantry. He has invited her
to come down here and have ice-cream, and she has consented, though she
despises him. Her name is Matilda Jane. The height of her ambition is
to be fashionable."
"Where the deuce did you learn all this?" I asked. "I shouldn't
wonder if it were true."
"You may depend upon it that it is very near the truth. The
boarding-house may be in the Eighth avenue, and the lady's name may be
Araminta; but the general outline that I have given is correct."
We sat awhile longer; Aramintor Matilda Jane finished her ice-cream,
leaned back in her chair, and fanned herself with a newspaper, which
her companion had drawn from his pocket, and she had folded for the
purpose. She had by this time, I suppose, perceived Crawford's singular
interest in her person, and she appeared inclined to allow him every
facility for the gratification of it. She turned herself about, placed
her head in attitudes, stroked her glossy tresses, crooked her large
little finger more than ever, and gazed with sturdy coquetry at her
incongruous admirer. I, who did not admire her, at last, for a second
time, proposed an adjournment; but, to my surprise, Crawford simply put
out his hand in farewell, and said that he himself would remain. I
looked at him hard; it seemed to me that there was a spark of
excitement in his eye which I had not seen for many weeks. I made some
little joke which might have been taxed with coarseness; but he
received it with perfect gravity, and dismissed me with an impatient
gesture. I had not walked more than half a block away when I remembered
some last word——it has now passed out of my mind——that I wished to
say to my friend. It had, I suppose, some importance, for I walked back
to repair my omission. I re-entered the garden and returned to the
place where we had been sitting. It was vacant; Crawford had moved his
chair, and was engaged in conversation with the young woman I have
described. His back was turned to me and he was bending over, so that I
could not see his face, and that I remained unseen by him. The lady
herself was looking at him strangely; surprise, perplexity, pleasure,
doubt as to whether fashionable manners required her to seem elated or
offended at Crawfords overture, were mingled on her large, rosy face.
Her companion appeared to have decided that his own dignity demanded of
him grimly to ignore the intrusion; he had given his hat another cock,
shouldered his stick like a musket, and fixed his eyes on the fiddlers.
I stopped, embraced the group at a glance, and then quietly turned away
and departed.
As a physician——as a physiologist——I had every excuse for taking
what are called materialistic views of human conduct; but this little
episode led me to make some reflections which, if they were not exactly
melancholy, were at least tinged with the irony of the moralist. Men
are all alike, I said, and the best is, at bottom, very little more
delicate than the worst. If there was a man I should have called
delicate, it had been Crawford; but he too was capable of seeking a
vulgar compensation for an exquisite pain——he also was too weak to be
faithful to a memory. Nevertheless I confess I was both amused and
re-assured; a limit seemed set to the inward working of his
resentment——he was going to take his trouble more easily and
naturally. For the next few weeks I heard nothing from him; good
friends as we were, we were poor correspondents, and as Crawford,
moreover, had said about himself——What in the world had he to write
about? I came back to town early in September, and on the evening after
my return, called upon my friend. The servant who opened the door, and
who showed me a new face, told me that Mr. Crawford had gone out an
hour before. As I turned away from the house it suddenly occurred to
me——I am quite unable to say why——that I might find him at the
concert-garden to which we had gone together on the eve of my
departure. The night was mild and beautiful, and——though I had not
supposed that he had been in the interval a regular habitué of
those tawdry bowers——a certain association of ideas directed my steps.
I reached the garden and passed beneath the arch of paper lanterns
which formed its glittering portal. The tables were all occupied, and I
scanned the company in vain for Crawford's familiar face. Suddenly I
perceived a countenance which, if less familiar, was, at least, vividly
impressed upon my memory. The lady whom Crawford had ingeniously
characterized as the daughter of the proprietress of a third-rate
boarding-house was in possession of one of the tables where she was
enthroned in assured pre-eminence. With a garland of flowers upon her
bonnet, an azure scarf about her shoulders, and her hands flashing with
splendid rings, she seemed a substantial proof that the Eighth avenue
may, after all, be the road to fortune. As I stood observing her, her
eyes met mine, and I saw that they were illumined with a sort of gross,
good-humoured felicity. I instinctively connected Crawford with her
transfiguration, and concluded that he was effectually reconciled to
worldly joys. In a moment I saw that she recognized me; after a very
brief hesitation she gave me a familiar nod. Upon this hint I
approached her.
"You have seen me before," she said. "You have not forgotten me."
"It's impossible to forget you," I answered, gallantly.
"It's a fact that no one ever does forget me?——I suppose I oughtn't
to speak to you without being introduced. But wait a moment; there is a
gentleman here who will introduce me. He has gone to get some cigars."
And she pointed to a gaily bedizened stall on the other side of the
garden, before which, in the act of quitting it, his purchase made, I
saw Crawford.
Presently he came up to us——he had evidently recognized me from
afar. This had given him a few moments. But what, in such a case, were
a few moments? He smiled frankly and heartily, and gave my hand an
affectionate grasp. I saw, however, that in spite of his smile he was a
little pale. He glanced toward the woman at the table, and then, in a
clear, serene voice: "You have made acquaintance?" he said.
"Oh, I know him," said the lady; "but I guess he don't know me!
Introduce us."
He mentioned my name, ceremoniously, as if he had been presenting me
to a duchess. The woman leaned forward and took my hand in her heavily
begemmed fingers. "How d'ye do, Doctor?" she said.
Then Crawford paused a moment, looking at me. My eyes rested on his,
which, for an instant, were strange and fixed; they seemed to defy me
to see anything in them that he wished me not to see. "Allow me to
present you," he said at last, in a tone I shall never forget——"allow
me to present you to my wife."
I stood staring at him; the woman still grasped my hand. She gave it
a violent shake and broke into a loud laugh. "He don't believe it!
There's my wedding-ring! And she thrust out the ample knuckles of her
left hand."
A hundred thoughts passed in a flash through my mind, and a dozen
exclamations——tragical, ironical, farcical——rose to my lips. But I
happily suppressed them all; I simply remained portentously silent, and
seated myself mechanically in the chair which Crawford pushed toward
me. His face was inscrutable, but in its urbane blankness I found a
reflection of the glaring hideousness of his situation. He had
committed a monstrous folly. As I sat there, for the next
half-hour——it seemed an eternity——I was able to take its full
measure. But I was able also to resolve to accept it, to respect it,
and to side with poor Crawford, so far as I might, against the
consequences of his deed. I remember of that half-hour little beyond a
general, rapidly deepening sense of horror. The woman was in a
talkative mood; I was the first of her husbands friends upon whom she
had as yet been able to lay hands. She gave me much information——as to
when they had been married (it was three weeks before), what she had
had on, what her husband (she called him Mr. Crawford ) had given her,
what she meant to do during the coming winter. "We are going to give a
great ball," she said, "the biggest ever seen in New York. It will open
the winter, and I shall be introduced to all his friends. They will
want to see me, dreadfully, and there will be sure to be a crowd. I
don't know whether they will come twice, but they will come once, I'll
She complained of her husband refusing to take her on a
wedding-tour——was ever a woman married like that before? "I'm not sure
its a good marriage, without a wedding-tour," she said. "I always
thought that to be really man and wife, you had to go to Niagara, or
Saratoga, or some such place. But he insists on sticking here in New
York; he says he has his reasons. He gave me that to keep me here. And
she made one of her rings twinkle."
Crawford listened to this, smiling, unflinching, unwinking. Before we
separated——to say something——I asked Mrs. Crawford if she liked
music? The fiddlers were scraping away. She turned her empty glass
upside down, and with a thump on the table——"I like that!" she cried.
It was most horrible. We rose, and Crawford tenderly offered her his
arm; I looked at him with a kind of awe.
I went to see him repeatedly, during the ensuing weeks, and did my
best to behave as if nothing was altered. In himself, in fact, nothing
was altered, and the really masterly manner in which he tacitly assumed
that the change in his situation had been in a high degree for the
better, might have furnished inspiration to my more bungling efforts.
Never had incurably wounded pride forged itself a more consummately
impenetrable mask; never had bravado achieved so triumphant an
imitation of sincerity. In his wife's absence, Crawford never alluded
to her; but, in her presence, he was an embodiment of deference and
attentive civility. His habits underwent little change, and he was
punctiliously faithful to his former pursuits. He studied——or at least
he passed hours in his library. What he did——what he was——in
solitude, heaven only knows; nothing, I am happy to say, ever revealed
it to me. I never asked him a question about his wife; to feign a
respectful interest in her would have been too monstrous a comedy. She
herself, however, more than satisfied my curiosity, and treated me to a
bold sketch of her life and adventures. Crawford had hit the nail on
the head; she was veritably, at the time he made her acquaintance,
residing at a boarding-house, not in the capacity of a boarder. She
even told me the terms in which he had made his proposal. There had
been no lovemaking, no nonsense, no flummery. "I have seven thousand
dollars a year," he had said——all of a sudden;— "will you please to
become my wife? You shall have four thousand for your own use." I have
no desire to paint the poor woman who imparted to me these facts in
blacker colours than she deserves; she was to be pitied certainly, for
she had been lifted into a position in which her defects acquired a
glaring intensity. She had made no overtures to Crawford; he had come
and dragged her out of her friendly obscurity, and placed her
unloveliness aloft upon the pedestal of his contrasted good-manners.
She had simply taken what was offered her. But for all ones logic,
nevertheless, she was a terrible creature. I tried to like her, I tried
to find out her points. The best one seemed to be that her jewels and
new dresses——her clothes were in atrocious taste——kept her, for the
time, in loud good-humour. Might they never be wanting? I shuddered to
think of what Crawford would find himself face to face with in case of
their failing ;coarseness, vulgarity, ignorance, vanity, and, beneath
all, something as hard and arid as dusty bricks. When I had left them,
their union always seemed to me a monstrous fable, an evil dream; each
time I saw them the miracle was freshly repeated.
People were still in a great measure in the country, and though it
had begun to be rumoured about that Crawford had taken a very strange
wife, there was for some weeks no adequate appreciation of her
strangeness. This came, however, with the advance of the autumn and
those beautiful October days when all the world was in the streets.
Crawford came forth with his terrible bride upon his arm, took every
day a long walk, and ran the gauntlet of society's surprise. On
Sundays, he marched into church with his incongruous consort, led her
up the long aisle to the accompaniment of the opening organ-peals, and
handed her solemnly into her pew. Mrs. Crawfords idiosyncrasies were
not of the latent and lurking order, and, in the view of her
fellow-worshipers of her own sex, surveying her from a distance, were
sufficiently summarized in the composition of her bonnets. Many persons
probably remember with a good deal of vividness the great festival to
which, early in the winter, Crawford convoked all his friends. Not a
person invited was absent, for it was a case in which friendliness and
curiosity went most comfortably, hand in hand. Every one wished well to
Crawford and was anxious to show it, but when they said they wouldn't
for the world seem to turn their backs upon the poor fellow, what
people really meant was that they would not for the world miss seeing
how Mrs. Crawford would behave. The party was very splendid and made an
era in New York, in the art of entertainment. Mrs. Crawford behaved
very well, and I think people were a good deal disappointed and
scandalized at the decency of her demeanour. But she looked deplorably,
it was universally agreed, and her native vulgarity came out in the
strange bedizenment of her too exuberant person. By the time supper was
served, moreover, every one had gleaned an anecdote about her bad
grammar, and the low level of her conversation. On all sides, people
were putting their heads together, in threes and fours, and tittering
over each others stories. There is nothing like the bad manners of good
society, and I, myself; acutely sensitive on Crawford's behalf; found
it impossible, by the end of the evening, to endure the growing
exhilaration of the assembly. The company had rendered its verdict;
namely, that there were the vulgar people one could, at a pinch accept,
and the vulgar people one couldn't, and that Mrs. Crawford belonged to
the latter class. I was savage with every one who spoke to me. "Yes,
she is as bad as you please," I said; "but you are worse!" But I might
have spared my resentment, for Crawford, himself; in the midst of all
this, was simply sublime. He was the genius of hospitality in person;
no one had ever seen him so careless, so free, so charming. When I went
to bid him good-night, as I took him by the hand——"You will carry it
through!" I said. He looked at me, smiling vaguely, and not showing in
the least that he understood me. Then I felt how deeply he was attached
to the part he had undertaken to play; he had sacrificed our old
good-fellowship to it. Even to me, his oldest friend, he would not
raise a comer of the mask.
Mrs. Ingram and Elizabeth were, of course, not at the ball; but they
had come back from Newport, bringing an ardent suitor in their train.
The event had amply justified Mrs. Ingram's circumspection; she had
captured a young Southern planter, whose estates were fabled to cover
three-eighths of the State of Alabama. Elizabeth was more beautiful
than ever, and the marriage was being hurried forward. Several times,
in public, to my knowledge, Elizabeth and her mother, found themselves
face to face with Crawford and his wife. What Crawford must have felt
when he looked from the exquisite creature he had lost to the
full-blown dowdy he had gained, is a matter it is well but to glance at
and pass——the more so, as my story approaches its close. One morning,
in my consulting-room, I had been giving some advice to a little old
gentleman who was as sound as a winter-pippin, but, who used to come
and see me once a month to tell me that he felt a hair on his tongue,
or, that he had dreamed of a blue-dog, and to ask to be put upon a diet
in consequence. The basis of a diet, in his view, was a daily pint of
port wine. He had retired from business, he belonged to a club, and he
used to go about peddling gossip. His wares, like those of most
peddlers, were cheap, and usually, for my prescription, I could
purchase the whole contents of his tray. On this occasion, as he was
leaving me, he remarked that he supposed I had heard the news about our
friend Crawford. I said that I had heard nothing. What was the news?
"He has lost every penny of his fortune," said my patient. "He is
completely cleaned out." And, then, in answer to my exclamation of
dismay, he proceeded to inform me that the New Amsterdam Bank had
suspended payment, and would certainly never resume it. All the world
knew that Crawfords funds were at the disposal of the bank, and that
two or three months before, when things were looking squally, he had
come most generously to the rescue. The squall had come, it had proved
a hurricane, the bank had capsized, and Crawfords money had gone to the
bottom. "It's not a surprise to me," said Mr. Niblett, "I suspected
something a year ago. It's true, I am very sharp."
"Do you think any one else suspected anything?" I asked.
"I dare say not; people are so easily humbugged. And, then, what
could have looked better, above board, than the New Amsterdam?"
"Nevertheless, here and there," I said, "an exceptionally sharp
person may have been on the watch."
"Unquestionably——though I am told that they are going on to-day,
down town, as if no bank had ever broken before."
"Do you know Mrs. Ingram?" I asked. "Thoroughly! She is exceptionally
sharp, if that is what you mean."
"Do you think it is possible that she foresaw this affair six months
"Very possible; she always has her nose in Wall street, and she knows
more about stocks than the whole board of brokers."
"Well," said I, after a pause, "sharp as she is, I hope she will get
nipped, yet!"
"Ah, said my old friend, you allude to Crawfords affairs? But you
shouldn't be a better royalist than the king. He has forgiven her——he
has consoled himself. But what will console him now? Is it true his
wife was a washerwoman? Perhaps she will not be sorry to know a trade."
I hoped with all my heart that Mr. Niblett's story was an
exaggeration, and I repaired that evening to Crawford's house, to learn
the real extent of his misfortune. He had seen me coming in, and he met
me in the hail and drew me immediately into the library. He looked like
a man who had been thrown by a vicious horse, but had picked himself up
and resolved to go the rest of the way on foot.
"How bad is it?" I asked.
"I have about a thousand a year left. I shall get some work, and with
careful economy we can live."
At this moment I heard a loud voice screaming from the top of the
stairs. "Will she help you?" I asked.
He hesitated a moment, and then——"No!" he said simply. Immediately,
as a commentary upon his answer, the door was thrown open and Mrs.
Crawford swept in. I saw in an instant that her good-humour was in
permanent eclipse; flushed, dishevelled, inflamed, she was a perfect
presentation of a vulgar fury. She advanced upon me with a truly
formidable weight of wrath.
"Was it you that put him up to it?" she cried. "Was it you that put
it into his head to marry me? I'm sure I never thought of him——he
isn't the twentieth part of a man! I took him for his money——four
thousand a year, clear; I never pretended it was for anything else.
To-day, he comes and tells me that it was all a mistake——that we must
get on as well as we can on twelve hundred. And he calls himself a
gentleman——and so do you, I suppose! There are gentlemen in the States
prison for less. I have been cheated, insulted and ruined; but I'm not
a woman you can play that sort of game upon. The moneys mine, what is
left of it, and he may go and get his fine friends to support him.
There ain't a thing in the world he can do——except lie and cheat!"
Crawford, during this horrible explosion, stood with his eyes fixed
upon the floor; and I felt that the peculiarly odious part of the scene
was that his wife was literally in the right. She had been bitterly
disappointed——she had been practically deceived. Crawford turned to me
and put out his hand. "Good-bye," he said. "I must forego the pleasure
of receiving you any more in my own house."
"I can't come again?" I exclaimed.
"I will take it as a favour that you should not."
I withdrew with an insupportable sense of helplessness. In the house
he was then occupying, he, of course, very soon ceased to live; but for
some time I was in ignorance of whither he had betaken himself. He had
forbidden me to come and see him, and he was too much occupied in
accommodating himself to his change of fortune to find time for making
visits. At last I disinterred him in one of the upper streets, near the
East River, in a small house of which he occupied but a single floor. I
disobeyed him and went in, and as his wife was apparently absent, he
allowed me to remain. He had kept his books, or most of them, and
arranged a sort of library. He looked ten years older, but he neither
made nor suffered me to make, an allusion to himself. He had obtained a
place as clerk at a wholesale chemists, and he received a salary of
five hundred dollars. After this, I not infrequently saw him; we used
often, on a Sunday, to take a long walk together. On our return we
parted at his door; he never asked me to come in. He talked of his
reading, of his scientific fancies, of public affairs, of our
friends——of everything, except his own troubles. He suffered, of
course, most of his purely formal social relations to die out; but if
he appeared not to cling to his friends, neither did he seem to avoid
them. I remember a clever old lady saying to me at this time, in
allusion to her having met him somewhere——"I used always to think Mr.
Crawford the most agreeable man in the world, but I think now he has
even improved." I One day——we had walked out into the country, and
were sitting on a felled log by the roadside, to rest (for in those
days New Yorkers could walk out into the country),I said to him that I
had a piece of news to tell him. It was not pleasing, but it was
"I told you six weeks ago," I said, "that Elizabeth Ingram had been
seized with small-pox. She has recovered, and two or three people have
seen her. Every ray of her beauty is gone. They say she is hideous."
"I don't believe it!" he said, simply.
"The young man who was to marry her does," I answered. "He has backed
out he has given her up——he has posted back to Alabama."
Crawford looked at me a moment, and then——"The idiot!" he exclaimed.
For myself, I felt the full bitterness of poor Elizabeth's lot; Mrs.
Ingram had been "nipped," as I had ventured to express it, in a grimmer
fashion than I hoped. Several months afterward, I saw the young girl,
shrouded in a thick veil, beneath which I could just distinguish her
absolutely blasted face. On either side of her walked her father and
mother, each of them showing a visage almost as blighted as her own.
I saw Crawford for a time, as I have said, with a certain frequency;
but there began to occur long intervals, during which he plunged into
inscrutable gloom. I supposed in a general way, that his wife's temper
gave him plenty of occupation at home; but a painful incident——which I
need not repeat——at last informed me how much. Mrs. Crawford, it
appeared, drank deep; she had resorted to liquor to console herself for
her disappointments. During her periods of revelry, her husband was
obliged to be in constant attendance upon her, to keep her from
exposing herself. She had done so to me, hideously, and it was so that
I learned the reason of her husbands fitful absences. After this, I
expressed to Crawford my amazement that he should continue to live with
"Its very simple," he answered. "I have done her a great wrong, and I
have forfeited the right to complain of any she may do to me."
"In heaven's name," I said, "make another fortune and pension her
He shook his head. "I shall never make a fortune. My working-power is
not of a high value."
One day, not having seen him for several weeks, I went to his house.
The door was opened by his wife, in curl-papers and a soiled
dressing-gown. After what I can hardly call an exchange of
greetings,——for she wasted no politeness upon me,——I asked for news
of my friend.
"He's at the NewYork Hospital," she said.
"What in the world has happened to him?"
"He has broken his leg, and he went there to be taken care of——as if
he hadn't a comfortable home of his own! But he's a deep one; that's a
hit at me!"
I immediately announced my intention of going to see him, but as I
was turning away she stopped me, laying her hand on my arm. She looked
at me hard, almost menacingly. "If he tells you," she said, "that it
was me that made him break his leg——that I came behind him, and pushed
him down the steps of the back-yard, upon the flags, you needn't
believe him. I could have done it; I'm strong enough and with a
vigorous arm she gave a thump upon the door-post. It would have served
him right, too. But its a lie!"
"He will not tell me," I said. "But you have done so."
Crawford was in bed, in one of the great, dreary wards of the
hospital, looking as a man looks who has been laid up for three weeks
with a compound fracture of the knee. I had seen no small amount of
physical misery, but I had never seen anything so poignant as the sight
of my once brilliant friend in such a place, from such a cause. I told
him I would not ask him how his misfortune occurred: I knew! We talked
awhile, and at last I said, "Of course you will not go back to her."
He turned away his head, and at this moment, the nurse came and said
that I had made the poor gentleman talk enough.
Of course he did go back to her——at the end of a very long
convalescence. His leg was permanently injured; he was obliged to move
about very slowly, and what he had called the value of his
working-power was not thereby increased. This meant permanent poverty,
and all the rest of it. It lasted ten years longer——until 185—, when
Mrs. Crawford died of delirium tremens. I cannot say that this event
restored his equanimity, for the excellent reason that to the eyes of
the world——and my own most searching ones——he had never lost it.
Back to the Index


text:
Immune Research
Concurrent research has identified very positive immune-stimulating properties with the Nerium oleander plant. Research has confirmed that Nerium extracts have been "shown to stimulate the immune system by stimulation of the function and capability of specific subsets of mononuclear cells" and specifically stimulates T and B lymphocytes, the cell-mediated and the humoral mediated immune systems.
Thus, NBI research is now expanding to the positive modulation of the immune properties of the Nerium oleander plant. Research of an identified immune target, for determining "immunocompetence" in individuals, is expected to open a new arena for product development. This provides NBI with the opportunity to develop for the consumer natural botanical nutraceutical (immune supplement) healthcare products.

subset: commoncrawl


text:
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skype: gogostonecom
Copyright GOGOstone.com All Rights Reserved


text:
Indian Ridge Farm
1670 Echota Road
Clarkesville, GA
(404) 372-9204
"Indian Ridge Farm is located between Mount Yonah and the Chattahoochee River. Our location is at 1670 Echota Road, Clarkesville, Georgia. We grow and sell to chefs and local farmers markets. We sell vegetables, (asparagus, cabbage, eggplant, garlic, green onions, hot peppers, kale, leeks, lettuce, mushrooms, mustard greens, onions, potatoes, radish, salad greens, salad mix, spinach, sun chokes, sweet corn, tomatoes, turnips, and watercress), fruits (apples, blueberries, and pears), fresh herbs, eggs, honey, and fresh flowers."


text:
December 17, 2016
2902 MONTENEGRO - The flag of the country
The flag of Montenegro, officially adopted with the Law on the state symbols and the statehood day of Montenegro on 13 July 2004, is a red banner with broader golden edges all around the red field with the coat of arms of Montenegro in its center. The charge is a two-headed eagle which is a symbol of Byzantine and ultimately Roman origin. It symbolises dual authority, such as that over the church and state. The motif was used by medieval rulers of Zeta - the House of Crnojević, as well as various other European dynasties.
The layout of the Montenegrin coat of arms is inspired by that of the Russian Empire, with which the ruling House of Petrović-Njegoš had close dynastic and political ties in the 19th century when the coat of arms was first adopted in its present form. The lion passant on the inescutcheon is as a sign of episcopal authority and could have been inspired by the metaphore of the Lion of Judah. Furthermore, it bears some similarity to the motif present in the arms of Venice, which had considerable influence in the history of Montenegro.
After Montenegro regained its independence from medieval Serbia, it gradually became a theocracy in order to preserve unity before numerous Turkish invasions of the country. After the establishment of the secular dynastic succession in 1851, the lion was placed beneath the eagle, while the initials of the ruler stood on the shield. Today, Montenegro is a secular, democratic republic, so the fact that the crown of the Petrovic-Njegos dynasty was also represented created some controversy at the time of its adoption.
About the stamp
The stamp is part of the series Historical Heritage 2015- Architecture (2), designed by Marko Zogović & Zoran Popović, and issued on November 11, 2015.
0.95 EUR - It's on the postcard 2902
Coat of arms of Montenegro - Wikipedia
Flag of Montenegro - Wikipedia
Sender: Renato Grgurević (direct swap)
Sent from Herceg Novi (Montenegro), on 07.12.2016
Publicat de Danut Ivanescu la 5:43 PM
Etichete: Maps & flags, MONTENEGRO
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text:
One of our favorite times of the day is early morning, after the dog has been walked, when we crawl back into the heated bed and solve the world's problems by expressing likes, laughs, and anger on Facebook and posting our opinions on social media.
It's the modern version of reading the morning newspaper. Except we get to read stories from around the world, some well written and documented, others disjointed and pure hyperbole. NYT, WSJ, WaPo, smaller town papers from around the US, the British press, French and Swiss journals, German, RT, Al Jazeera, the Intercept, Common Dreams, China Post, India Times, Australia, economic publications, aviation magazines, tekkie journals, and of course the oftentimes breathless commentary of friends who range from the almost far right to the almost far left of the political spectrum.
We love it when friends from one era of our lives connect with friends from another era, even if one is conservative, the other liberal, and it's a textual joust.
We're amused when someone leaps to the erroneous conclusion that we support some politician or other because we dared to question the veracity of an online story about them ... when our only purpose was to question the veracity. Even more amused when one person thinks we support one candidate and someone else thinks we support their opponent - when, in fact, we support neither. (That veracity thing again.)
I particularly like to play devil's advocate, stir the pot, as they say, and chuckle at the vitriol that follows. (Did those of you who attack me or my views personally realize you are merely providing entertainment?)
Unfortunately, our words and images on social media probably won't change the world. They may, however, drive Zuck's Facebook algorithms crazy, which is some solace.
Then, when we get out of bed each day, we try to take some concrete action to make the world a bit better in ways that we can.
Oh, I almost forgot. Love animal videos. Snippets of sanity in the media maelstrom.
See you online.


text:
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text:
'Women' a fun fluff remake of 1939 film
No doubt some film critics will unfavorably compare the latest version of Clare Boothe Luce's play "The Women" to the original 1939 George Cukor film starring Joan Crawford, Norma Shearer and Rosalind Russell. However, if one just forgets that film and views the latest "Women" for what it is - fun fluff - it's amusing entertainment.
The original is a classic, but it's been so long since I've seen it all I remember is that the there are no men on screen and that the characters are rather vicious to each other. The same is true here, except the women are less mean and the acting is not as good as in Cukor's film.
Unless you've recently seen the original, you should enjoy the current film as long as expectations aren't too high. The comparison amongst contemporary filmgoers will be between this and "Sex and the City." They both celebrate high fashion, New York City, conspicuous consumption and have somewhat shallow characters finding themselves over a year's time. Also, as with "Sex," the main focus is on female friendships.
It's some names, a few scenes and the general premise of a woman finding out through gossip that her husband is having an affair with a Saks perfume counter sales woman that remain from Luce's premise, everything else has been vastly changed and updated. "Murphy Brown" creator Diane English writes and for the first time directs. She's a better writer than director.
Meg Ryan is Mary Haines the privileged mother of one daughter who is devastated when a manicurist tells her that her husband is cheating with Crystal Allen, the beautiful, but one-note Eva Mendes. Should Mary listen to her mother, the very good Candice Bergen, who tells her to forgive him in order to keep the family together and to keep her status in their high society? Or should Mary listen to some of her friends who say dump the lying cheat? The conflicted Mary gives both methods a try before realizing she's no good to anyone until she's her own person.
Mary's best friend is Sylvia, Annette Bening showing the most toughness and vulnerability of any of the women. Sylvia is single and afraid of losing her career so she puts a something in front of someone, which ends up hurting Mary. Her other friends include earth mother Edie (Debra Messing) and lesbian author Alex (Jada Pinkett Smith).
Cloris Leachman is a standout as Maggie, Mary's wise housekeeper, while India Ennenga is sympathetic as Mary's unhappy daughter. I felt for the kid. The film tries to have a message about being yourself and all, but it's no wonder the daughter has body image problems since she's surrounded by women who have obviously had work done.
Bette Midler doesn't fit in the film at all, even if she's funny in her two scenes. Messing and the so-irritating-she'd-never-work-at Saks Debi Mazar are the weak links in the acting department. I can't remember Bening ever giving a bad performance, even in very bad movies. I was reminded why Ryan was America's sweetheart for a while. She can be very appealing, even if her acting range is narrow.
"The Women"
RUN TIME: 114 minutes
RATED: PG-13 (sex-related material, language, some drug use and brief smoking)
RATING: *** (out of four)


text:
WASHINGTON (CBS.MW) -- After an uninterrupted interest-rate-slashing campaign dating to the earliest days of 2001, the U.S. central bank appeared to call it quits this week.
The Federal Reserve left overnight interest rates unchanged Wednesday, saying that "the outlook for economic recovery has become more promising." Before that nonmove, it had reduced rates 11 straight times, lowering the federal funds rate by 4.75 percentage points in just over a year. See full story.
Globalization both feared and favored
NEW YORK (CBS.MW) -- Against the not-so-mountainous backdrop of the Davos conference -- this year convened in New York City instead of its customary Swiss Alps -- data were reported from the latest broad poll on globalization. (See dispatches from the World Economic Forum.) Among the findings: Wealthier people generally favor economic globalization, but poorer people fear its effects. The majority of the 25,000 people telephoned or interviewed at home after Sept. 11 said they expect economic globalization to be positive for themselves and their families. They also said they're concerned that economic globalization will worsen the world's economies and reduce the number of jobs in their home lands. See full story.
The Enron saga continues
WASHINGTON (CBS.MW) -- The week's developments on the Enron front included an appearance by Ken Lay's wife on network television in which she suggested that she and her husband feel lower-rung employees' pain as well as widening fears that exposure to the failed energy-trading giant ENRNQ would buffet the banking sector. Perhaps even more dramatic, though, was news that the bipartisan General Accounting Office would sue for documents detailing the Bush administration's development of a national energy policy. See full story.
United Airlines makes aviation history
CHICAGO (CBS.MW) -- UAL UAL, +0.18% United Airlines' holding company, reported the biggest full-year loss in airline history Friday. It lost $2.1 billion and said that it expects another big loss in the first quarter, despite improving passenger trends. An aggressive plan to get its finances "back to stability" could stave off bankruptcy, the carrier's chief financial officer said. See full story.
AOL Time Warner posts $1.8 billion loss
NEW YORK (CBS.MW) -- Gerald Levin, the departing chief executive of AOL Time Warner, said during a post-earnings-report conference with about 700 analysts, investors and reporters that the company AOL had a "strong performance" in 2001 and boasted about its "solid subscriber growth." That while discussing a quarterly loss of $1.8 billion, or 41 cents a share. The stock has plunged 43 percent since the America Online-Time Warner merger 12 months ago. See full story.
Tyco put through the ringer
NEW YORK (CBS.MW) -- In a session exemplifying the current atmosphere of concern over the reliability of corporate books and governance, shares of Tyco International TYC, +74.50% were pummeled, hung out to dry, defended and, by Wednesday's closing bell, back in a modicum of favor. The intraday price swing was about $10. The stock's early-day sell-off was brought on by disclosure of a $20 million payment, and its rebound was inspired by analysts' defense of the company and news that two top executives planned to increase their Tyco holdings. See full story.
Murdoch's Fox: Who's laughing now?
NEW YORK (CBS.MW) -- When Rupert Murdoch's News Corp. rolled out Fox FOX, +0.79% the so-called fourth U.S. television network, the upstart seemed so different from the established networks of CBS, NBC and ABC. It appeared that viewers laughed more at Fox than at its programs. That was 15 years ago. Now, Fox Entertainment Group is delighting in tweaking the television industry and showing that the joke is on its competitors. By catering to young viewers, Fox has gotten itself on a roll. See full story.
War, economy key themes in State of the Union
WASHINGTON (CBS.MW) -- President Bush, tying together themes of national and economic security, called on Congress Tuesday night to unite behind him on domestic issues much as it has on the war against terrorism. Bush, speaking to a joint session of Congress in his first formal State of the Union address, applauded lawmakers for their "unity and resolve," which he said should also be turned toward efforts to boost the economy. See full story.
Change atop Big Blue
ARMONK, N.Y. (CBS.MW) -- IBM on Tuesday tapped President Sam Palmisano to replace Lou Gerstner as chief executive, handing the reins of the world's largest computer company to a veteran executive who helped turn it around in the 1990s. While speculation had swirled for weeks that Gerstner would retire, the announcement still caught some investors by surprise -- costing the stock IBM, +1.14% some $5 a share. He'll depart March 1, his 60th birthday. As for the new guy, Palmisano is a 28-year veteran who led a redesign of the company's server lineup. He's also credited with helping increase services revenue. Had he been passed over for the top job, "it would have been a major surprise," said Paul Carroll, the author of the book "Big Blues." Palmisano's biggest challenge "is to figure out a way to grow IBM's revenue," said Carroll. "Wall Street has been looking for revenue growth for a long time." See full story.
Commentary: Greenspan's swansong
SAN FRANCISCO (CBS.MW) -- You won't have Alan Greenspan to kick around anymore. He'll leave the Fed chairmanship by year-end. Wrongly blamed for causing the latest recession, Greenspan's profile in Washington has been shrinking steadily for most of the last year, even as he battled a worsening economy with 11 aggressive rate cuts in 12 months. The next rate move will be up, and that won't be for several months. Having ushered the economy to this point, Greenspan now finds himself with little to do. So my guess is that, at some point in 2002, the man who coined the term "irrational exuberance" will make a rationally exuberant decision to take his briefcase and go home. See commentary by David Callaway.
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text:
just like what i mentioned in my previous post, i got a chance to watched Kecak Dance in Uluwatu, Bali, Indonesia coincide with the sunset.
Kecak is Balinese dance and musical drama from Bali, Indonesia. it has been performed primarily by men wearing Bali checkered cloth around their waist circled a fire percussively chanting "cak".
Kecak dance tell love story between Rama and Sinta (puppetry story of Ramayana). in the performance that i watched there are three segment.
the first segment was tell Rama and Sinta who lives in forest. Sinta saw a golden deer and asked Rama to catch it for her. but Rama knows that if he leave Sinta alone, Rawana who like Sinta will kidnap Sinta and bring her to his kingdom. but Rama try to keep his promise to Sinta and asked his brother Lakshmana to keep her from Rawana while he leave.
the second segment was tell about Sinta who heard shouts that she believed is Rama. she asked Lakshmana to search for Rama but Lakshmana wouldn't leave Sinta without a guard, so he build a fortress for Sinta before he leave to search Rama. even tho Lakshmana built fortress for Sinta but still Rawana can kidnap Sinta and took her to his kingdom. Jatayu, an incredible bird who saw Rawana trying to kidnap Sinta, try to help Sinta but lost a fight with Rawana. before Jatayu died, he managed to tell to Rama about Sinta kidnapping.
and the last segment was tell about Rama who team up with Hanoman to save Sinta from Rawana. but Hanoman be caught by Rawana troops instead and they try to burn Hanoman alive. but Hanoman was too strong and he managed to escape and together with Rama and Lakshmana, they demolish Rawana's kingdom and Rawana died.


text:
|this is way too easy.. hot glue tiny pom poms onto a lampshade in a circular motion (or stripes, or any design you choose!)
|this one is a washi tape lampshade. so simple! just take your favorite washi tape & start taping! For tape design I was thinking geometric, stripes, vertical lines, etc.
|this one is soooo cute. made from a thrift store sweater! for complete tutorial, go here.
What's your favorite? I can't choose! & I also cannot wait to get crafting.
Happy Wednesday, readers!
xo Addison


text:
Aristocracy Runs Deep When It Comes to Bloodlines
The term aristocrat refers to a person enjoying an elevated social status due to either financial wealth or by sharing a bloodline with those possessing nobility titles. In fact, bloodlines have played a role in recognizing nobility for quite some time, as evidenced by the phrase blue blood. Nevertheless, you can find aristocratic titles for sale nowadays
The Spanish Origins of Blue Blood
While the English phrase was first recorded in 1834, the term was originally derived from the Spanish saying sangre azul. This described Spanish high nobility who directly descended from the Visigoths, ancient Germanic tribes that settled primarily in Western Europe. In those days, many hours spent working outdoors led the lower classes to become deeply tanned. Conversely, pale skin denoted the leisurely life of a noble, and as a result the faint markings of blue veins could be seen just below the surface of noble skin.
Medieval Battles Solidified Nobility
This was a prominent issue in Spain in particular, due to invading Northern African warriors known as the Moors. The Moors were responsible for dismantling the Visigothic kingdom, which led to years of strife. The ninth century brought a proper Spanish army, which engaged in battle with Moorish combatants for over five hundred years. When a Spanish nobleman experienced victory in battle, he would hold up his sword to display his arm. This was a signal that the nobleman was of high-birth, due to the blue veins visible just under his skin.


text:
(Reuters Health) – Some opioid users are more likely than others to know about and use naloxone, a medication designed to rapidly reverse opioid overdoses, suggests a study conducted in Chicago.
This post was syndicated from Reuters: Health News. Click here to read the full text on the original website.


text: Marion L. Hopfer, 83, Johnstown, died April 27, 2005, at Memorial Medical Center. Born April 14, 1922, in Johnstown. Daughter of the late Otto and Carolyn (Bingell) Luttringer. Preceded in death by husband Philip; brother Cloyd; and sisters Mary DeLeeuw, Mildred Stover and Nona Lingle. Survived by sons, Dr. Joseph P. Karwoski, with whom Mrs. Hopfer resided; Jerry Hopfer and fiancee, Trish Honeycutt, both of Johnstown; and daughters, Saundra, Esq., wife of John Frankowski, Pittsburgh; Sharon, wife of Dante Petrocelli, Friedens; and Gail Hopfer, Windber. Also survived by daughter-in-law Joanie (Gebhardt) Hopfer, Pittsburgh. Mrs. Hopfer was a published poet, and traveled the world as well as all over the United States. She sang with the Johnstown Symphony Chorus, was an avid candy maker, graduated from Johnstown High School and loved the outdoors/wildlife and all animals. Family will receive friends from 2 to 4 and 6 to 8 p.m. Friday at the Geisel Funeral Home-Dale. A funeral service will be held 1 p.m. Saturday in the Geisel-Devlin Memorial Chapel. The Rev. Father Charles Bridges. Entombment Richland Mausoleum. In lieu of flowers contributions may be made to the Cambria County Humane Society.


text:
Students' success has been rewarded at an annual ceremony.
Pupils from Bedlingtonshire Community High School were honoured for attendance, effort, progress and attainment during the previous school year.
Each department recognised youngsters who had excelled, with many returning from university to collect their prizes.
The Alistair Aitken Award, in memory of a former teacher who died while attempting a mountain rescue, was given to Charlene Brown, who overcame difficulties to achieve excellent GCSE results.
Guest speaker was Steve Furnell, from Metro Radio.
Assistant headteacher Jamie Bell said: "We are very proud of all the students."


text:
KUCHING, Oct 12 — Singapore and the United Kingdom should have been included as members of a committee to re-visit the Malaysia Agreement 1963 (MA63), Sarawak State Reform Party (STAR) said today.
STAR president Lina Soo said a 16-member steering Committee headed by Prime Minister Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad had no competent jurisdiction to deal with MA63, an international treaty registered with the United Nations.
"A review or revisit of an international treaty signed by Britain, Malaya, Singapore, Sarawak and Sabah is meaningless and non-effective without the participation of all signatories," she said.
She criticised the committee as comprising politicians from selected political parties and some civil servants who owe their positions to the current administration.
Moreover, she said, many breaches of MA63 were committed during Dr Mahathir's first tenure as prime minister from 1981 to 2003.
"Sarawak which contributes the bulk of oil and gas to Petronas and the federal coffers has only three out of 16 members in the committee to review an international agreement where the lead signatory nations are absent in the first place," she added.
Soo claimed that the committee looked like a cover-up committee to lull Sarawakians into accepting breaches of MA63 which have exploited them for so long.
She said every day caused great economic loss to Sarawak, as unconstitutional federal laws were used to plunder Sarawak's oil and gas.
De facto Law Minister Datuk Liew Vui Keong had said two days ago that the MA63 committee would be led by Dr Mahathir to review and propose measures to rectify the status of Sarawak and Sabah as equal partners to Malaya.
Among members of the committee were Sarawak Chief Minister Datuk Patinggi Abang Johari Openg, federal Works Minister Baru Bian, Sarawak Attorney-General Datuk Talaat Mahmood Abdul Rashid, Sabah Chief Minister Datuk Seri Shafie Apdal, International Trade and Industry Minister Darell Leiking, de facto Law Minister Datuk Liew Vui Keong, Chief Judge of Sabah and Sarawak Datuk David Wong Dak Wah and Sabah Attorney-General Zaleha Rose Pandin.


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Who are they going to complain to now?
U.S. to Expand Immigration Checks to All Local JailsOf course this does nothing to stop the millions of illegals that CASA de Maryland would love to support and help break the law. Despite the fact that Homeland Security Secretary Janet Napolitano has made it "very clear" that her top priority is deporting illegal immigrants who have committed crimes, this does nothing about those immigrants that enter the country illegally and then otherwise abide by the law.
The Obama administration is expanding a program initiated by President George W. Bush aimed at checking the immigration status of virtually every person booked into local jails. In four years, the measure could result in a tenfold increase in illegal immigrants who have been convicted of crimes and identified for deportation, current and former U.S. officials said.
By matching inmates' fingerprints to federal immigration databases, authorities hope to pinpoint deportable illegal immigrants before they are released from custody. Inmates in federal and state prisons already are screened. But authorities generally lack the time and staff to do the same at local jails, which house up to twice as many illegal immigrants at any time and where inmates come and go more quickly.
"We mean this, we're serious about it, and we believe we need to put in an all-out effort to get this done," said Rep. David E. Price (D-N.C.), chairman of the House Appropriations subcommittee for homeland security.
Do you hear that? They are serious this time!
The money quote from the illegal supporters:
Amnesty International and immigrant advocates warn that the change could lead to immigration checks in other arenas and the "criminalization" of illegal immigration.
Tom Barry, an analyst for the Center for International Policy, a nonprofit research and policy institute in Washington, said the initiative could sweep up foreign-born U.S. residents who have served time for offenses but were not deported.
"Many, many legal immigrants are going to be pulled into this net even for minor violations that they're booked for -- traffic violations, drunk driving, whatever -- and after they've lived here 10 or 20 years, they're going to be deported," Barry said.
GOOD! As for "criminalizing" illegal immigration, its already illegal, you can't criminalize it anymore than it already is you moron. Heaven forbid we follow Amnesty International's logic or we might soon be criminalizing simple murder and rape. Then what would we do? Idiots!