The Beheaded Picture
Text 1
Buffalo Bill
The name “Buffalo Bill” is one of the most famous names in the history of the West. Once Bill was known as a great fighter and a great hunter. Today people prefer to remember other sides of his character. Later in his life he was a great showman and one of the first people to see that it was necessary to protect America’s natural environment .
Buffalo Bill Cody was born on a farm in Scott county, Indiana, on 26th February 1846. At age 12, Bill killed his first Indian.
In those days, life in the American West was a constant struggle for survival, and Indians and white pioneers would fight to the death to protect their homes and their people.
Clearly, young Bill was a tough boy, who knew what he was doing. Before he was thirteen, he was an expert horse-rider and a crack-shot with a gun; and in those days, when the West was wild, that meant he had excellent qualifications for a job.
Before the age of twenty, Bill left home and took a job with the Pony Express company, and very soon he became reputed as one of their best riders.
It was the time when the West was being opened up. After the Pony Express, Bill got a job supplying buffalo meat to the men building the Kansas Pacific rail- road. In the space of 17 months, he claims to have killed 4,280 buffaloes. This is where he got his name, “Buffalo Bill”.
In the 1870s, he worked as a scout for the army, during the Indian campaigns, and took part in General Custer’s war against the Sioux. Once, he killed Chief Yellow Hand in a duel. This was just one of the exploits that were written about in popular story books. In those days, anyone who killed Indians was seen as a hero.
In fact, Buffalo Bill was one of the first men in America to realise that white Americans and Indians could, and should, work together. Bill made his peace with the Indians, and when he established his famous “Wild West Show”, he recruited many famous Indians to work with him. They included Red Cloud, Red Shirt, and even Sitting Bull. His grandson says, “At its height, there were over 650 people who travelled with the show, including 250 American Indians. With these Indians, with all the cowboys, they re-enacted the robbery of the Deadwood stage coach and the Pony Express mail relay system”.
With the money he earned from his show, Bill purchased some land in Wyoming; but by then the West was already changing dramatically. Bill, the once-great buffalo-hunter looked nostalgically at the few rare buffaloes that were still around, and realised that they had to be protected. At the same time, he began trying to conserve aspects of the old Western life that were rapidly disappearing into the twentieth century. One of the things he did was to help establish America’s first National Forest reserve in Wyoming.
When he died, aged 70, Buffalo Bill knew that the old West was almost dead too, except as history and stories. Yet he knew, too, that one of the most famous names associated with its legends, was his own.
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Text 2
Beaconsfield
There is hardly any part of last century in which, among her politicians, Great Britain did not number men who during their lifetime occupied important places among the leaders of the world. A few may be considered even great, for their successors are still influenced by their spirit.
Among this select few the highest place may possibly be allotted to Benjamin Disraeli. He was not a politician in the narrow sense of the word, but a 'statesman of the highest order. His rivals, of whom there were many, are of very little interest to the present generation, but Disraeli has left an enduring mark on many parts of the world.
In a brief period of time he gave India the form of government by which, with some modifications, she is still being ruled; he supervised a constitution for British Columbia, and gave Canada her charter of liberty and progress.
Although in Britain equal rights are now enjoyed by all, no matter to what nationality they belong, Disraeli encountered considerable opposition from the aristocracy, on account of his Eastern origin. Yet in the course of time he gained many followers and even friends among the Lords of England. One of these, Lord Stanley, who was offered the throne of Greece in 1862, did much to spread Disraeli’s influence and strengthen his party.
At first the Queen disliked Disraeli, but in spite of this, he eventually became her most trusted adviser. He was a man with a very broad mind, not bounded by the narrow limits of our island, and throughout his career he energetically opposed the so-called ‘Little Englanders,’ whose ambition was to free their country from the burden which they considered the colonies were.
Disraeli maintained that real liberties were always accompanied by no less real duties, and that although we received no direct material benefit, from our over-sea dominions, our duty (and to him as to most Englishmen it was a proud duty) undoubtedly was to help them protect their freedom. In return for this protection, their duty would clearly be to join with the mother country in defending and spreading civilisation. They should, however, not be asked to follow blindly wherever they might be led: they should be directly represented on the Imperial Council and have a voice in the policy of the Empire.
One may say that Disraeli began the work of cementing the different parts of our Empire, and his work has been continued with great success, the different parts being firmly held together by the common ideal of justice and liberty.
Disraeli was raised to the Peerage in 1876 as Lord Beaconsfield, being one of the first Jews to receive that distinction. He has also left us some literary works of considerable merit.
Text 3
The Beheaded Picture
Two people were standing in the library, Lord Leverhulme and his housekeeper, Mrs. Phippen, who had also in years gone by been His Lordship’s nurse.
A portrait of Lord Leverhulme had just been painted by Mr. Augustus John, a well- known English artist; but now that it had arrived, it was found tobe too big for its place on the wall.
“What a pity!” said His Lordship, as he looked, first at the picture, next at the wall, then at the picture again. “We can’t hang it here: it’s too big by half.”
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way, Master Walter,” answered the housekeeper. “And, as I always said when you were a bit of a boy no higher than my knee, if there is a way at all, our Walter will find it.”
“I always said,” continued the old woman, “he was as strong as Samson, as wise as Solomon, as good as . . .”
“That’ll do, Nelly,” interrupted Lord Leverhulme. “You’ve given me a good idea at any rate. Solomon decided a difficult question with a knife. I’ll do the same: I’ll cut the picture in two!”
To think, with Lord Leverhulme, was to act, so the portrait was soon beheaded, with one part hanging proudly on the wall,while the other part was left on the floor. Without further thought about the matter, His Lordship then went off to enjoy himself in the country.
What Mrs. Phippen thought, we are not told. Perhaps in her opinion the unnecessary part of the picture might be-useful to the artist, if she were to send it back, so it was soon packed and sent back to Mr. John!
What a storm arose out of this little incident! Mr. Augustus John was very angry. He wrote Lord Leverhulme a letter, in which he clearly expressed his opinion of what had been done.
The newspapers took the matter up, giving it very great importance, and they have not finished with it yet. Some say Lord Leverhulme had a perfect right to do what he liked with the picture, for he had paid for it, it was his own property; others say he acted wrongly, having no right to destroy a work of art.
Those who agree with Lord Leverhulme say: The picture was his own property, so he could keep it, or sell it, or, in short, do what he liked with it. Had he not paid for it, were he not the real owner, it would be another matter.
Those who are on Mr. John’s side say: A work of art always, belongs, to some extent, to the artist, the author of its being; for it is the expression of his own personality, his genius, it is part of his life. This, if the artist is great, lives after his death, it still belongs to him, it can neither be bought nor sold.
In this way the discussion is still continuing, each side feeling sure that it is right. The majority, however, seems to be with the artists, who say that a real work of art cannot belong absolutely to any one individual: it is universal property, it belongs to all mankind.
Were the artist himself to destroy such a work, he would therefore be wrong, just the same as a parent would be wrong, if he were to kill his own child.
Text 4
Hinemoa
Hinemoa was the beautiful daughter of a Maori chief, who lived on the shore of a great lake in New Zealand, one of the most beautiful countries in the world. In the middle of this lake there is a small island, which has a very pretty legend connected with it.
This legend says that a great feast and dance was arranged by Hinemoa’s father, at which all the young men of good blood, and some also whose rank was not high, were present. These young men all danced and sang at the feast. Most of them danced well; they certainly all danced as well as they could, for each hoped to win the heart and hand of the young lady.
As might be expected, one of them was successful. He was a handsome young man from the island in the lake. He was strong and brave, but when Hinemoa told her father that she had chosen him, the old chief was very angry, and told her that this man was out of the question, for he was not of noble blood.
“Noble or not,” answered Hinemoa, “he is the man I have chosen, and he is the man I shall marry!”
Naturally, this only made the Chief more angry. He swore that if the islander should come to the shore again, he would certainly kill him. He also had all the boats pulled far up from the water, so that his daughter might not row to the island in one of them. This was all very wise, but not wise enough, as you will see.
For a time Hinemoa spent her evenings near the lake, always looking towards the island, but she never found a boat there, which could take her over the water.
Did Hinemoa weep? Perhaps she did, poor girl, but we are not told so. Did she despair?
Indeed, she did not: if the young man was worth anything at all, he was worth everything, so she would risk all she had, even life itself. She would swim to the island, to be the wife of the man who had won her heart!
Now it was 3 long miles to the island, but one night she started on her dangerous adventure. Quite alone she entered the water. It was very cold. The night was also dark, and she could not see the island. Yet, she kept on swimming for several hours.
She was a strong swimmer, but gradually she became weaker: there seemed to be no end to the distance, and the cold was freezing her very bones! Once she began to sink, but she recovered some strength and continued the long swim.
She was very near despair indeed, and cried out in the darkness. As if in answer to her cry, the moon broke through the dark clouds, and she saw that she was very near the island. A few minutes more, and her tired feet actually touched the sand.
She rested some seconds, and when she reached dry land, she found that it was warm: it was near a hot spring, of which there are many in those parts. She entered the warm water, and quickly recovered strength after her long, cold swim. Soon she was quite herself again.
She met the young Maori of the island, they were married, and lived there happily for many years.
The hot spring which gave her back life and strength is known, even to this day, as Hinemoa’s Bath.
Text 5
Sir Philip Sidney
Philip Sidney was born in the year 1554, two years after Raleigh and ten years before Shakespeare. Having many friends at the court of Queen Elizabeth, and being a man of remarkable talent, he became one of the leading men in the kingdom.
He was sent on several missions to the continent, and, having fulfilled them very satisfactorily, he returned to England, visiting several European capitals on the way.
He was not only an able statesman and soldier, but also a writer of prose and poetry, producing some works which, even for that time, the beginning of the Golden Age of English Literature, are not unimportant.
In 1586 he went to Holland to help the Dutch in their wars for religious liberty, having been knighted by Queen Elizabeth three years earlier. This was his last mission to the continent, for, having been wounded at the Battle of Zutphen, he died a fortnight later.
His having fulfilled many difficult missions, his having ably led his soldiers to battle, and even his having written several literary works may easily be forgotten; but one simple act of humanity will probably keep his name alive for ever: —
While lying mortally wounded after his last battle and suffering from thirst, he asked for something to drink. After waiting a long time, he was given some water, hich he put to his lips. But just at this moment he noticed a soldier lying near him, who was wounded worse even than he. Without drinking any himself, he handed it to his comrade in misfortune, saying: “Take it, Friend; your wound is worse than mine.”
Text 6
A Successful D unce
A thousand miles away from my native country, I receive a newspaper every week, which is sent me by one of my kind friends, who has just been made mayor of the little town where we spent so many years at school together over half a century ago.
The news that he had been raised to such a high position did not surprise me, for, before I heard it, his name had often been mentioned in the paper among those of the greatest men in the town. Yet, when I think of him as I knew him at school, his progress seems most strange to me.
He was the dunce of our form. Now an ordinary dunce can generally do something well: he is not a dunce in everything; but my friend was the most perfect dunce I have ever met or heard of. The masters and the pupils all agreed about that. They said: Nothing is ever done well, nothing has ever been done well by him.
They were quite right then, I “think, for, as far as we knew, everything he had tried to do had been done badly. But when we said: Nothing will ever be done well by him, we were certainly all wrong.
His life has been made a success, in spite of his unsatisfactory work at school. As far as I can see, he developed very late; but when he had once begun, he developed quickly. From the moment of his first success, just before we both left school, everything has gone well with him. By some he is called lucky, by others clever, by me he will always be remembered as the good old dunce of our form.
His first success, which has just been mentioned, was a strange one: During our lesson on English Literature one day, my friend made the whole class laugh as it had never laughed before. The master himself was so amused that he laughed too, and yet, what happened was not so very funny after all.
We had been asked to write a few lines as examples of English verse. This was not easy for any of us; for our dunce it seemed impossible.
When some time had been spent in thinking and writing, the master took my friend’s paper, to see what had been written by him. He read it to himself, then read it also to us. It was such a success, that none of the other examples were even looked at by the master, who, I believe, kept the paper, and showed it to all the other masters.
My friend, the dunce, now Mayor of Vobster, had written:
The night was dark and stormy;
A man came up the street;
His weary eyes were full of tears;
And his boots were full of feet!
Text 7