The Charlotte News

Wednesday, August 20, 1941

THREE EDITORIALS

Site Ed. Note: "Now, as to miracles"--said the philosopher, confident in the presence of Everard, besides that an opportunity of scoffing at religion really in some degree diverted his fear--"I leave these out of the question, seeing that the evidence on such subjects seems as little qualified to carry conviction as a horse-hair to land a leviathan."

A loud clap of thunder, or a noise as formidable, rang through the Lodge as the scoffer had ended, which struck him pale and motionless, and made Desborough throw himself on his knees, and repeat exclamations and prayers in much admired confusion.

"There must be contrivance here," exclaimed Everard; and snatching one of the candles from a sconce, he rushed out of the apartment, little heeding the entreaties of the philosopher, who, in the extremity of his distress, conjured him by the Animus Mundi to remain to the assistance of a distressed philosopher endangered by witches, and a Parliament-man assaulted by ruffians. As for Desborough, he only gaped like a clown in a pantomime; and, doubtful whether to follow or stop, his natural indolence prevailed, and he sat still.

When on the landing-place of the stairs, Everard paused a moment to consider which was the best course to take. He heard the voices of men talking fast and loud, like people who wish to drown their fears, in the lower story; and aware that nothing could be discovered by those whose inquiries were conducted in a manner so noisy, he resolved to proceed in a different direction, and examine the second floor, which he had now gained.

He had known every corner, both of the inhabited and uninhabited part of the mansion, and availed himself of the candle to traverse two or three intricate passages, which he was afraid he might not remember with sufficient accuracy. This movement conveyed him to a sort of oeil-de-boeuf, an octagon vestibule, or small hall, from which various rooms opened. Amongst these doors, Everard selected that which led to a very long, narrow, and dilapidated gallery, built in the time of Henry VIII, and which, running along the whole south-west side of the building, communicated at different points with the rest of the mansion. This he thought was likely to be the post occupied by those who proposed to act the sprites upon the occasion; especially as its length and shape gave him some idea that it was a spot where the bold thunder might in many ways be imitated.

Determined to ascertain the truth if possible, he placed his light on a table in the vestibule, and applied himself to open the door into the gallery. At this point he found himself strongly opposed either by a bolt drawn, or, as he rather conceived, by somebody from within resisting his attempt. He was induced to believe the latter, because the resistance slackened and was renewed, like that of human strength, instead of presenting the permanent opposition of an inanimate obstacle. Though Everard was a strong and active young man, he exhausted his strength in the vain attempt to open the door; and having paused to take breath, was about to renew his efforts with foot and shoulder, and to call at the same time for assistance, when to his surprise, on again attempting the door more gently, in order to ascertain if possible where the strength of the opposing obstacle was situated, he found it gave way to a very slight impulse, some impediment fell broken to the ground, and the door flew wide open. The gust of wind, occasioned by the sudden opening of the door, blew out the candle, and Everard was left in darkness, save where the moonshine, which the long side-row of latticed windows dimmed, could imperfectly force its way into the gallery, which lay in ghostly length before him.

The melancholy and doubtful twilight was increased by a quantity of creeping plants on the outside, which, since all had been neglected in these ancient halls, now completely overgrown, had in some instances greatly diminished, and in others almost quite choked up, the space of the lattices, extending between the heavy stone shaftwork which divided the windows, both lengthways and across. On the other side there were no windows at all, and the gallery had been once hung round with paintings, chiefly portraits, by which that side of the apartment had been adorned.

Most of the pictures had been removed, yet the empty frames of some, and the tattered remnants of others, were still visible along the extent of the waste gallery; the look of which was so desolate, and it appeared so well adapted for mischief, supposing there were enemies near him, that Everard could not help pausing at the entrance, and recommending himself to God, ere, drawing his sword, he advanced into the apartment, treading as lightly as possible, and keeping in the shadow as much as he could.

Markham Everard was by no means superstitious, but he had the usual credulity of the times; and though he did not yield easily to tales of supernatural visitations, yet he could not help thinking he was in the very situation, where, if such things were ever permitted, they might be expected to take place, while his own stealthy and ill-assured pace, his drawn weapon, and extended arms, being the very attitude and action of doubt and suspicion, tended to increase in his mind the gloomy feelings of which they are the usual indications, and with which they are constantly associated. Under such unpleasant impressions, and conscious of the neighbourhood of something unfriendly, Colonel Everard had already advanced about half along the gallery, when he heard some one sigh very near him, and a low soft voice pronounce his name.

"Here I am," he replied, while his heart beat thick and short. "Who calls on Markham Everard?"

Another sigh was the only answer.

"Speak," said the Colonel, "whoever or whatsoever you are, and tell with what intent and purpose you are lurking in these apartments?"

"With a better intent than yours," returned the soft voice.

"Than mine!" answered Everard in great surprise. "Who are you that dare judge of my intents?"

"What, or who are you, Markham Everard, who wander by moonlight through these deserted halls of royalty, where none should be but those who mourn their downfall, or are sworn to avenge it?"

"It is--and yet it cannot be," said Everard; "yet it is, and must be. Alice Lee, the devil or you speaks. Answer me, I conjure you!--speak openly--on what dangerous scheme are you engaged? where is your father? why are you here?--wherefore do you run so deadly a venture?--Speak, I conjure you, Alice Lee!"

"She whom you call on is at the distance of miles from this spot. What if her Genius speaks when she is absent?--what if the soul of an ancestress of hers and yours were now addressing you?--what if"--

"Nay," answered Everard, "but what if the dearest of human beings has caught a touch of her father's enthusiasm?--what if she is exposing her person to danger, her reputation to scandal, by traversing in disguise and darkness a house filled with armed men? Speak to me, my fair cousin, in your own person. I am furnished with powers to protect my uncle, Sir Henry--to protect you too, dearest Alice, even against the consequences of this visionary and wild attempt. Speak--I see where you are, and, with all my respect, I cannot submit to be thus practised upon. Trust me--trust your cousin Markham with your hand, and believe that he will die or place you in honourable safety."

--from Woodstock, Or the Cavalier, Sir Walter Scott, 1826

Well, today, if you may figure out what it is Hugh Johnson is trying to tell us, at least other than, maybe, that he foresaw the coming of Rock 'n' Roll, late sixties vintage, you win the prize, a white dove out of your hat. But, maybe here is some help.

And "Dakar Falls" mirrors what Cash had written out in May; the President had echoed the intention to protect Dakar just three days later in his speech declaring the national defense emergency, as was recorded May 28 in "Full Candor". It seems that news of Dakar's various deaths at the hands of the Nazis may have been prematurely received and greatly exaggerated. As usual, of course, the DNB and Goebbels played the Nazi propaganda game to the hilt, to confuse Western resources. The vast bulk of the Nazi military machine, some three and a half million men by this point, obviously was very much pinned down in Russia, as the Clapper piece points out. It had little time for attention to the Atlantic as long as that situation persisted. This key fact of course was known by Churchill and Roosevelt, and was the subject of much of their discussions in the meeting just concluded off the coast of Newfoundland--the resultant Charter itself being little more than a nice bit of verbiage for public consumption, not the embodiment of the real substance of that conference. It was not merely a symbolic meeting, though of course the theater of it was important, to send a message to the Axis that the jig was nearly up, that Roosevelt meant business this time, and that any further "accidents" on the high seas could result in that declaration of war for which those beleaguered stalwart citizens of England had so blissfully hoped.

Whether things were looking up or down for the British, however, at this point in time, was obviously anyone's guess. It is a wonder, with the likes of Reynolds heading a key Senate committee, that the world survived at all the Hitler LIE. It is a wonder anyone survives such a LIE. But the LIE lasts only for awhile and eventually will out, at which point its perpetrator most usually dies. Best not to start one.

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