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  • The Masonic Magazine
  • March 1, 1879
  • Page 16
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The Masonic Magazine, March 1, 1879: Page 16

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    Article KILLED BY THE NATIVES. ← Page 5 of 9 →
Page 16

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Killed By The Natives.

When you have read what I have to recount you will sturdily asseverate that you could better spare a better story . And , a penultimate digression—by way of illustrative introduction . Poor Albert Smith used to conjure up the verbally depicted counterfeit presentment and image of a dreadful engineer on board a Mediterranean steamboat—an utterly unendurable oracular Jack Bunsby ( only worse ) of a man , who used to spin a yarn of the most

incomprehensible , utterly dull , wholly pointless , absolutely witless , inexpressibl y meaningless character—a maundering , parenthetical , involved , monotonous discourse —a threnody , where verbs might have the most contagious fevers , and nominatives enjoy an absolute impunity from catching them—a string of unconnected words that seemed as if cut out of the middle of some illiterate disquisition , so wholly wanting , was itof either beginning or end—a brain-bewildering lucubrationthat reminded

, , you of nothing so much as the proverbial railway train that , starting at no time from anywhere , and arriving at any time at nowhere , stops at all stations on the way—a very rhapsody of words , only not rhapsodical , possessing neither end , nor moral , nor application at all to anything whatever . " It was the dullest and most stupid story I ever heard in my life , " the entertainer would inform his deli ghted audience , " ancl I am about to tell it to you . "

Now , I am about to relate a similar narrative . A mystery without a solution . A story without a plot . As positively a very last digression , I will let you into the secret of one of my tastes , that I am veryfond of plots ; but I must , at the same time , candidly confess that I am not great in concocting them . I can't invent a plot . I regard with never ceasing wonder Messrs . Fawkes , Winter , ancl Company—that very notorious " Long firm " who devised the Gunpowder Plotwhen Scottish Jamie was King . M

, y interest in the Meal-tub Plot , and the Rye House Plot , in his grandson ' s time , never flags . Why , to this clay , there is nothing in the world I so much enjoy as a trip down into Hertfordshire to inspect the locus in quo of the conspiracy which cost Lord William Russell his head . As Macaulay tells us of the country parsons , who , anticipating the introduction of the Inquisition into England , boasted of their courage in facing the ordeal of the stake and faggots , and

" talked louder and louder , Of how they would dress for the show , And where they would fasten the powder , And i £ they should Mlow or no : " so , my brethren , I love to wander in those Broxbourne meadows , and mark the place in the narrow lane where Old Rowley ' s clumsy earache was to be obstructed , and speculate from between which mullionsfrom which narrow quarrel-lazed * slit

grey , g , the flash and the puff was intended to issue in that wild device ' to change a sovereign . The more , then , that I admire plots the more keenly do I feel and regret my inability to devise one . Ancl so you must , perforce , put up with a whoU y plotless story , ancl—here goes . At an early period of this exercitation you may recall that I " owned up , " as our American cousins say , to ajicnc / iontfor oysters . The other day—a cold wintry

noon—I resolved upon treating myself to a modest dozen , by way of lunch , a resolution confirmed by finding myself , at the usual period for that refection , opposite a newly-opened , smartly embellished , cleanly jn-ovided shop , for the sale of oysters only , in Little Stuart Place , which , as everybody knows , turns out of Great Plantagenet Street , in the W . C . district . I had known that tiny boutique for years . As one man in his time plays many parts , so may—so does—one shop frequently change its staple . I bad known this establishment doing a roaring cigar business . I had seen it blazing with ribbons of a cheap haberdashery character , from which it descended abruptly , and without the slightest notice , into the comestible line—its panes clouded with fumes from a gigantic

“The Masonic Magazine: 1879-03-01, Page 16” Masonic Periodicals Online, Library and Museum of Freemasonry, 10 May 2025, django:8000/periodicals/mmg/issues/mmg_01031879/page/16/.
  • List
  • Grid
Title Category Page
Monthly Summary. Article 1
BY-LAWS OF AN OLD LODGE. Article 2
THE GREAT PYRAMID. Article 3
TORTURED BY DEGREES. Article 5
THE COUNTRY. Article 6
THE RELATION OF THEISM TO FREEMASONRY. Article 7
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. Article 10
WHIST. Article 11
KILLED BY THE NATIVES. Article 12
TIME'S CHANGES. Article 20
BEATRICE. Article 21
LES FRANCS-MACONS. Article 23
THE GRAVE OF WILL ADAMS. Article 28
THANKFULNESS.—A CONFESSION. Article 30
AN ALLEGORY. Article 31
THE PROPOSED RESTORATION OF THE WEST FRONT OF THE CATHEDRAL CHURCH OF ST. ALBAN'S, Article 38
GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE.* Article 39
NOTES ON LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. Article 45
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Page 16

Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.

Killed By The Natives.

When you have read what I have to recount you will sturdily asseverate that you could better spare a better story . And , a penultimate digression—by way of illustrative introduction . Poor Albert Smith used to conjure up the verbally depicted counterfeit presentment and image of a dreadful engineer on board a Mediterranean steamboat—an utterly unendurable oracular Jack Bunsby ( only worse ) of a man , who used to spin a yarn of the most

incomprehensible , utterly dull , wholly pointless , absolutely witless , inexpressibl y meaningless character—a maundering , parenthetical , involved , monotonous discourse —a threnody , where verbs might have the most contagious fevers , and nominatives enjoy an absolute impunity from catching them—a string of unconnected words that seemed as if cut out of the middle of some illiterate disquisition , so wholly wanting , was itof either beginning or end—a brain-bewildering lucubrationthat reminded

, , you of nothing so much as the proverbial railway train that , starting at no time from anywhere , and arriving at any time at nowhere , stops at all stations on the way—a very rhapsody of words , only not rhapsodical , possessing neither end , nor moral , nor application at all to anything whatever . " It was the dullest and most stupid story I ever heard in my life , " the entertainer would inform his deli ghted audience , " ancl I am about to tell it to you . "

Now , I am about to relate a similar narrative . A mystery without a solution . A story without a plot . As positively a very last digression , I will let you into the secret of one of my tastes , that I am veryfond of plots ; but I must , at the same time , candidly confess that I am not great in concocting them . I can't invent a plot . I regard with never ceasing wonder Messrs . Fawkes , Winter , ancl Company—that very notorious " Long firm " who devised the Gunpowder Plotwhen Scottish Jamie was King . M

, y interest in the Meal-tub Plot , and the Rye House Plot , in his grandson ' s time , never flags . Why , to this clay , there is nothing in the world I so much enjoy as a trip down into Hertfordshire to inspect the locus in quo of the conspiracy which cost Lord William Russell his head . As Macaulay tells us of the country parsons , who , anticipating the introduction of the Inquisition into England , boasted of their courage in facing the ordeal of the stake and faggots , and

" talked louder and louder , Of how they would dress for the show , And where they would fasten the powder , And i £ they should Mlow or no : " so , my brethren , I love to wander in those Broxbourne meadows , and mark the place in the narrow lane where Old Rowley ' s clumsy earache was to be obstructed , and speculate from between which mullionsfrom which narrow quarrel-lazed * slit

grey , g , the flash and the puff was intended to issue in that wild device ' to change a sovereign . The more , then , that I admire plots the more keenly do I feel and regret my inability to devise one . Ancl so you must , perforce , put up with a whoU y plotless story , ancl—here goes . At an early period of this exercitation you may recall that I " owned up , " as our American cousins say , to ajicnc / iontfor oysters . The other day—a cold wintry

noon—I resolved upon treating myself to a modest dozen , by way of lunch , a resolution confirmed by finding myself , at the usual period for that refection , opposite a newly-opened , smartly embellished , cleanly jn-ovided shop , for the sale of oysters only , in Little Stuart Place , which , as everybody knows , turns out of Great Plantagenet Street , in the W . C . district . I had known that tiny boutique for years . As one man in his time plays many parts , so may—so does—one shop frequently change its staple . I bad known this establishment doing a roaring cigar business . I had seen it blazing with ribbons of a cheap haberdashery character , from which it descended abruptly , and without the slightest notice , into the comestible line—its panes clouded with fumes from a gigantic

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