Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure. —— Byron
On hearing of Middleton's visit, Mr. Wentworth began his preparations. Meeting with Thomas Lake and Riley at the back of the tap-room of The Bull—where the landlord saw to it that they remained undisturbed—he laid out their plan of campaign.
"That d—-l Middleton shall not have the seat," he raved, "not for Lord H——; no, nor for a hundred Lords! We shall see to it that every man's hand is turned against him when he arrives."
Lake unfolded a paper from his vest-pocket and smoothed it on the table. "Here are the expenses we should undertake." Doran 13l. 10s. Titwell 8l. 7s. 6d. St. Charles 25l.
V.122. Sample 2: Typical formatting issues of non-fiction
While non-fiction is not in principle any more difficult to format than fiction, many non-fiction books have lots of features like illustrations, tables, section sub-headings and footnotes, that require some extra work on the part of the producer. If the illustrations are essential, you should consider adding a HTML format file to allow you to present them.
See the page image nonfic.tif. This presents many formatting changes: the centered title will go to the left; the italicized chapter contents will become regular text, and the em-dashes will become "—"; the degree symbol needs to be replaced with ASCII "deg.", and of course we need to render the table readably. After all that, we have to deal with the footnote.
Here is a reasonable rendering of this page:
CHAPTER XI
STRAIT OF MAGELLAN.—CLIMATE OF THE SOUTHERN COASTS
Strait of Magellan—Port Famine—Ascent of Mount Tarn— Forests—Edible Fungus—Zoology—Great Sea-weed— Leave Tierra del Fuego—Climate—Fruit-trees and Productions of the Southern Coasts—Height of Snow-line on the Cordillera—Descent of Glaciers to the Sea— Icebergs formed—Transportal of Boulders—Climate and Productions of the Antarctic Islands—Preservation of Frozen Carcasses—Recapitulation.
An equable climate, evidently due to the large area of sea compared with the land, seems to extend over the greater part of the southern hemisphere; and, as a consequence, the vegetation partakes of a semi-tropical character. Tree-ferns thrive luxuriantly in Van Diemen's Land (lat. 45 degrees), and I measured one trunk no less than six feet in circumference. An arborescent fern was found by Forster in New Zealand in 46 degrees, where orchideous plants are parasitical on the trees. In the Auckland Islands, ferns, according to Dr. Dieffenbach [82] have trunks so thick and high that they may be almost called tree-ferns; and in these islands, and even as far south as lat. 55 degrees. in the Macquarrie Islands, parrots abound.
On the Height of the Snow-line, and on the Descent of the Glaciers in South America. [For the detailed authorities for the following table, I must refer to the former edition:]
Height in feet Latitude of Snow-line Observer ———————————————————————————————— Equatorial region; mean result 15,748 Humboldt. Bolivia, lat. 16 to 18 deg. S. 17,000 Pentland. Central Chile, lat. 33 deg. S. 14,500 - 15,000 Gillies, and the Author. Chiloe, lat. 41 to 43 deg. S. 6,000 Officers of the Beagle and the Author. Tierra del Fuego, 54 deg. S. 3,500 - 4,000 King.
In Eyre's Sound, in the latitude of Paris, there are immense glaciers, and yet the loftiest neighbouring mountain is only 6200 feet high. Some of the icebergs were loaded with blocks of no inconsiderable size, of granite and other rocks, different from the clay-slate of the surrounding mountains. The glacier furthest from the pole, surveyed during the voyages of the Adventure and Beagle, is in lat. 46 degrees 50 minutes, in the Gulf of Penas. It is 15 miles long, and in one part 7 broad and descends to the sea-coast. But even a few miles northward of this glacier, in Laguna de San Rafael, some Spanish missionaries encountered "many icebergs, some great, some small, and others middle-sized," in a narrow arm of the sea, on the 22nd of the month corresponding with our June, and in a latitude corresponding with that of the Lake of Geneva!
In this case, I made some decisions. I made the lines in the contents at the top a bit shorter than usual, to help them stand out. I decided to use the full word "degrees" rather than "deg." where I could, but not in the table, where I shortened the entries as much as possible while preserving the sense. Since I was using the full word "degrees", I decided to go the whole hog and use the word "minutes" for the minutes symbol as well, (though the minutes symbol, a single quote, is in the ASCII set) since it seemed to make the text more readable than using the word degrees with the minutes symbol. I also made a choice about the table layout.
You might prefer different choices in some of these cases, and, as in our example of fiction above, there was more than one way to do it. However, this is a reasonable rendering.
What happened to the footnote? and how did it become [82] rather than the [1] of the original? In this case, I decided to put all footnotes at the end of the whole text, and renumber them accordingly. So the footnote on this page became number 82 in the overall text, and down at the end of the whole text, I would put:
[82] See the German Translation of this Journal; and for the other facts, Mr. Brown's Appendix to Flinders's Voyage.
I could also have transcribed this as:
. . . Forster in New Zealand in 46 degrees, where orchideous plants are parasitical on the trees. In the Auckland Islands, ferns, according to Dr. Dieffenbach [*] have trunks so thick and high that they may be almost called tree-ferns; and in these islands, and even as far south as lat. 55 degrees. in the Macquarrie Islands, parrots abound.
[*] See the German Translation of this Journal; and for the other facts, Mr. Brown's Appendix to Flinders's Voyage.
if I chose to put each footnote with its own paragraph.
V.123. Sample 3: Typical formatting issues of poetry
Poetry is easy to format: just be sure to use a non-proportional font, and make it look as much like the text as possible. To avoid ragged-looking centering, left-align titles.
In a whole book of poetry, there is no need to leave an indentation before every line; unlike a verse lost in fields of prose, there is little danger that someone will wrap it by mistake.
Look at the image poetry.tif. On this page, we have an enlarged first letter to start each poem, and capitals following—we can remove all that. The titles are centered, so we will move them left.
There are line-numbers at every fifth line, and these are common in poetry, especially where footnotes reference lines. We will keep these out on the right-hand margin.
The third poem obviously intends the centering of its last lines in each verse as a feature, so we will keep that as best we can.
The resulting etext looks like:
Mistress Mary
Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With cockle-shells, and silver bells, And pretty maids all in a row.
Ozymandias.
I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, 5 Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: 10 Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.
NOTE: 9 these words appear: in some editions : this legend clear.
The Rosary.
The hours I spent with thee, dear heart, Are as a string of pearls to me; I count them over, every one apart, My rosary.
Each hour a pearl, each pearl a prayer, 5 To still a heart in absence wrung; I tell each bead unto the end—and there A cross is hung.
Oh, memories that bless—and burn! Oh, barren gain—and bitter loss! 10 I kiss each bead, and strive at last to learn To kiss the cross, Sweetheart, To kiss the cross.
V.124. Sample 4: Typical formatting issues of plays
Look at the image play.tif. Stage directions are indicated by italics and square brackets. We don't have to do much special work with this—lose the italics, but keep the square brackets. The setting for scene I, act II is also italicized, but without square brackets. If we wanted to emphasize this, we could use shorter lines or add square brackets, but it probably isn't necessary here. We're using 4 blank lines between acts and 3 between scenes, so we mark these accordingly. We leave one blank line between speeches. And following these simple conventions, we get:
JACK. There's a sensible, intellectual girl! the only girl I ever cared for in my life. [ALGERNON is laughing immoderately.] What on earth are you so amused at?
ALGERNON. Oh, I'm a little anxious about poor Bunbury, that is all.
JACK. If you don't take care, your friend Bunbury will get you into a serious scrape some day.
ALGERNON. I love scrapes. They are the only things that are never serious.
JACK. Oh, that's nonsense, Algy. You never talk anything but nonsense.
ALGERNON. Nobody ever does.
[JACK looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room. ALGERNON lights a cigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles.]
END OF THE FIRST ACT
er, and as Dick and Tom were making their way past this point, talking enthusiastically of what they had seen in the city, and never thinking that danger might lurk near, they were suddenly set upon by four youths of about their own age–no others, in fact, than Zeke Boggs, Lem Hicks and two other Tory sympathisers of the neighborhood.
“We told ye we'd git even with ye!” hissed Zeke Boggs, as they hurled themselves upon Dick and Tom. “Ye thought ye was mighty smart, there in Phillydelphy, with ever'buddy on yer side an' ag'in us, but heer its different an' we'll beat ye till ye'll wish ye had never been born! Go fur 'em, fellers!” this last to his companions.
The two patriot youths, although taken by surprise, and outnumbered two to one, were yet not dismayed, for they were brave lads, and they fought the Tory youths with all their might, so fiercely, in fact, that they held their own remarkably well. They knocked down each of the four young Tories, and gave them a thumping that they would likely remember for some time. Of course, they got hit a number of times by the youths, but they did not mind it, the smart of the blows only serving to make them settle down to their work with increased vim and determination, and the result was that the Tory ruffians presently got enough of it, and suddenly ceasing the attack and dashing in among the trees at the roadside, disappeared from view, leaving Dick and Tom Dare masters of the situation.
“Phew, that was warm work, Dick!” said Tom, wiping his perspiring face with his handkerchief.
“Yes, so it was, Tom,” replied his brother. “But I believe that we made it warmer for Zeke and his gang than they did for us.”
“Yes, I think we did,” with a chuckle. “Say, Dick, they are better runners than fighters, aren't they!”
“I think they are, Tom. They did some lively sprinting, just now, at any rate.”
“I guess they won't be likely to attack us again, soon.”
“Hardly.”
Dick and Tom now resumed their journey homeward, and reached there about half an hour later. It was still light enough to see their father at work in the backyard, as they entered the front gate. They ran around the house at the top of their speed, to halt a few moments later in front of their father.
“They did it, father!” exclaimed Tom, pantingly. “They adopted and signed the Declaration of Independence.”
“Say you so, my son?” exclaimed Mr. Dare joyously. “Well, heaven be praised! I am glad, my sons; yes, very, very glad! It means much to everybody, and to young people like yourselves more than to older ones, for you have practically the whole of your lives before you, while we older people have already lived the greater portion of the time allotted to us.”
“It was wonderful, the interest and excitement shown by the people in Philadelphia, father!” said Dick. “They were wild with delight.”
“I have no doubt of it, my son. And they had reason to be delighted. It is a great thing to feel free and independent. I feel wonderfully relieved already. I feel as if shackles had suddenly been stricken from my limbs, and I have no doubt that is the way the majority of the people look at the matter, so why should they not feel joyous?”
The three then entered the house, Mr. Dare having finished his work for the evening, and Mrs. Dare greeted her sons affectionately.
“The Declaration of Independence has been adopted, wife,” said Mr. Dare, joyously. “The die is cast. There will be war now, undoubtedly, and it will result in the independence of the people of America. It cannot result otherwise, for the people will fight to the death. In the words of Patrick Henry, it will be with them, ‘Give me liberty, or give me death!’”
“I am glad, Henry,” said Mrs. Dare. “I am glad, and almost sorry, as well, for–I am afraid it will take you from me. You will want to enter the army, I am afraid.”
“Oh, I must do so, wife,” earnestly. “Every man should step to the front and shoulder a musket and fight for liberty. Yes, I must go to the war, mother. I must join the Continental Army at once.”
“I feared it,” sighed the woman. “But, I shall try to be brave and bear up well, for I know that it is the right thing for you to do. I would not want you to stay at home, when you were needed at the front to help fight the minions of King George.”
“Spoken like my own true-hearted wife!” said Mr. Dare. “I knew you would look at the matter that way, dear.”
At this moment there came a knock on the back-door, and when Mrs. Dare opened it, she saw a neighbor, Abe Boggs, the father of Zeke, standing there. This man was an avowed Tory, who was vehement in his declarations of allegiance to the king, and who had been heard often to viciously proclaim that all who were not in favor of the king, were traitors and that they ought to be hung. Knowing this, and instinctively disliking the man because she knew he was vicious and bad, Mrs. Dare's heart sank when she saw who was standing there.
The fact was, that the Dares lived right in the midst of a Tory neighborhood; that is the six or seven nearest neighbors were adherents of the king, and they neighbored among themselves, and would not have anything to do with the Dares. This did not bother the patriot family, however, for they did not like the Tory families anyway. Mr. Dare often met one or more of the men, when going about his work, however, and frequently he had arguments with them. As he was a brave man, and frank-spoken as he was brave, he always told the Tories just what he thought of their king, and thus he had angered them many times, and they had learned to hate him. Only his fearlessness, and the fact that he was known to be a dangerous man to interfere with, had saved him from rough treatment at the hands of the Tories.
“Good evenin', Mrs. Dare,” said Boggs, ducking his head. “Tell yer husban' to come out here; we'd like to see 'im.”
Mrs. Dare glanced out into the yard, and her heart gave a leap, and then sank as she saw several of their Tory neighbors sanding in a group a few yards from the house. She noted, with a feeling of fear gripping her heart, that two or three of them had rifles in their hands.
“W-what do you want, Mr. Boggs?” she asked, her voice trembling. “My husband is here, but–but–we were just going to eat supper, and—”
“Supper can wait a few minutes, wife,” said Mr. Dare. “I'll see what neighbor Boggs wants. Won't you come in, Abe?”
“No, we wanter see ye out here, Dare” replied the Tory. “Come out uv doors. We won't keep ye but a minnet.”
“Oh, husband, be careful!” whispered Mrs. Dare in her husband's ear as he passed her. “Don't anger them. They have weapons in their hands, and—” With a smile and a reassuring glance Mr. Dare passed on out, closing the door behind him. He had no fear whatever of his Tory neighbors, and would have scoffed at the idea of their trying to do him injury.
Dick and Tom were washing their faces and hands and combing their hair, and did not know anything about the coming of the Tories until they entered the room where their mother was, and then Mr. Dare had been out in the yard perhaps five minutes. During this time Mrs. Dare had been on the anxious seat, so to speak. She had been listening eagerly and anxiously, fearing she might hear rifle-shots, or the sound of a struggle, but no such sounds had come to her hearing. Still, she was not feeling very much reassured when the boys entered the room, and she told them about the coming of Abe Boggs and some more of the neighbors, and how they had called Mr. Dare out, on the plea of wishing to speak to him.
“He's been out there quite a while,” Mrs. Dare finished; “and I'm beginning to feel uneasy. I wish you would go out and tell father to come in, that supper is getting cold, Dick.”
“Certainly, mother,” said Dick, and he hastened to the door. The truth was, that a feeling of uneasiness had taken hold upon him when he heard what his mother had to say about the Tories, and, remembering the trouble he and Tom had had with Zeke Boggs and his cronies that afternoon in Philadelphia and on the road home, Dick was led to fear that the Tories had called his father out of doors with evil intent.
He opened the door and stepped quickly out, and Tom, who had also been assailed with fears for his father's safety, was close at his heels. They looked all around, but to their surprise, and to their alarm as well, there was no one in sight. Neither their father nor the Tories could be seen anywhere. It was so dark that the youths could not see any very great distance with distinctness, but they were confident that there was nobody in the back yard.
“They're around in the front yard, likely, Dick,” said Tom, but his tone lacked positiveness. It was evident that he had fears that such was not really the case.
The two hastened around the house, accompanied by their mother, who had followed them to the door and had, like her sons, noted that there was nobody to be seen. And when they reached the front yard, they saw it was the same there: Not a soul was in the front yard. The Tories, and Mr. Dare as well, had disappeared.
“Oh, where can they be?” cried Mrs. Dare, almost at the weeping point. “What have they done with your father? Oh, I am afraid they have wrought him injury of some kind, sons!”
The youths were alarmed, but they pretended that such was not the case, in order to reassure their mother. They said that their father was all right.
“He has gone with them, to see about something,” said Dick. “You go back in the house, mother, and Tom and I will go over to Mr. Boggs and see what has become of father. Likely he is there. You go in and stay with Mary. We won't be gone long.”
“Very well, Dick,” said Mrs. Dare; “but hurry, for I shall be anxious till you get back with your father.”
She entered the house, and Dick and Tom hastened over to the Boggs home, which was less than a quarter mile distant. Mr. Dare was not there, and Mrs. Boggs said she did not know where her husband was, that he had left the house an hour or more before, saying he did not know when he would be back. Thanking her for the information, Dick and Tom hastened to the homes of several of the neighboring Tories in succession, and made inquiries regarding Mr. Dare, but with the same result as at the Boggs home. In none of the homes visited were any of the men of the house, and the women did not know where the men were.
Greatly worried now, but hoping they would find their father at home when they got there, Dick and Tom hastened back, and as they approached the house, they caught sight of something white on the door. When they reached the door, they found it was a piece of paper, and on taking this into the house discovered it was a rudely scrawled note, signed by Abe Boggs and six of his Tory neighbors. The note read as follows:
“To Mrs. Dare and rebel sons, Dick and Tom:
“We hev took Henry Dare prisner. He is a rebel, an we are goin ter turn him over to Captain Wilson an his compny uv British sojers, who hev ben heer fur a week past, an are goin to jine the main army on Long Island to-night. Ye kaint do nothin to git him back, so ye needn try. An ye two boys, Dick an Tom, had better be keerful er we'll serve ye worsen whut we hev yer father. We don't aim ter hev any rebels in our neighborhood. So, Dick and Tom Dare, hev a care!”
“Oh, husband is a prisoner in the hands of the British!” wailed Mrs. Dare. “Oh, this is terrible, boys! What shall we do? Oh, what shall we do!”
“Don't be frightened, mother,” said Dick, soothingly. “I don't think father is in any danger. He is a prisoner, true, but the British don't kill prisoners, and sooner or later father will escape–or be rescued. That will be work for Tom and I, mother!” his eyes lighting up. “We will make it our object in life to rescue father and get him back home here, with you, mother.”
The poor woman was not greatly comforted, however, and she shook her head, at the same time saying, in a hopeless tone of voice:
“What could you do, you are only a couple of boys? You could not possibly rescue father. It is useless to think of such a thing. Oh, I greatly fear I shall never see my husband again in this world! Oh, those terrible, cowardly Tories!” The good woman gave way to an outburst of uncontrollable grief.
“Yes, you shall see father again, mother,” declared Dick, decidedly. “Don't worry. He is safe from personal harm, and sooner or later we will succeed in getting him located and will rescue him. Tom and I will make that our object in life.”
“Yes, yes, mother,” said Tom eagerly. “We'll join the patriot army, if need be, to further our ends, and while fighting for Liberty and Independence, and aiding our country in that manner, we will at the same time be on the lookout to find father and rescue him.”
“Yes, that is what we will do,” said Dick. “Father would have joined the patriot army if he had not been captured and taken away by the Tories, and now that he is not able to do that, we will do it in his stead. I know it is what father would wish us to do, and as Tom says, it will give us a better chance to find and rescue father.”
“Oh, my sons, my sons! How can I spare you, too?” murmured Mrs. Dare. “How can I let you leave me, now that I have lost your dear father!”
“It will be only temporary, mother. You can see, when you give the matter more thought, that it is the best thing to do.”
“Perhaps so, Dick, darling,” acquiesced Mrs. Dare, “but it is hard!”
Throwing their arms about their mother's neck, the youths kissed her, and presently she grew more calm.
