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THE CHEMISTRY BETWEEN US
A Class In Session Novella

The Flirt Club

M.K. MOORE
Copyright © 2023 by M.K. Moore
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a
book review.
Cover created by Ember Davis
Created with Vellum
 Contents

Blurb

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Epilogue
Epilogue

Afterword
Note from M.K.
About the Author
 Blurb

Tiza Montgomery is in love with the one man she can’t have and
shouldn’t want. She thinks she doesn’t stand a chance because what
man would want a shy girl with a weird upbringing?

Matt Gillman is in love with his student. His pretty girl is about to be
legal, and he’s loved her longer than he should have.

No one can deny the chemistry between them. They can’t either.
They don’t want to. They want each other in a way that defies
everything.

Fall isn’t only about changing leaves and saying goodbye to summer,
it’s also all about going back to school. Pack up and head back to the
dorms because class is in session and love is in the air. Who will find
their happily ever after this time–the nerd, the jock, or maybe the
professor?
This fall, join your favorite Instalove romance authors from Flirt
Club and find out just how naughty it can get on campus.
Chapter One
 TIZA MONTGOMERY

I look around my dorm room. I’m all alone now. My best friend and
former roommate, Sierra, is across town with her husband, our
former headmaster. She graduated in May, already married and
pregnant. I’ve entered my senior year of high school and am excited
for what the future holds for the first time. When I applied for the
scholarship to McCray’s, I never thought I’d get it, nor did I think my
parents would ever let me come, but they did, and thank God for
that. I haven’t returned since I left three years ago and won’t ever
go back there.
I grew up in a strict sect of a very religious community in Utah.
Folks in Mortimer believe in the old ways. You know, the now illegal
ways. My father has three wives, and I have many siblings. The last
count was twelve, with two more on the way. I’m sure that number
has grown. If I had stayed, I’d be expected to be a breeding
machine for my husband. I didn’t mind that part, but the thought of
sharing him, whoever he may be, with other women made my blood
curdle. I’m jealous that way, and I don’t think it’s so wrong to need
to be someone’s one and only.
I made the impulsive decision to apply when the pastor of our
church’s grandson started asking me to be his first wife. I was
fifteen, and he was sixteen, so it wasn’t that terrible, but I wanted
no part of him. He was a little terror. He bullied those smaller or
weaker than him, my two younger brothers among those he
victimized. I was supposed to believe that it was some great honor
to be chosen by him. I didn’t. I breathe easier now, knowing that
part of my life is over, and now that I’m eighteen, I never have to go
back.
Walking from my dorm room to the sciences building, I get
excited. I always get excited when I’m about to see him. I always
feel like the luckiest girl in the world because I get to see the man of
my dreams first thing in the morning. My chemistry teacher, Mr. G, is
so freaking hot. On my first day here, just before I met Sierra, I was
coming out of my dean’s office. The halls were empty since class
had already started. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going,
I was looking down at my schedule to see what classroom I was
supposed to be in when I ran into a wall. Okay, not a wall, a man.
He grabbed my arms to keep me from falling down, and in doing so,
he pulled me closer to him. I breathed him in. His cologne was my
undoing. He smelled like he was mine. I couldn’t explain it then, and
I still can’t.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice was husky. I’d never heard it like
that. His longish dark hair had fallen over his eyes. Without thinking,
I brushed it out of the way, touching his forehead in the process.
Goosebumps popped up all over my arms, and heat sizzled up
through the hand on his face to my heart. I knew he felt it, too. It
would have been impossible not to. His dark green eyes widened, his
pupils flared, and we both sucked in the same breath from the air
between us.
“No need to apologize, Miss?” he paused, waiting for my name.
“Montgomery. Tiza Montgomery.”
“Miss Montgomery. I do believe you are tardy. Where are you
headed?” he asked, releasing me. My hand dropped from his
forehead, and he took my schedule from my other hand. “Ah,
English with Ms. Porter. It’s just down the hall, third door on the
left.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking a step back from him.
“You’re welcome, and I will see you for fifth period. You’re the
only sophomore in my Honors Chemistry class.” He handed my
schedule back to me and quickly scanned it.
 “I’ll see you then, Mr. Gillman.”
“Matt,” he said quickly.
“It’s probably best that I not call you that, don’t you think, Mr.
Gillman.”
“You’re probably right, Miss Montgomery.”
“I’ll see you this afternoon,” I say before taking off in the
direction of my English class.
That was when my obsession with him began. I’ve taken every
class he’s taught and joined every elective and club he oversees.
Thanks to him, you’re looking at the only female wrestler this school
has ever had. I’m also the captain of the chess, golf, and bowling
teams. He has to know that I’m in love with him by this point, but
he’s never said anything or done anything that would make me think
he knows or reciprocates my feelings.
I’m the first to arrive in Chemistry IV. He’s there, though. He’s
already sitting behind his desk, wearing a blue corduroy blazer with
leather patches on his elbows. I love how he looks in it.
“Good morning, Miss Montgomery,” he says without even looking
up from the papers he’s currently grading. It’s like he can sense me.
It’s always Miss Montgomery, never Tiza.
“Good morning, sir,” I say, causing him to make a low noise in his
throat. I know he likes it when I call him sir. He only reacts when I
call him that, though. Every other person in class has called him that
at some point, and nothing. When I do it, he almost growls. It
makes me feel powerful, so of course, I do it as often as I can. I like
to do it when he’s teaching. After I do it, he moves behind his
podium. I like to think that I’ve caused him to get hard, and he has
to hide it. He stands and moves around his desk, stopping in front of
me.
“How was your birthday?” he asks. My birthday was yesterday.
Sierra brought me a cake, but that was all I did for it. The cakes
she’s given me in the three years I’ve known her are more than was
ever done for my birthday before. Gifts were not exchanged in the
Montgomery household.
“It was good. I read two books and had some cake.”
“That’s nice. I’m glad you weren’t alone.”
 “How’d you know I wasn’t alone?” I ask, confused.
“I got you a present. I hope you don’t mind,” he says instead of
answering me, and I light up, forgetting all about what we were just
talking about. I love presents. Big or small, it doesn’t matter. I like
knowing someone is thinking about me.
“Are their people who mind presents?” I ask, holding out my
hands to him.
“Probably,” he says, pulling a long black velvet box out of his
pocket. I immediately recognize a local jewelry store logo. I only
know it because it's right next to my favorite shoe store in the mall.
“You didn’t have to do this, Mr. G,” I tell him, but I’m just being
polite. I want whatever he wants to give me.
He opens the box and shows me the diamond-studded choker.
Holy heck, it’s gorgeous. I know shouldn’t accept such an expensive
gift, but I want it because he picked it out.
“Thank you,” I say, turning my back to him. He puts the necklace
on me. His fingers trail down the column of my neck, and I shiver.
Is this finally happening?
Chapter Two
 MATTHEW GILLMAN

“Y ou’re welcome,” I murmur, knowing I should step away from her

but also knowing that I won’t. I’ve been a patient man. I’ve
waited three agonizingly long years for this girl to grow up. At first, it
felt all kinds of wrong, but I was instantly enthralled by her. It had
never happened to me before. I had just started my second year of
teaching when she ran into me on her first day at McCrays; I looked
into her soulful green eyes and knew she would be mine. I can’t
explain it, but I know that love at first sight exists now. I used my
limited power as her teacher to look into her file, and what I found
there about her family and religious upbringing told me everything I
needed to know about her. It also told me why I sensed an
incredible sadness in her that has lessened day by day. I like to think
that I have something to do with that.
She quickly and discreetly became my whole world. I never again
looked at another woman since I met her. I will never, either. I’ve
dated some before, but I never slept with anyone. Now I know it’s
because I was waiting for my forever.
I knew it was wrong because she was so young, only five years
younger than me, but I never touched her or said anything
untoward. The more I got to know her though, the worse my
obsession became. So much so that I follow her to her dorm room at
night to make sure she gets in okay. It doesn’t help matters that
she’s everywhere I am. She’s a member of every club and sports
team that I oversee. She even works at the pizza place under my
Northshore apartment. I swear fate is putting us together at every
turn.
“You didn’t have to do this for me, you know?” she says, once
again facing me. Her long fingers trace over the necklace. It makes
me want her hands on me.
“I know. I wanted to,” I tell her. I’ve wanted to do far more for
her for far too long, but now I can.
“I won’t tell anyone.” Her body is closer to me than it was a
moment ago. I lean down and put my lips right by her ear. From this
close, I can smell the rose shampoo she uses and her delicate rose
perfume. My cock hardens in my slacks which is nothing new when it
comes to her.
“It’ll be our little secret, Miss Montgomery.”
“Yeah?” she whispers.
“You like the idea of having secrets with me, don’t you?” I growl.
She shivers.
“Yes,” she admits.
“Good girl,” I tell her. I am about to take this a step further when
I see kids filling the hallway. “Take your seat.”
“Okay,” she says, sitting right in the front row, directly in front of
my podium, the podium I had to get because she makes me harder
than hell. The room fills with students, and I begin class. Tiza gets a
notebook and a pen out of her bag. Then she crosses her legs under
her desk. Her knee-length skirt has ridden up, and I see her soaked
pale pink panties. Good God, how am I supposed to survive this
year? Once she’s graduated, I can claim her. I can’t quit in a scandal
like my friend and former boss did last school year when he got
caught with Sierra, my girl’s best friend. It didn’t matter that she was
eighteen and totally consenting under Tennessee law; he was out.
Unlike him, I don’t have another job to fall back on. I do have family
money, though. The Gillmans are a founding family in
Massachusetts, and we’ve got our hands in a little bit of everything
from organized crime to humanitarian efforts and politics. My
brother, Avery, is the current governor.
 “Alright, folks. Quiet down. This will be on the exam, so pay
attention. This week, we will begin getting into double displacement
reactions. Don’t get all excited at once. Let’s turn to page 436 in our
textbooks.”
When the bell rings an hour later, I watch as Tiza walks out the
door, her hips swaying as she does. She pauses and looks back at
me, giving me her blinding smile. My heart constricts in my chest.
I’m never going to make a whole fucking year.

A fter finishing up classes at McCrays, I head across town to the

university, where I also teach Biology 101 from 6-9. I’m
running a little late, so when I arrive, the class has already sat
down in the auditorium-style seating.
“I’m Professor Gillman. Welcome to Biology 101. You should have
gotten your syllabus from the online portal,” I say, looking around
the room. “We…” My voice trails off when I see Tiza sitting in the
back row. What the hell is she doing here?
“Sir?” a guy in the front row asks, and I swing my gaze back to
him. I frown because I’m pretty sure he’s older than I am.
“Right. We will be delving into basic biology this semester. This is
really just a refresher course from high school bio, but it is a
prerequisite for most majors. I assigned two different textbooks in
order to get the most comprehensive information. We’ll start with
the intro text. Most of our lessons will be read before class, and we’ll
use this time to discuss what we’ve read and get into some
experiments. Are there any questions?” My gaze goes back to Tiza,
who smiles at me. I place my hands in front of me, but I know that
won’t do much to hide my erection. “Alright. We can end early
tonight. Read chapters one through ten, and be prepared to discuss
what you’ve read in Thursday’s class. You’re dismissed.”
Everyone but Tiza shuffles out of the room.
“Hey, Professor G,” she says, standing. It’s very rare that I’ve
seen her out of uniform or her golf or wrestling uniform. She looks
sexy as hell in tight, dark jeans and a flannel shirt.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I swear I didn’t know you were the professor. I’m doing dual
enrollment right now.” She’s so fucking smart. I love that about her.
God, her voice is huskier when she says that. It goes straight to my
cock.
“Want to grab some dinner,” I ask, knowing I shouldn’t. She
smiles at me again. Her fucking smile that makes me weak.
“Yeah. I could eat.”
Me too, baby. Me too.
Chapter Three
 TIZA

D inner? He wants to have dinner with me, and I said yes.

Obviously, I’ve never done anything like this before, but I want
to. I took a bus here, so I get a little nervous when he leads me out
to his truck. I’ve never been quite so alone with him before. He’s the
perfect gentleman. He opens the passenger door for me. It’s a lifted
truck, so I stare at it for a minute because I’m not sure how in the
world I’m going to get up there. I gasp when his hands span my
waist, and he lifts me up, setting me down in the seat. He leans over
me and buckles me into the seat.
I watch him as he rounds the front of the truck and gets in the
driver’s seat after shutting my door.
He pulls out of the parking lot and into traffic onto 3rd. He heads
toward the bridge, and I panic for a second, thinking he’s taking me
back to my dorm. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave him.
“Um… where are we going?”
“My place.”
“Oh?” My excitement ratchets up a notch, and my pussy begins
to throb.
“I know that seems forward, but I swear to you I’m not trying
anything; I just thought we’d be more comfortable.”
“You could try something,” I say before I can stop myself. He
makes a rumbling noise, and it startles me. My eyes dart to him, and
I see all the veins in his forearm clearly as he grips the steering
wheel with white knuckles.
“Tiza,” he growls, his voice practically thundering in the cab of
the truck. I gasp. It’s the first time he’s ever said my Christian name,
and I love how it sounds to him. I always thought it was a weird
name that sounded ditzy, but when he says it, all I want to do is
hear it again.
“Yes,” I prompt after neither of us say anything.
“You can’t say that to me.” He’s crossed the bridge and is pulling
into the back lot behind his building. His apartment is right above
the pizza place where I work part-time.
“Why can’t I say it, especially since I want you?” I unbuckle my
seatbelt so that I can move a little closer to him. “Will you kiss me?”
He makes a strangled sound, and for a second, I think he is choking,
but he’s not. He pulls me over the center console and onto his lap
while pushing his seat all the way back. The move feels practiced,
but I won’t judge him for having a past.
All of a sudden, I can feel his cock digging into my barely
covered, barely legal pussy, and I know I’m drenched. I have been
feeling the sticky mess since he walked into that lecture hall. Surely,
he can feel the dampness at my crotch. God, how embarrassing.
Before I can think too much about that, his lips are on mine. They
are gentle at first, brushing over my lips with a feathery lightness,
but that quickly changes. My hands go to his shoulders, and I moan
into his mouth. He uses that moment to push his tongue into my
mouth, and I kiss him back with everything in me. His hands slide
under my t-shirt, palming my boobs. I didn’t bother with a bra
because I hate wearing them. Good thing my B’s are perky enough.
Goodness gracious, this feels amazing. I didn’t know it was
possible to feel this good. Can I die just from his touch? He growls,
and the next thing I know, my shirt is torn in two and discarded on
the passenger seat. Why am I so turned on by that caveman move?
I moan as he pulls my left nipple into his mouth. His tongue
swirls around it, teasing it until it's a hard peak. Then he moves to
the other. The moan that comes out of my body is otherworldly. He
lifts his head, and I look down at him. He looks like he just realized
we are in a car in a dark parking lot. It’s not even that late, but
everything closes up early around here on weeknights. He pulls
away from me. I boldly hold his head in place.
“Please don’t stop,” I say. He grins at me, pulling my nipple back
into my mouth and biting it hard. His long, thick fingers trail down
my stomach, sending chills and fire through my veins. How is that
even possible? He reaches my thighs and rubs my skin where my
skirt ends. He pushes my skirt up slowly. Too slowly. Every inch of
my body sizzles with anticipation. When he finally gets up around my
hips, he kisses me again and dips his fingers under the lace edge of
my black panties, stilling once he reaches my pussy.
“Jesus Christ,” he curses. The naughtiness of him saying that
makes me even wetter. I don’t know what that says about me, and
right now, I don’t care. “So fucking wet for me, Tiza.”
“Mmm.” That's all I can manage right now. His finger pushes into
me slowly, stretching me. I’ve only tentatively rubbed my clit before
now; this invasion is new. It’s perfect because it’s him.
“How are you so tight?” he asks. I know he’s not looking for an
answer, and I know I should tell him I'm a virgin, but for some
reason, I don't.
Though I don't know what I'm doing, I frantically open his
khakis. I moan when I come into contact with his huge, throbbing
cock.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, wrapping my fist around him. I’m not
entirely sure what to do, but he moans, too, so I must be doing
something right.
“My place is just steps away, pretty girl. Let me take you to my
bed,” he says, licking my neck.
“I can’t wait that long. Please,” I reply, still fisting his cock while
riding his thigh. I’m already so close. He moves my hand off him and
pulls me closer to him. Another loud rip hits my ears, and my panties
are off. I emit a tiny growl and kiss him again. He’s so hot I might
combust.
“Get over here,” he says, his growly voice growing on me. I left
up slightly and hiss when my dripping wet pussy meets the tip of his
hard length. He grips my hips as I seat myself fully on him. He tears
through my virginity ruthlessly, and I scream, clutching his
shoulders.
“You saved this gift for me?” he asks, stopping for a moment. I
use the time to adjust to the sensation of him filling me.”
“Yes,” I moan. “Only you.”
“I own you,” he says, pistoning his hips.
“I know,” I say, my fingers digging into his skin.
“Damn right. You’re so fucking perfect.” He moves one of his
hands from my hip and rubs my clit in time with his thrust up into
me. I throw my head back and let my feelings overtake me.
“Eyes on me, Tiza,” he says sharply, bringing my gaze back to
him. His commanding tone turns me on more. “I want you to see
who’s cock is destroying you for all other men. I want you to see the
only man who will ever be inside you while you are the one and only
woman who will ever come on my cock. Fuck, pretty girl, you are
killing me. There’s no way I can last, not when you clenching around
me like that.” He was a virgin, too? I can’t begin to say how I feel
about that. It doesn’t seem like he doesn’t know what he’s doing,
but maybe it really is magical when you’re with the right person —at
least, that’s what romance novels have led me to believe.
Yeah, I’m going to go with magic, I think as he uses my hips to
lift me on and off of his cock rapidly. I hear screams that I am
surprised to realize are my own.
He dips his head and inhales at my neck. Then he’s licking me
again. Marking me. Making me his in every way. He licks a tight
circle around my nipple before sucking it into his mouth. The
sensations flowing through my body are almost too much. Almost.
“Matt, I am going to come,” I moan. His eyes get darker when I
call him Matt. We’ve always been Mr. Gillman and Miss Montgomery.
This is so intense right now. I don’t ever want it to end. Not ever.
“Do it, Tiza. Come on my cock,” he demands, and I do. “Fuck,”
he shouts as he fills me. I can feel his seed splash my core.
I. Can. Feel. It.
He’s bare. His thick, hard cock is bare inside me.
I’m unprotected.
 Just the thought of him getting me pregnant makes me come
again. That would be everything to me because it would be with
him. It wouldn’t be oppressive at all. Not like the thought of this
happening to me back home was.
He pulls my head down to his and kisses me.
“That was amazing,” I say breathlessly.
“Let’s move this to my bed,” he says, and I nod vigorously.
I climb off of him and push my skirt back down. I have no shirt
since he ripped mine off of me. Oh well. It was so worth it. I watch
unashamed as he adjusts his cock, zipping his pants back up. How
can I still be so turned on? He reaches into the backseat and pulls
out a New England Patriots sweatshirt, which I put on gratefully. I
wasn’t too keen on walking the few feet from his truck to the door
that leads up to his apartment.
“Put that on, I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this.” I
quirk an eyebrow at him. Didn’t we just have sex in the front seat of
his truck? “Don’t look at me like that. I know what we just did here,
but I was certain there were no creeps watching us. You will always
be safe with me, Tiza. Always.”
I know that. I’ve always known that. I knew I’d be safe with him
from the moment I met him. It’s probably why I gravitated toward
him and felt the need to be around him as much as possible. I was
already in love with him, it’s why I tortured myself for so long, but
now that I can feel his cum dripping down my thigh, I know I won’t
ever be able to give him up. He’s
With that, he gets out of the truck after shutting it off and
pocketing the keys. I wait for him to come around to the passenger
side. He opens the door and lifts me out of the truck, my body
sliding down his. He threads his hands in my hair and pulls me close
to him. His lips devour mine, and I know that this is just the
beginning.
Chapter Four
 MATT

H oly shit, I groan when she sweeps her tongue into my mouth. I
only stop kissing her when her stomach grumbles.
“Sorry,” she says, giggling. “I missed dinner to catch the bus to
get to class.”
“Come on, pretty girl. Let me feed you before I fuck you again.”
As much as I want to be inside of her, feeling her with my seed
again, I need to take care of her. I feel both urges equally.
“Again?”
“Fuck yeah. I’m never going to want to stop. You’re too perfect.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she says, popping up on her tiptoes
to kiss me again. I grin as I take her hand and lead her over to the
outer door of my apartment. I unlock it, and we race up the stairs.
Food is all but forgotten as I push her against my apartment door
as soon as we are closed inside. I’ll take care of her after.
“You taste so good, Tiza.”
“Mmm,” she moans as I pull my sweatshirt over her head and
toss it on the floor. That moan goes straight to my cock, hardening it
again. I know that getting hard will never be a problem when I’m
near her.
I drop to my knees in front of her and pull her skirt down her
legs. She steps out of it and her white Chucks. She’s totally bare to
my gaze now, and I fucking love it. I stare up at her, over her flat
stomach to the swell of her tits. Her perfect little tits that fit in the
palm of my hands. Her nipples are tight, rosy buds that I want in my
mouth again.
Patience, Matt. Patience.
I run my hands up and down the outside of her legs reverently.
There is no doubt in my mind that I’m going to worship this woman
for the rest of my life.
Pushing her legs apart, I drag my tongue up the inside of one
thigh and down the other. She shudders, and I love that too. I love
everything about her. I love her period. It happened instantly, but I
had to wait for her, and she was worth the wait.
I lift her leg over my shoulder and drag my tongue through her
folds. She tastes like pure Heaven. She’s sticky and sweet. I taste
both of us, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but her
pleasure. Nothing matters but us. She moans again and grips my
hair tightly in her little hands. I fuck her with my tongue until she
comes on it, screaming my name.
Standing, I drag my tongue up her neck. I don’t know what it is
about her, but I want to stake my claim on her in every way. Licking
her like that shouldn’t have crossed my mind, but I can’t seem to
stop. When I reach her lips, I lick them too. She moans when she
tastes herself.
“Imagine how I feel, baby. You like my tongue inside you, don’t
you?” I growl into her ear before licking the outer shell of it.
“Yes. How could I not?”
“You’re so fucking perfect, Tiza, and you’re mine now. I’m never
letting you go.”
“Don’t let me go,” she says, reaching for my blazer. She shoves it
down my shoulders, and it falls to the floor. She slowly unbuttons my
shirt, and it ends up in the same pile. I took my shoes off, kicking
them. I groan when she fumbles with my belt but manages to open
it and my slacks before they fall to the floor. I step out of them,
pulling my boxers and socks off next. She stares at me wide-eyed
when she sees her name tattooed on my chest.
“You were always going to be mine,” I tell her, lifting her up so
that she has to wrap her legs around my waist and my hands grip
her ass. I kiss her as I carry her to my bed. Inside the bedroom, I
kneel on the edge of the bed and lay her down in the center of it.
Without another word, I push her thighs apart and place myself
at her entrance. She reaches for me, her hands flat on my pecs. She
wraps her legs around my waist tighter, and I push forward. She’s
still so tight. From this angle, I can get deeper inside of her. I fuck
into her hard; she digs her nails and heels into me, spurring me on.
I can feel her pussy clenching around my cock. She starts to meet
me thrust for thrust.
“Iloveyou, Iloveyou, Iloveyou,” she screams over and over as she
comes. My heart swells in my chest.
“I love you too,” I groan, filling her with my seed again.
When I finally stop coming, I drop down on top of her, intending
to move, but instead, she wraps her arms around me, keeping me in
place. We are both trying to catch our breath, and our skin is
covered in a sheen of sweat.
“I really do love you; you know?” she says after several minutes
of us just breathing.
“I know. I’ve loved you for far longer than I should have, but I
do. Your trust in me means everything. You’ve allowed me to teach
you many things, and now you’ve given me the gift of your
innocence.”
“You gave me yours too,” she murmurs, kissing my chest.
“I did. I knew I was waiting for someone special.”
“So was I. What do we do now? I couldn’t bear it if you lost your
job over me, like Chris did.”
“Chris is it?” I ask, moving off to her and lying beside her. I pull
her close to me and breathe her in.
“He is my best friend’s husband,” she reminds me. “Are you
jealous?”
“Yes. I’m jealous of the guys in class who stare at you. They are
the ones who get to be with you.”
“Guys stare at me?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“I don’t notice them. There’s only you.”
 “I feel the same way.” She grins and kisses me while rubbing her
body on mine. My cock springs to life again. She wraps her hand
around me and pumps. Her stomach growls again. Loudly. I need to
take care of her before I get caught up in her.
“Come on, pretty girl. Let me feed you.”
“Fine,” she says, sighing. I chuckle and get out of bed. Going
over to my dresser, I pull out a pair of McCray’s sweats and toss
them to her before pulling on some pajama pants. She pulls the
pants on and ties the drawstring tightly to keep them from falling
down. “Do you have a T-shirt I could borrow? Someone ripped mine
in two…”
“Here,” I say, handing her a long-sleeved McCray Wrestling shirt.
She catches it one-handed and pulls it on. She looks down at it and
smiles. I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking about.
I lead her into the kitchen and laugh when she makes herself
home. She pulls open the fridge and pulls out the eggs and bacon.
“I haven’t cooked in years,” she says like someone much older
than herself.
“Not much chance to cook in the dorms?” I ask. I love the fact
that she’s so comfortable here.
“No chance at all. I used to be in charge of breakfast at home.
My mom and I would oversee breakfast for fifteen kids every day.”
“Fifteen?” I ask as I fill the coffee pot with water.
“Oh yeah. I’m the oldest, but I have fifteen younger siblings. My
father has three. well, I know they aren’t really his wives, but three
wives. They each have a bunch of kids. My mom handles breakfast,
Ruth takes care of lunch, and Sarah takes care of dinner. It’s a
system that is necessary for so many people.” The whole time she
talks about her family, she’s cooking. She then plates up a heaping
serving of eggs, bacon, toast, and orange slices.
“I don’t mean to shit on your beliefs, but that seems like a fuck
ton of work. I’m a one-woman man, just in case you’re wondering.
“They aren’t my beliefs; that’s why I left. I don’t like to share so
that works out perfectly for me,” she says, putting the plate down in
front of me.
 “Thank you. No one but my mom has ever cooked for me like
this,” I tell her, making her smile. She puts her plate on the counter
and climbs onto the barstool beside me.
“Is it messed up that I’m glad about that? I want to be the only
woman to take care of you besides your mom.”
“That’s what I want to.”
“I have to get back to campus. I told the security guard I had
class and that I didn’t know how late it would run. But if I don’t go
back, he’ll raise an alarm. We don’t need that.”
“I fucking hate the idea of keeping you a secret, but I
understand the need to.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to be labeled a creep, and I don’t want to
be labeled a whore.”
“You are far from a whore.”
“And you’re no creep.”
We eat silently for a few minutes then I tell her about my
childhood in Boston and my brother.
After we eat, she loads the dishes into the dishwasher after
shooing me away. I take her back into the bedroom and pull her into
the shower with me. She lets me kiss her under the hot spray until
the water runs cold. I dry her off and watch while she gets dressed
again.
“Do you remember when you taught me how to wrestle?” she
asks, looking at the messed up bed.
“Of course I do. It just about killed me.”
“What did?”
“Being so close to to you, able to touch you but not like how I
wanted to.”
“I liked it when you taught me take downs.”
“Fuck, so did I.” Chuckling, I take her back out to my truck and
drive her to school. She gets out before the main gate to make it
seem like she walked from the bus stop.
I wish I could have kept her in bed but now is not the time. Now
that I’ve claimed her, I will wait as long as I have to make her my
wife.
Chapter Five
TIZA
 Two Weeks Later

“M iss Montgomery?”
“Huh?”
“Miss Montgomery, do you know the answer?” Matt asks, fully
jarring me out of my daydream of him spreading me open on his
desk and taking what he wants from me. We’ve kept our distance at
school for two weeks, but at night, when I have my college courses,
he devours me for hours before bringing me back to school.
“What?” I ask, making the other students laugh.
“This will be on the exam, Miss Montgomery. Care to give it a
guess?”
“No,” I say quickly. I have no idea what the question was, so any
guess I make would be wildly off.
“See me after class, Miss Montgomery. James, care to answer?”
he asks after moving along. I have never been asked to stay after
class by any teacher. My skin tingles with anticipation.
Once class is over, he has me follow him to his office. I didn’t
realize that he even had an office.
As soon as the door is shut and locked, he’s on me. His lips are
punishing in the best possible way.
“What was that for?” I whisper when he lets me have some air. I
think he’s done, but he’s on his knees, pulling my panties down my
legs. I watch as he inhales my scent before putting it in his pocket.
“You can’t dress like this and expect me not to need to claim
you.”
“I always dress like this. It’s my school uniform.” It consists of a
red plaid skirt, a white shirt, and a blue blazer.
“Jason Moritz was looking up your skirt. I almost kicked his ass.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“You weren’t paying attention,” he says as he opens his pants
and lets them, and his boxers fall to the floor. His cock is hard and
angry.
 “We’re doing this here?”
“Yes. I need you now. I need to remind you who you belong to,”
he growls, lifting me in his arms. He turns away from the door, and
my butt hits his cold desktop. I’m wet, of course I am, but he leans
down and runs his tongue over my folds before spitting on me.
There. I moan loud enough that he slaps his hand over my mouth.
“Shhh, baby. No one can know what I’m doing to you in here.” I
nod. When he releases me, I bring my hand up to my mouth and
spit on it before fisting his cock with it. His head falls back as he lets
me jerk him off. He stops me, and as soon as I move my hand, he
guides his cock to my opening and slams into me. How am I
supposed to keep quiet when he’s doing this to me? He kisses me
and then licks my neck as he breathes me in.
“Matt,” I whisper. His hands are on my hips now. He’s pulling me
on and off of him. I love it. “I’m gonna come.”
“Do it. Come on my cock. Give me that sweet pussy juice.” He
moves faster and faster until I can’t take it anymore. I bury my face
in his chest as I come, my pussy clenching aroudn him. He comes
with silently, but he shaking so I know it’s hard for him. He kisses
me again as he pulls out of me. “I love you, pretty girl. You are
mine.”
“I know, Matt. I know I’m yours. I’ll never be anyone else’s.”
“Damn right,” he says as he pulls my panties from his pocket and
helps me back into them. “Now, you’ll smell like me all day.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“You’re late for your next class. I’ll write you an excuse.”
“What’s it going to say? I’m quite sure that something like, sorry
Miss Montgomery is late; she was riding my cock like a good girl, will
cause a stir.” He growls and smacks my butt.
“You’re a brat, you know that, don’t you? Now you’ve made me
hard again.”
“Oh, no! Whatever will we do about that?” I ask, hopping back
up on his desk. I put my feet on the edge and spread my thighs for
him. His widen, and I reach between them and push my already-
soaked panties to the side and show him my swollen pussy. He
groans as he rips his pants open again and pulls out his cock.
Seconds later, he’s back inside of me where he belongs. My head
falls back as another orgasm builds inside me.
I will never, ever get enough of this. Of him.
My last thought on this Earth will be of him and how much I love
him.
 Five Months Later

December 2023
I groan as soon as I open my eyes. It’s Saturday, the one day I sleep
in and instantly know why I’m up already. For the third time this
week, I’ve woken up nauseous. I barely make it to the bathroom
before throwing up. I knew this was coming. I haven’t gotten my
period since just before Matt and I started sleeping together. I
noticed the signs but chose to ignore them. A baby with him
changes nothing. We did nothing to prevent it. After a quick shower,
I called Sierra and asked her to pick me up from campus. She readily
agreed and lives nearby, so I walked down to the gate and waited
for her. Less than ten minutes later, she picks me up in her new
Mommy mobile. She’s six months pregnant now and can’t stand
anything but Mexican food, which is great for me.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out as soon as I open the passenger door
and lean my head in. “at least, I think I am.”
“Get in, bitch, and tell me who the baby daddy is,” she says
excitedly. I feel terrible that I haven’t told her about Matt and me
yet, but I couldn’t. We agreed to keep it between us until it could be
shouted from the rooftops.
I get in the car and buckle my seatbelt before she takes off.
“You can’t tell anyone,” I begin.
“It better be Mr. Gilman.”
“Of course it is,”
“Oh, my God. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“We didn’t tell anyone. Look what happened to Chris.”
“I know you’re right, but I would never have told anyone, Tiza
Marie Montgomery.”
“I know you wouldn’t have,” I say as we pull into the pharmacy
parking lot.
 “Let’s go get a pee stick, and then you better tell me everything,”
she says, opening her car door.
“There’s really not much to tell,” I begin.
“You’re a terrible liar, Tiza.”
“Alright,” I say, grinning. I’ve wanted to tell her since all this
began. We go inside, and I buy three different tests. Sierra says it’s
cliche, but you really do want more than one answer. While we drive
to her house, I chug a bottle of water and tell her everything.
“You are in love,” she says simply as we pull into her driveway.
“Well, come on. Let’s do this. I’m dying to know if we’re going to
be pregnant at the same time.”
I get out of the car and follow her inside. She leads me to her
guest bathroom, and I go inside. I set the bag on the counter and
take a deep breath. I pull the first box from the bag and open it. I
carefully read the instructions and do what the pamphlet said to do.
After putting the hot pink cap over it, I set it on the counter. I do
the same thing for the other two. After three minutes or so, all three
tests reveal that I’m pregnant. I put my hand over my belly and
stare at myself in the mirror. This is happening. I knew I’d be a
young mother, but the situation is infinitely better than it would have
been at home. I say a quick prayer of thanks and pull the bathroom
door open. Sierra is pacing in the hallway.
“Well?”
“I’m pregnant,” I tell her, grinning. I’m so happy right now. I
can’t wait to tell Matt.
“I knew it,” she says, pulling me into a huge hug. “What is Matt
doing today?”
“Watching hockey, probably. At his place.”
“Okay. Go to him. Tell him now. Guys love it when you tell them
they’ve knocked you up,” she says, blushing. I laugh. “Here, take the
keys to my SUV.” I had taken driver's ed last year and got my
license, but I don’t get to drive much.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Bring it back whenever, or just use it until,
graduation. I’m driving the mini-van since I don’t fit behind the
wheel right now.”
 “Oh my goodness, thank you so much,” I squeal.
“Go. Tell him. You’re going to love it.” I nod and turn back into
the bathroom. I put the tests back into the bag and follow Sierra to
the front door. She hands me the keys to her car and gives me
another hug.
“Thank you again. You really are my best friend.” I don’t have to
tell her she’s my only friend.
“You’re welcome. Now, get a weekend furlough pass. Tell admin
you’ll be staying with me on the weekends. You won’t be, of course,
but you can be with Matt more this way, and admin won’t know
about it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s easy. They don’t check and see if you’re where you
say you are going to be. Just do it.”
“Okay. I will. Thank you,” I say, jingling the keys at her.
“Call me later and tell me how it went.”
“I will.” I walk out to the driveway and unlock her car. I’m across
town and parking behind the pizza place in just a few minutes.
I get out and ring the outside bell.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me,” I say.
“Tiza?” Who else is he expecting?
“Yes.” I frown. That’s weird, but this is the first time I’ve dropped
by. He usually comes to pick me up. He buzzes the door open, and I
run up the stairs. His door is open by the time I get up there. He’s
standing there in nothing but a towel. My jealous nature rears its
ugly head. He better not have been expecting anyone.
“Hey, pretty girl. Are you okay? I wasn’t expecting to see you
until later.”
“I’m fine but I need to tell you something.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“Well, come in,” he says, pulling me toward him and closing the
door behind me. He kisses me softly, and I almost forget why I
came. Almost. “What’s up?” He walks into the kitchen and picks up
his coffee cup off of the counter. “Can I get you anything?”
 “I’m pregnant,” I blurt out. He looks stunned, but he calmly sets
his cup down on the counter and comes back around it to stand in
front of me.
“Pregnant? You’re carrying my baby?”
“It’s early, but yes.” He just stares at me and doesn’t say
anything. He has no real reaction. “Are you happy?” I finally ask. He
still doesn’t say anything but reaches for my shirt and pulls it over
my head. I’m confused at first, but I get it when he peels my yoga
pants down my legs.
“I’m so fucking happy, Tiza.”
“I know we didn’t specifically discuss children…”
“But I filled you full of my seed every single time I’ve fucked you.
You took it all like a good girl, and we made a baby. The first of
many.” Not too long ago, a comment like that would have had me
panicking, but not with him.
“I’m a good girl?”
“You know you are, baby. My perfect good girl.” His praise makes
me wet. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. He
immediately takes control of the kiss, his hands squeezing my butt.
“Come to bed, let me worship you,” he growls.
How can I say no to that?
 Four Months Later

April 2024
I decided not to go to prom. I don't want to go if I can’t dance with
Matt. He got out of chaperoning so he could take me out. This baby
growing inside of me has brought us even closer together. We are
inseparable, and I love that. We are almost to Nashville, where he’s
gotten us a reservation at the newest restaurant owned by celebrity
chef Bobby Flay. Every night before we fall asleep, we watch the
Food Network. Beat Bobby Flay is our go-to. Despite having to go
back to school during the week, I’ve pretty much moved in with
Matt. I look over at him. He’s so hot and so good to me. I’ve never
felt more loved than I do with him. He’s going to be an amazing
father.
“I can hear you thinking over there,” he says, looking out at the
road.
“I just love you so much.”
“You know I love you too.”
“I do know that,” I tell him.
When I first got into his truck, I thought the center console was
immovable, but now I know it can be pushed up and become a seat.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and push the seat back up. I slide over to sit
next to him.
“What are you doing, pretty girl?”
“Whatever I want,” I say sassily as I put my hand on his thigh.
It’s getting dark out, and we still have about forty minutes before
we reach Nashville. We are staying the night, our first time in a hotel
room together, and my first time period.
He puts a staying hand on mine when I reach for the zipper on
his pants. He looks so hot in his dark dress pants and black shirt. His
suit jacket is hanging in the backseat. We look good together. I
borrowed the black dress with red flowers I’m wearing from Sierra.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says. He hasn’t let me do this,
and I really want to.
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. Can I please suck your
cock, Matt?” I ask, practically begging. He makes a strangled sound
in his throat that sounds like a yes to me. He moves his hand back
to the steering wheel. I grin into the darkness and continue to unzip
his pants. Reaching inside, I find his rapidly hardening cock. I wrap
my fist around him and stroke him until he’s fully hard. Then I bend
over him and pull him into my mouth. I moan when a drop of his
cum hits my tongue.
“Fuck, Tiza,” he growls as I pull him deeper into my throat and
start working my mouth over what will fit and my hand over what
doesn’t.
I feel powerful like I’m in charge for once. I won’t stop until I feel
his balls tighten, and he comes down my throat. He’s breathing hard
when I pop my mouth off of him and kiss the tip of his cock before
putting him back into his pants.
I sit back up and look at him. He glances at me. He looks
satisfied, and that makes me feel so good.
“You taste good,” I murmur, wiping an escaped drop from the
corner of my mouth and licking it off of my fingertip.
“Jesus, Tiza. I’m going to fuck the shit out of you as soon as we
get to our room.”
“Promise?”
“Guaranteed.”
Later on, we are lingering over our desert. I was a bit bummed
that Bobby Flay wasn’t at the restaurant, but I guess that’s to be
expected. We are sharing a huge piece of cheesecake when Matt
suddenly stands up and drops to his knee beside me. He pulls out a
ring box and opens it, showing me a beautiful ring that looks like it's
the same designer as the choker I’m wearing.
“Matt?” I whisper, tears already filling my eyes. I cry at the drop
of a hat these days, but this is big.
 “Tiza Marie Montgomery, I’ve loved you front the moment we
met. My life started the day you ran into me. I promise to love you
and the family we’ve already started until my last breath.” He puts
his hand on my belly. I just started looking pregnant this week.
“Marry me, and let me worship you for the rest of our lives. Let me
love you and keep you safe. Will you marry me, pretty girl?”
“Yes,” I say without a moment’s hesitation. We haven’t talked
about marriage, but I’ve always known I was supposed to be his
wife. He puts the ring on my finger, and it’s a perfect fit.
He stands and pulls me to my feet. He kisses me like his life
depends on it.
He pays the bill, and we walk down Broad Street toward our
hotel. We checked in earlier but had to get to the restaurant for our
reservation. My feet are killing me, and I want nothing more than to
take these heels off and climb into bed.
As soon as we are in the room, I’m backed against the door.
“I want you in nothing but my ring, pretty girl. Let me strip you
bare,” he asks, running his hands all over my body.
“Yes,” I whimper. I’m so wet for him. I’m achy, and only he can
fix me. I’m naked, and so is he in a matter of seconds. His hard cock
is thick and pointing right at me. I drop to my knees in front of him
and take him into my mouth again. This time, he doesn’t even try to
stop me. He tangles his hands in my hair and uses my head to guide
me as he powerfully thrusts in and out of my mouth.
“Damn it. You look so good on your knees for me, but I want to
fill your pussy,” he says finally pulling me off of him. He pulls me to
my feet, lifts me up, and carries me over to the bed. He puts me in
the center of it and joins me. He’s on his knees, but soon, he’s lying
down with his face buried between my spread thighs. He makes me
come on his tongue before he drives his cock into me. My legs go
around his waist, and I meet him thrust for thrust.
“Feels so good,” I moan, letting the sensations come over me.
“Good girl. Come on my cock so I can fill you,” he growls before
leaning down and kissing me.
He fills me, and before I fall asleep, I can’t help thinking about
how good the rest of my life is going to be with him.
I can’t wait.
Epilogue
MATT
 One Year Later

M arriage and fatherhood is everything I thought it would be and

more. Once Tiza graduated, we moved to Boston to be near my
family. Tiza has thrived with my mother, treating her like the
daughter she never had. It’s the anniversary of our first sex, so I
had my parents pick up Bree and keep her for the night. Bree looks
just like her mother. She was born with a full head of red hair and
green eyes.
Tiza is in her first year of culinary school. She loves cooking for
people and wants to turn that into her career. I stand behind her
every step of the way. I teach middle school these days, but after
this year, I am going to work for my brother. He’s running for
governor again and has aspirations to be the president one day. He’s
still six years before he’s old enough, but he’s making a name for
himself here in Massachusetts, and the rest of the country will hear
about it.
I walk into our bedroom and find Tiza fresh from a shower. She’s
standing naked in front of the mirror, rubbing lotion on herself. I take
the tube from her and take over. I love touching her. This quickly
turns into her frantically ripping my clothes off and pushing me down
to sit on the edge of the bed. She straddles me and slides her tight
pussy down my cock until she’s fully seated.
“So full…” she moans. I lean down and pull one of her nipples
into my mouth and bite down on it, just like she likes. She slowly
rolls her hips before bouncing up and down on me. She feels
incredible. She always does. I can’t believe how lucky I am that she
chose me.
“Good girl, come for me,” I growl into her ear. She shudders, her
wet hair dripping on us. Reaching between us, I rub her clit. Her
pussy starts clenching around me, and I know she’s close. “I’m
going fill you so full of my seed that there’s no chance in hell that I
don’t breed you again.”
Another random document with
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 CHAPTER CCXXXIII.

THE PETTY GERMAN PRINCES EXCELLENT PATRONS OF LITERATURE AND

LEARNED MEN.—THE DUKE OF SAXE WEIMAR.—QUOTATION FROM BP.
HACKET.—AN OPINION OF THE EXCELLENT MR. BOYLE.—A TENET OF THE
DEAN OF CHALON, PIERRE DE ST. JULIEN,—AND A VERITABLE PLANTAGENET.

Ita nati estis, ut bona malaque vestra ad Rempublicam pertineant.

TACITUS.

“We have long been accustomed to laugh at the pride and poverty of
petty German Princes,” says one of the most sensible and right
minded travellers that ever published the result of his observations in
Germany;1 “but nothing,” he proceeds, “can give a higher idea of the
respectability which so small a people may assume, and the quantity
of happiness which one of these insignificant monarchs may diffuse
around him, than the example of the little state of Weimar, with a
Prince like the present2 Grand Duke at its head. The mere pride of
sovereignty frequently most prominent where there is only the title to
justify it, is unknown to him; he is the most affable man in his
dominions, not simply with the condescension which any prince can
learn to practise as a useful quality, but from goodness of heart.” The
whole population of his state little if at all exceeds that of
Leicestershire; his capital is smaller than a third or fourth rate county
town; so in fact it scarcely deserves the name of a town; and the
inhabitants, vain as they are of its well earned reputation as the
German Athens, take a pride in having it considered merely a large
village: his revenue is less than that of many a British Peer, great
Commoner, or commercial Millionist. Yet “while the treasures of more
weighty potentates were insufficient to meet the necessities of their
political relations, his confined revenues could give independence
and careless leisure to the men who were gaining for Germany its
intellectual reputation.” It is not too much to say that for that
intellectual reputation, high as it is, and lasting as it will be, Germany
is little less beholden to the Duke of Weimar's well-bestowed
patronage, than to the genius of Wieland, and Schiller and Goëthe.
“In these little principalities, the same goodness of disposition can
work with more proportional effect than if it swayed the sceptre of an
empire; it comes more easily and directly into contact with those
towards whom it should be directed: the artificial world of courtly rank
and wealth has neither sufficient glare nor body to shut out from the
prince the more chequered world that lies below.”
1 RUSSELL.

2 A. D. 1822.

Alas no Prince either petty or great has followed the Duke of Saxe
Weimar's example! “He dwells,” says Mr. Downes, “like an estated
gentleman, surrounded by his tenantry.” Alas no British Peer, great
Commoner, or commercial Millionist has given to any portion of his
ampler revenues a like beneficent direction.

A good old Bishop3 quoting the text “not many wise men after the
flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called,” cautions us
against distorting the Scripture as if it pronounced nothing but
confusion to the rulers of the earth, “let not the honourable person,”
said he, “hang down his head, as if power and wisdom, and noble
blood, and dignity were causes of rejection before God: no beloved!
Isaiah foretold that Kings should be nursing fathers, and Queens
should be nursing mothers of the Church, but it is often seen that the
benignity of nature and the liberality of fortune are made
impediments to a better life; and therefore Nobles and Princes are
more frequently threatened with judgment. I adjoin moreover that the
Scriptures speak more flatly against illustrious Magistrates, than the
common sort; for if God had left it to men, whose tongues are
prostituted to flattery, they had scarce been told that their
abominable sins would bring damnation.”
3 BISHOP HACKET.
When our philosopher considered the manner in which large
incomes are expended, (one way he had opportunities enough of
observing at Doncaster) he thought that in these times high birth
brought with it dangers and evils which in many or most instances,
more than counterbalanced its advantages.

That excellent person Mr. Boyle had formed a different opinion. To

be the son of a Peer whose prosperity had found many admirers, but
few parallels, and not to be his eldest son, was a happiness that he
used to “mention with great expressions of gratitude; his birth, he
said, so suiting his inclinations and designs, that, had he been
permitted an election, his choice would scarce have altered God's
assignment. For as on the one side, a lower birth would have too
much exposed him to the inconveniences of a mean descent, which
are too notorious to need specifying; so on the other side, to a
person whose humour indisposes him to the distracting hurry of the
world, the being born heir to a great family is but a glittering kind of
slavery, whilst obliging him to a public entangled course of life, to
support the credit of his family, and tying him from satisfying his
dearest inclinations, it often forces him to build the advantages of his
house upon the ruins of his own contentment.”

“A man of mean extraction,” he continues, “is seldom admitted to the

privacy and secrets of great ones promiscuously, and scarce dares
pretend to it, for fear of being censured saucy, or an intruder. And
titular greatness is ever an impediment to the knowledge of many
retired truths, that cannot be attained without familiarity with meaner
persons, and such other condescensions, as fond opinion, in great
men, disapproves and makes disgraceful.” “But he himself,” Mr.
Boyle said, “was born in a condition that neither was high enough to
prove a temptation to laziness, nor low enough to discourage him
from aspiring.” And certainly to a person that affected so much an
universal knowledge, and arbitrary vicissitudes of quiet and
employments, it could not be unwelcome to be of a quality, that was
a handsome stirrup to preferment, without an obligation to court it,
and which might at once both protect his higher pretensions from the
guilt of ambition, and secure his retiredness from contempt.
There would be more and higher advantages in high birth than Mr.
Boyle apprehended, if the Dean of Chalon, Pierre de St. Julien, were
right when he maintained contre l'opinion des Philosophes, et
l'ordinaire des Predicamants,—que la vraye Noblesse a sa source
du sang, et est substancielle.

Ces mots Gentilhomme de sang, et d'armes, de race genereuse, de

bonne part, &c., says the well-born Dean, who in his title pages let
us know that he was de la maison de Balleurré,—sont termes non de
qualité, ny d'habitude; ains importants substance de vray, comme il
est bien dit,

veniunt cum sanguine mores;

et aillieurs,

Qui viret in foliis venit à radicibus humor;

Sic patrum in natos abeunt cum semine mores.

Et comme le sang est le vehicule, et porteur des esprits de vie,

esquels est enclose la substance de l'ame; aussi est il le comme
chariot, qui porte et soustient celle substance qui decoule des peres,
et des ayeulx, par long ordre de generation, et provient aux enfants,
qui, nez de bonne et gentille semence, sont (conformement à
l'opinion du divin Philosophe Platon) rendu tels que leurs
progeniteurs, par la vertu des esprits enclos en la semence.—
Tellement qu'on ne peut nyer, que comme d'une bonne Ayre sortent
de bons oyseaux, d'un bon Haras de bons chevaux, &c., aussi il
importe beaucoup aux hommes d'estre nez de bons et valeureux
parents; voire tant, que les mal nez, ennemys de ceste bien
naissance, ne sont suffisants pour en juger.

Sir Robert Cotton once met with a man driving the plough, who was
a true and undoubted Plantagenet. “That worthy Doctor,” (Dr.
Hervey) says that worthy Fuller (dignissimus of being so styled
himself,) “hath made many converts in physic to his seeming
paradox, maintaining the circulation of blood running round about the
body of man. Nor is it less true that gentle blood fetcheth a circuit in
the body of a nation, running from Yeomanry, through Gentry to
Nobility, and so retrograde, returning through Gentry to Yeomanry
again.”

“Plust à Dieu,” said Maistre François Rabelais, of facetious memory,

“qu'un chacun saust aussi certainement—(as Gargantua that is,) sa
genealogie, depuis l'Arche de Noé, jusqu'à cet âge! Je pense que
plusieurs sont aujourd'hui Empereurs, Roys, Ducs, Princes et Papes
en la terre, lesquels sont descendus de quelques Porteurs de
rogatons et de constrets. Comme au rebours plusieurs sont gueux
de l'hostiere, souffreteux et miserables, lesquels sont descendus de
sang et ligne de grands Roys et Empereurs; attends l'admirable
transport des Regnes et Empires,

Des Assyriens, és Medes;

Des Medes, és Perses;
Des Perses, és Macédoniens;
Des Macédoniens, és Grecs;
Des Grecs, és François.

Et pour vous donner à entendre de moy qui vous parle, je cuide que
suis descendu de quelque riche Roy, ou Prince, au temps jadis; car
oncques ne vistes homme qui eust plus grande affection d'estre Roy
ou riche que moy, afin de faire grand chere, pas ne travailler, point
ne me soucier et bien enrichir mes amis, et tous gens de bien et de
sçavoir.”

CHAPTER CCXXXIV.

OPINION OF A MODERN DIVINE UPON THE WHEREABOUT OF NEWLY

DEPARTED SPIRITS.—ST. JOHN'S BURIAL, ONE RELIC ONLY OF THAT SAINT,
AND WHEREFORE.—A TALE CONCERNING ABRAHAM, ADAM AND EVE.
 Je sçay qu'il y a plusieurs qui diront que je fais beaucoup de petits fats contes, dont je
m'en passerois bien. Ouy, bien pour aucuns,—mais non pour moy, me contentant de
m'en renouveller le souvenance, et en tirer autant de plaisir.

BRANTÔME.

Watts who came to the odd conclusion in his Philosophical Essay,

that there may be Spirits which must be said, in strict philosophy to
be no where, endeavoured to explain what he called the ubi or
whereness of those spirits which are in a more imaginable situation.
While man is alive, the soul he thought might be said to be in his
brain, because the seat of consciousness seems to be there; but as
soon as it is dislodged from that local habitation by death, it finds
itself at once in a heaven or hell of its own, and this “without any
removal or relation to place, or change of distances.” The shell is
broken, the veil is withdrawn; it is where it was, but in a different
mode of existence, in the pure intellectual, or separate world. “It
reflects upon its own temper and actions in this life, it is conscious of
its virtues, or its vices,” and it has an endless spring of peace and joy
within, or is tormented with the anguish of self condemnation.

In his speculations the separation of soul from body is total, till their
re-union at the day of judgment; and this unquestionably is the
christian belief. The fablers of all religions have taken a different
view, because at all times and in all countries they have
accommodated their fictions to the notions of the people. The grave
is with them a place of rest, or of suffering. If Young had been a Jew,
a Mahommedan, or a Roman Catholic, he might be understood as
speaking literally when he says,

How populous, how vital is the grave.

St. Augustine had been assured by what he considered no light

testimony that St. John was not dead, but asleep in his sepulchre,
and that the motion of his breast as he breathed might be perceived
by a gentle movement of the earth. The words of our Lord after his
Resurrection, concerning the beloved disciple, “If I will that he tarry
till I come, what is that to thee,” gave scope to conjecture concerning
the fate of this Evangelist, and yet in some degree set bounds to that
spirit of lying invention which in process of time annexed as many
fables to corrupted Christianity as the Greek and Roman poets had
engrafted upon their heathenism, or the Rabbis upon the Jewish
faith. “Sinner that I am,” said a French prelate with demure irony,
when a head of St. John the Baptist was presented to him to kiss in
some Church of which it was the choicest treasure,—“sinner that I
am, this is the fourth head of the glorious Baptist that I have had the
happiness of holding in these unworthy hands!” But while some half
dozen or half score of these heads were produced, because it was
certain that the Saint had been beheaded, no relic of St. John the
Evangelist's person, nor of the Virgin Mary's, was ever invented. The
story of the Assumption precluded any such invention in the one
case,—and in St. John's the mysterious uncertainty of his fate had
the same effect as this received tradition. The Benedictines of St.
Claude's Monastery in the Jura exhibited his own manuscript of the
Apocalypse,—(the most learned of that order in no unlearned age,
believed or affected to believe that it was his actual autograph,)—
and they considered that it was greatly enhanced in value by its
being the only relic of that Saint in existence.

The fable which St. Augustine seems to have believed, was either
parent or child of the story told under the name of Abdias, that when
the Beloved Disciple had attained the postdiluvian age of ninety
seven, our Lord appeared to him, said unto him, “come unto me, that
thou mayest partake at my feast with thy brethren,” and fixed the
next Sunday, being Easter, for his removal from this world. On that
Sunday accordingly, the Evangelist after having performed service in
his own temple at Ephesus, and exhorted the people, told some of
his chosen disciples to take with them two mattocks and spade, and
accompany him therewith. They went to a place near the city, where
he had been accustomed to pray, there he bade them dig a grave,
and when they would have ceased from the work, he bade them dig
it still deeper. Then taking off all his garments except a linen
vestment, he spread them in the grave, laid himself down upon
them, ordered his disciples to cover him up, and forthwith fell asleep
in the Lord. Abdias proceeds no farther with the story; but other
ecclesiastic romancers add that the evangelist enjoined them to
open the grave on the day following; they did so and found nothing
but his garments, for the blessed virgin in recompence for the filial
piety which he had manifested towards her in obedience to our
Lord's injunctions from the cross, had obtained for him the privilege
of an Assumption like her own. Baronius has no objection to believe
this, but that St. John actually died is, he says more than certain,—
certo certius; and that his grave at Ephesus was proof of it, for certe
non nisi mortuorum solent esse sepulchra.

Yet the Cardinal knew that the historian of his Church frequently
represented the dead as sentient in their graves. The Jews have
some remarkable legends founded upon the same notion. It is
written in the book of Zohar, say the Rabbis, how when Abraham
had made a covenant with the people of the land, and was about to
make a feast for them, a calf which was to be slaughtered on the
occasion, broke loose and ran into the cave of Machpelah. Abraham
followed, and having entered the cave in pursuit, there he discovered
the bodies of Adam and Eve, each on a bed, with lamps burning
between them. They were sleeping the sleep of death, and there
was a good odour around them, like the odour of repose. In
consequence of having made this discovery it was that he desired to
purchase the cave for his own burial place; and when the sons of
Jebus refused to sell it, he fell upon his knees, and bowed himself
before them, till they were entreated. When he came to deposit the
body of Sarah there, Adam and Eve rose up, and refused their
consent. The reason which they gave for this unexpected prohibition
was, that they were already in a state of reproach before the Lord,
because of their transgression, and a farther reproach would be
brought upon them by a comparison with his good deeds, if they
allowed such company to be introduced into their resting place. But
Abraham took upon himself to answer for that; upon this they were
satisfied with his assurances, and composed themselves again to
their long sleep.
The Rabbis may be left to contend for the authority of the book of
Zohar in this particular against the story of the Cabalists that Adam's
bones were taken into the Ark, and divided afterwards by Noah
among his sons. The skull fell to Shem's portion; he burnt it on the
mountain which for that reason obtained the name of Golgotha, or
Calvary,—being interpreted, the place of a skull, and on that spot, for
mystical signification the cross whereon our Saviour suffered was
erected;—a wild legend, on which as wild a fiction has been grafted,
that a branch from the Tree of Life had been planted on Adam's
grave, and from the wood which that branch had produced the cross
was made.

And against either of these the authority of Rabbi Judas Bar Simon
is to be opposed, for he affirms that the dust of Adam was washed
away by the Deluge, and utterly dispersed.

The Rabbis have also to establish the credit of their own tradition
against that of the Arabs who at this time shew Eve's grave near
Jeddah;—about three days journey east from that place, according
to Bruce. He says, it is covered with green sods, and about fifty
yards in length. The Cashmerian traveller Abdulkurreem who visited
it in 1742, says that it measured an hundred and ninety-seven of his
footsteps, which would make the mother of mankind much taller than
Bruce's measurement. He likens it to a flower-bed; on the middle of
the grave there was then a small dome, and the ends of it were
enclosed with wooden pales. Burckhardt did not visit it; he was told
that it was about two miles only, northward of the town, and that it
was a rude structure of stone, some four feet in length, two or three
in height and as many in breadth, thus resembling the tomb of Noah,
which is shewn in the valley of Bekaa, in Syria. Thus widely do these
modern travellers, on any one of whom reasonable reliance might
have been placed, differ in the account of the same thing.
 CHAPTER CCXXXV.

THE SHORTEST AND PLEASANTEST WAY FROM DONCASTER TO JEDDAH,

WITH MANY MORE, TOO LONG.

Πόνος πόνῳ πόνον φέρει

Πᾶ πᾶ γὰρ οὐκ ἔβαν ἐγώ.
SOPHOCLES.

We have got from the West Riding of Yorkshire, to the Eastern shore
of the Red Sea, without the assistance of mail-coach, steam-packet,
or air-balloon, the magical carpet, the wishing-cap, the shoes of
swiftness, or the seven-leagued boots. From Mr. Bacon's vicarage
we have got to Eve's grave, not per saltum, by any sudden, or
violent transition; but by following the stream of thought. We shall get
back in the same easy manner to that vicarage, and to the quiet
churchyard wherein the remains of one of the sweetest and for the
few latter years of her short life, one of the happiest of Eve's
daughters, were deposited in sure and certain hope. If you are in the
mood for a Chapter upon Churchyards, go reader to those which
Caroline Bowles has written;—you will find in them every thing that
can touch the heart, every thing that can sanctify the affections,
unalloyed by anything that can offend a pure taste and a masculine
judgement.

But before we find our way back we must tarry awhile among the
tombs, and converse with the fablers of old.

A young and lovely Frenchwoman after visiting the Columbarium

near the Villa Albani, expressed her feeling strongly upon our custom
of interring the dead, as compared with the non-burial of the
ancients, usage odieux, said she, qui rend la mort horrible! Si les
anciens en avaient moins d'effroi, c'est que la coutume de brûler les
corps dérobait au trépas tout ce qu'il a de hideux. Qu'il était
consolant et doux de pouvoir pleurer sur des cendres chéries! Qu'il
est épouvantable et déchirant aujourd'hui de penser que celui qu'on
a tant aimé n'offre plus qu'une image affreuse et décharnée dont on
ne pourrait supporter la vue.

The lady in whose journal these lines were written lies buried in the
Campo Santo at Milan, with the following inscription on her tomb;
Priez pour une jeune Française que la mort a frappée à vingt ans,
comme elle allait, après un voyage de huit mois avec un epoux
chéri, revoir son enfant, son pere et sa mere, qui venaient joyeux au-
devant d'elle. Her husband wished to have her remains burnt, in
conformity to her own opinion respecting the disposal of the dead,
and to his own feelings at the time, that he might have carried her
ashes to his own country, and piously have preserved them there, to
weep over them, and bequeath them to his son; mais les amis qui
m'entouraient, he says, combatterent mon desir, comme une
inspiration insensée de la douleur.

There can be no doubt that our ghastly personification of Death has

been derived from the practice of interment; and that of all modes in
which the dead have ever been disposed of, cremation is in some
respects the best. But this mode, were it generally practicable, would
in common use be accompanied with more revolting circumstances
than that which has now become the Christian usage. Some
abominations however it would have prevented, and though in place
of those superstitions which it precluded others would undoubtedly
have arisen, they would have been of a less loathsome character.

The Moors say that the dead are disturbed if their graves be trodden
on by Christian feet; the Rabbis that they feel the worms devouring
them.

On the south side of the city of Erzeroom is a mountain called Eyerli,

from the same likeness which has obtained for one of the English
mountains the unpoetical name of Saddleback. The Turkish traveller
Evlia Effendi saw on the top of this mountain a tomb eighty paces in
length, with two columns marking the place of the head and of the
feet. “I was looking on the tomb,” he says, “when a bad smell
occurred very hurtfully to my nose, and to that of my servant who
held the horses; and looking near, I then saw that the earth of the
grave, which was greasy and black, was boiling, like gruel in a pan. I
returned then, and having related my adventures in the evening in
company with the Pashaw, Djaafer Effendi of Erzeroom, a learned
man and an elegant writer, warned me not to visit the place again,
for it was the grave of Balaam the son of Beor, who died an infidel,
under the curse of Moses, and whose grave was kept always in this
state by subterraneous fires.”

When Wheler was at Constantinople, he noticed a monument in the

fairest and largest street of that city, the cupola of which was covered
with an iron grating. It was the tomb of Mahomet Cupriuli, father to
the then Grand Vizier. He had not been scrupulous as to the means
by which he settled the government during the Grand Seignior's
minority, and carried it on afterwards, quelling the discontents and
factions of the principal Agas, and the mutinies of the Janizaries.
Concerning him after his decease, says this traveller, “being buried
here, and having this stately monument of white marble covered with
lead erected over his body, the Grand Seigneur and Vizier had this
dream both in the same night, to wit, that he came to them and
earnestly begged of them a little water to refresh him, being in a
burning heat. Of this the Grand Seigneur and Vizier told each other
in the morning, and thereupon thought fit to consult the Mufti what to
do concerning it. The Mufti, according to their gross superstition,
advised that the roof of his sepulchre should be uncovered, that the
rain might descend on his body, thereby to quench the flames which
were tormenting his soul. And this remedy the people who smarted
under his oppression think he had great need of, supposing him to
be tormented in the other world for his tyrannies and cruelties
committed by him in this.”

If Cupriuli had been a Russian instead of a Turk, his body would

have been provided with a passport before it was committed to the
grave. Peter Henry Bruce in his curious memoirs gives the form of
one which in the reign of Peter the Great, always before the coffin of
a Russian was closed, was put between the fingers of the corpse:
—“We N. N. do certify by these presents that the bearer hereof hath
always lived among us as became a good Christian, professing the
Greek religion; and although he may have committed some sins, he
hath confessed the same, whereupon he hath received absolution,
and taken the communion for the remission of sins: That he hath
honoured God and his Saints, that he hath not neglected his prayers;
and hath fasted on the hours and days appointed by the Church:
That he hath always behaved himself towards me, his Confessor, in
such a manner that I have no reason to complain of him, or to refuse
him the absolution of his sins. In witness whereof I have given him
these testimonials, to the end that St. Peter upon sight of them, may
not deny him the opening of the gate to eternal bliss!”

The custom evidently implies an opinion that though soul and body
were disunited by death, they kept close company together till after
the burial; otherwise a passport which the Soul was to present at
Heaven's gate, would not have been placed in the hands of the
corpse. In the superstitions of the Romish church a re-union is
frequently supposed, but that there is an immediate separation upon
death is an article of faith, and it is represented by Sir Thomas More
as one of the punishments for a sinful soul to be brought from
Purgatory and made to attend, an unseen spectator, at the funeral of
its own body, and feel the mockery of all the pomps and vanities
used upon that occasion. The passage is in his Supplycacyon of
Soulys. One of the Supplicants from Purgatory speaks:

“Some hath there of us, while we were in health, not so much

studied how we might die penitent, and in good christian plight, as
how we might solemnly be borne out to burying, have gay and
goodly funerals, with heralds at our herses, and offering up our
helmets, setting up our scutcheons and coat-armours on the wall,
though there never came harness on our backs, nor never ancestor
of ours ever bare arms before. Then devised we some Doctor to
make a sermon at our mass in our month's mind, and then preach to
our praise with some fond fantasy devised of our name; and after
mass, much feasting, riotous and costly; and finally, like madmen,
made men merry at our death, and take our burying for a brideale.
For special punishment whereof, some of us have been by our Evil
Angels brought forth full heavily, in full great despight to behold our
own burying, and so, stand in great pain, invisible among the press,
and made to look on our carrion corpse, carried out with great pomp,
whereof our Lord knoweth we have taken heavy pleasure!”

In opposition to this there is a Rabbinical story which shows that

though the Jews did not attribute so much importance to the rights of
sepulture as the ancient Greeks, they nevertheless thought that a
parsimonious interment occasioned some uncomfortable
consequences to the dead.

A pious descendant of Abraham, whom his wife requited with a

curtain lecture for having, as she thought improvidently, given alms
to a poor person in a time of dearth, left his house, and went out to
pass the remainder of the night among the tombs, that he might
escape from her objurgations. There he overheard a conversation
between the Spirits of two young women, not long deceased. The
one said, “come let us go through the world, and then listen behind
the curtain and hear what chastisements are decreed for it.” The
other made answer, “I cannot go, because I have been buried in a
mat made of reeds, but go you, and bring me account of what you
hear.” Away went the Ghost whose grave-clothes were fit to appear
in: and when she returned, “well friend, what have you heard behind
the curtain,” said the ghost in the reed-mat. “I heard,” replied the
gad-about, “that whatever shall be sown in the first rains, will be
stricken with hail.” Away went the alms-giver; and upon this
intelligence which was more certain than any prognostication in the
Almanack, he waited till the second rains before he sowed his field;
all other fields were struck with hail, but according as he had
expected his crop escaped.

Next year, on the anniversary of the night which had proved so

fortunate to him, he went again to the Tombs: and overheard another
conversation between the same ghosts to the same purport. The
well drest ghost went through the world, listened behind the curtain,
and brought back information that whatever should be sown in the
second rains would be smitten with rust. Away went the good man,
and sowed his field in the first rains; all other crops were spoilt with
the rust, and only his escaped. His wife then enquired of him how it
had happened that in two successive years he had sown his fields at
a different time from every body else, and on both occasions his
were the only crops that had been saved. He made no secret to her
of his adventures, but told her how he had come to the knowledge
which had proved so beneficial. Ere long his wife happened to
quarrel with the mother of the poor ghost who was obliged to keep
her sepulchre; and the woman of unruly tongue, among other insults,
bade her go and look at her daughter, whom she had buried in a
reed-mat! Another anniversary came round, and the good man went
again to the Tomb; but he went this time in vain, for when the well-
dressed Ghost repeated her invitation, the other made answer, “let
me alone, my friend, the words which have past between you and
me have been heard among the living.”

The learned Cistercian1 to whom I owe this legend, expresses his

contempt for it; nevertheless he infers from it that the spirits of the
dead know what passes in this world; and that the doctrine of the
Romish Church upon that point, is proved by this tradition to have
been that of the Synagogue also.
1 BERTOLACCI.

The Mahommedans who adopted so many of the Rabbinical fables,

dispensed in one case for reasons of obvious convenience, with all
ceremonies of sepulchral costume. For the funeral of their martyrs,
by which appellation all Musselmen who fell in battle against the
unbelievers were honoured, none of those preparations were
required, which were necessary for those who die a natural death. A
martyr needs not to be washed after his death, nor to be enveloped
in grave-clothes; his own blood with which he is besmeared serves
him for all legal purification, and he may be wrapt in his robe, and
buried immediately after the funeral prayer, conformably to the order
of the Prophet, who has said, “bury them as they are, in their
garments, and in their blood! Wash them not, for their wounds will
smell of musk on the Day of Judgement.”

A man of Medina, taking leave of his wife as he was about to go to

the wars commended to the Lord her unborn babe. She died
presently afterwards, and every night there appeared a brilliant light
upon the middle of her tomb. The husband hearing of this upon his
return, hastened to the place; the sepulchre opened of itself; the wife
sate up in her winding sheet, and holding out to him a boy in her
arms, said to him take “that which thou commendedst to the Lord.
Hadst thou commended us both, thou shouldest have found us both
alive.” So saying she delivered to him the living infant, and laid
herself down, and the sepulchre closed over her.

* * * * *

PARS IMPERFECTA MANEBAT.—VIRG. ÆN.

The following materials, printed verbatim from the MS. Collection,

were to have completed the Chapter. It has been thought advisable
in the present instance to shew how the lamented Southey worked
up the collection of years. Each extract is on a separate slip of paper,
and some of them appear to have been made from thirty to forty
years ago, more or less.

And so the virtue of his youth before

Was in his age the ground of his delight.
JAMES I.
 Ἔνθεν δὲ Σθενέλον τάφον ἔδρακον Ἀκτορίδαο·
Ὅς ῥά τ Ἀμαζονίδων πολυθαρσέος ἐκ πολέμοιο
Ἄψ ἀνιὼν (δὴ γὰρ συνανήλυθεν Ἡρὰκλῆϊ)
Βλήμενος ἰῷ κεῖθεν ᾽επ᾽ ἀγχιάλον θάνεν ἀκτῆς.
Ὀυ μέν θην προτέρω ἀνεμέρεον· ἧκε γὰρ αὐτὴ
Φερσεφόνη ψυχὴν πολυδάκρυον Ἀκτορίδαο
Λισσομένην, τυτθόν περ ὁμήθεας ἄνδρας ἰδέσθαι.
Τύμβου δὲ στεφάνης ἐπιβὰς σκοπιάζετο νῆα,
Τοῖος ἐὼν οἷος πόλεμονδ᾽ ἴεν· ἀμφὶ δὲ καλὴ
Τετράφαλος φοίνικι λόφῳ ἐπελάμπετο πήληξ,
Καὶ ῥ᾽ ὁ μὲν αὖτις ἔδυνε μέγαν ζόφον· οἱ δ᾽ ἐσιδόντες
Θάμβησαν. τοὶς δ᾽ ὦρσε θεοπροπέων ἐπικελσαι
Αμπυκίδης Μόψος, λοιβῆσί τε μειλίξασθαι.
Ὃι δ᾽ ἀνὰ μὲν κραιπνῶς λαῖφος σπάσαν, ἐκ δὲ βαλόντες
Πείσματ᾽ ἐν αἰγιαλῷ Σθενέλου τάφον ἀμφεπένοντο,
Χύτλα τέ οἱχεύαντο, καὶ ἥγνισαν ἔντομα μήλων.
APOLLONIUS RHODIUS.

The Abaza (a Circassian tribe) have a strange way of burying their

Beys. They put the body in a coffin of wood, which they nail on the
branches of some high trees and made a hole in the coffin by the
head, that the Bey as they say, may look unto Heaven. Bees enter
the coffin, and make honey, and cover the body with their comb: If
the season comes they open the coffin, take out the honey and sell
it, therefore much caution is necessary against the honey of the
Abazas.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

Once in their life time, the Jews say, they are bound by the Law of
Moses to go to the Holy Land, if they can, or be able, and the bones
of many dead Jews are carried there, and there burnt. We were
fraughted with wools from Constantinople to Sidon, in which sacks,
as most certainly was told to me, were many Jew's bones put into
little chests, but unknown to any of the ship. The Jews our
Merchants told me of them at my return from Jerusalem to Saphet,
but earnestly intreated me not to tell it, for fear of preventing them
another time.

Going on, one of my companions said, if you will take the trouble of
going a little out of the way, you will see a most remarkable thing.
Well, said I, what should be the object of all pains taken in travelling,
if it were not to admire the works of God. So we went on for an hour
to the north, but not taking the great road leading to the Plain of
Moosh, we advanced to a high rock that is a quarter of an hour out of
the road. To this rock, high like a tower, a man was formerly chained,
whose bones are yet preserved in the chains. Both bones and
chains are in a high state of preservation. The bones of the arms are
from seven to eight cubits in length, of an astonishing thickness. The
skull is like the cupola of a bath, and a man may creep in and out
without pain through the eye-holes. Eagles nestle in them. These
bones are said to be those of a faithful man who in Abraham's time
was chained by Nimrod to this rock, in order to be burnt by fire. The
fire calcined part of his body, so that it melted in one part with the
rock; but the arms and legs are stretching forth to the example of
posterity. We have no doubt that they will rise again into life at the
sound of the trumpet on the day of judgement.
 EVLIA EFFENDI.

The Magistrates of Leghorn have authority to issue out orders for

killing dogs if they abound too much in the streets, and molest the
inhabitants. The men entrusted with the execution of these orders go
through the city in the night, and drop small bits of poisoned bread in
the streets. These are eaten by the dogs and instantaneously kill
them. Before sunrise the same men go through the streets with a
cart, gather hundreds of the dead dogs, and carry them to the Jew's
burying ground without the town.

HASSELQUIST.

In the ROMANCE OF MERLIN it is said that before the time of Christ,

Adam and Eve and the whole ancient world were (not in Limbo) but
actually in Hell. And that when the Prophets comforted the souls
under their sufferings by telling them of the appointed Redeemer, the
Devils for that reason tormented these Prophets more than others.
The Devils themselves tell the story, et les tourmentions plus que les
autres. Et ilz faisoyent semblant que nostre tourment ne les grevoit
riens; ainçois comfortoyent les aultres pecheurs et disoyent. Le
Saulveur de tout le monde viendra qui tous nous delivrera.

At the time of the deluge the wife of Noah being pregnant, was
through the hardships of the voyage delivered of a dead child to
which the name of Tarh was given, because the letters of this word
form the number 217 which was the number of days he was carried
by his mother instead of the full time of 280 days, or nine months.
This child was buried in the district now called Djezere Ibn Omar, the
Island or Peninsula of the son of Omar, and this was the first burial
on earth after the deluge. And Noah prayed unto the Lord, saying,
Oh God thou hast given me a thousand years of life, and this child is
dead before it began to live on earth! And he begged of the Lord as
a blessing given to the burial-place of his child, that the women of
this town might never miscarry, which was granted; so that since that
time women, and female animals of every kind in this town are all
blessed with births in due time and long living. The length of the
grave of this untimely child of Noah is 40 feet and it is visited by
pilgrims.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

They suppose that a few souls are peculiarly gifted with the power of
quitting their bodies, of mounting into the skies, visiting distant
countries, and again returning and resuming them; they call the
mystery or prayer by which this power is obtained, the Mandiram.

CRAUFURD.

The plain of Kerbela is all desert, inhabited by none but by the dead,
and by roving wild hounds, the race of the dogs which licked the
blood of the martyrs, and which since are doomed to wander through
the wilderness.

EVLIA EFFENDI.

Shi whang, the K. of Tsin becoming Emperor, he chose for his

sepulchre the mountain Li, whose foundation he caused to dig, if we
may so speak, even to the centre of the earth. On its surface he
erected a mausoleum which might pass for a mountain. It was five
hundred feet high, and at least half a league in circumference. On
the outside was a vast tomb of stone, where one might walk as
easily as in the largest hall. In the middle was a sumptuous coffin,
and all around there were lamps and flambeaux, whose flames were
fed by human fat. Within this tomb, there was upon one side a pond
of quicksilver, upon which were scattered birds of gold and silver; on
the other a compleat magazine of moveables and arms; here and
there were the most precious jewels in thousands.