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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Rivals, by Richard Brinsley SheridanThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Rivals       A ComedyAuthor: Richard Brinsley SheridanRelease Date: March6, 2008 [EBook #24761]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THERIVALS ***Produced by Kent CooperThe RIVALSA ComedyBy Richard Brinsley Sheridan* * * * * **PREFACEA preface to a play seems generally to be considered as a kind ofcloset-prologue, in which--ifhis piece has been successful--the authorsolicits that indulgence from the reader which he hadbeforeexperienced from the audience: but as the scope and immediate object ofa play is to please amixed assembly in _representation_ (whosejudgment in the theatre at least is decisive,) its degree ofreputationis usually as determined as public, before it can be prepared for thecooler tribunal of the study.Thus any farther solicitude on the partof the writer becomes unnecessary at least, if not an intrusion: andifthe piece has been condemned in the performance, I fear an address tothe closet, like an appeal toposterity, is constantly regarded as theprocrastination of a suit, from a consciousness of the weakness ofthecause. From these considerations, the following comedy would certainlyhave been submitted to thereader, without any farther introductionthan what it had in the representation, but that its successhasprobably been founded on a circumstance which the author is informedhas not before attended atheatrical trial, and which consequentlyought not to pass unnoticed.I need scarcely add, that thecircumstance alluded to was thewithdrawing of the piece, to remove those imperfections in thefirstrepresentation which were too obvious to escape reprehension, and toonumerous to admit of a hastycorrection. There are few writers, Ibelieve, who, even in the fullest consciousness of error, do not wishtopalliate the faults which they acknowledge; and, however triflingthe performance, to second theirconfession of its deficiencies, bywhatever plea seems least disgraceful to their ability. In thepresentinstance, it cannot be said to amount either to candour or modesty inme, to acknowledge anextreme inexperience and want of judgment onmatters, in which, without guidance from practice, or spurfromsuccess, a young man should scarcely boast of being an adept. If it besaid, that under suchdisadvantages no one should attempt to write aplay, I must beg leave to dissent from the position, whilethe firstpoint of experience that I have gained on the subject is, a knowledgeof the candour andjudgment with which an impartial publicdistinguishes between the errors of inexperience and incapacity,andthe indulgence which it shows even to a disposition to remedy thedefects of either.It wereunnecessary to enter into any further extenuation of what wasthought exceptionable in this play, but thatit has been said, that themanagers should have prevented some of the defects before itsappearance tothe public--and in particular the uncommon length of thepiece as represented the first night. It were an illreturn for themost liberal and gentlemanly conduct on their side, to suffer anycensure to rest where nonewas deserved. Hurry in writing has long beenexploded as an excuse for an author;--however, in thedramatic line,it may happen, that both an author and a manager may wish to fill achasm in theentertainment of the public with a hastiness notaltogether culpable. The season was advanced when Ifirst put the playinto Mr. Harris's hands: it was at that time at least double the lengthof any actingcomedy. I profited by his judgment and experience in thecurtailing of it--till, I believe, his feeling for thevanity of ayoung author got the better of his desire for correctness, and he leftmany excrescencesremaining, because he had assisted in pruning so manymore. Hence, though I was not uninformed thatthe acts were still toolong, I flattered myself that, after the first trial, I might withsafer judgment proceedto remove what should appear to have been mostdissatisfactory. Many other errors there were, whichmight in part havearisen from my being by no means conversant with plays in general,either in readingor at the theatre. Yet I own that, in one respect, Idid not regret my ignorance: for as my first wish inattempting a playwas to avoid every appearance of plagiary, I thought I should stand abetter chance ofeffecting this from being in a walk which I had notfrequented, and where, consequently, the progress ofinvention was lesslikely to be interrupted by starts of recollection: for on subjects onwhich the mind has


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<html><title>Point Break script</title><pre>                        POINTBREAK                             by                       JamesCameron                             &                      Kathryn Bigelow                   From the Screenplayby                       W. Peter IliffFADE IN:We are in the belly of a wave.Light refracts in a constant collisionof water.SLOW MOTION, the hallucinatory prisms, like liquiddiamonds taking flight,dreamlike...EXT.  OCEAN - DUSKBacklit against a flaming sun a solitary SURFER glidesacross the greenglassy peak.  TIME IS STRETCHED until hismovements gain a grace and fluidity not of this world.TotalZen concentration.  Body weight centered, eyesforward and on the next section.EXT.  URBAN STREET -DUSKSLOW MOTION ON a black sedan.Creeping along store fronts.  Past a Winchell's.PEOPLE splashsteps down rain-washed sidewalks in DREAMMOTION.  The sedan turns past the FIRST VIRGINIA BANKandinto an alley.INT.  BLACK SEDANTWO MEN and ONE WOMAN in SUSPENDED TIME put onovercoatsand hats.  Under their hats strips of Scotch tape stretchtaut from the base of their nose to theirforehead,hideously distorting their features.  Makes them look likehuman PIGS.EXT.  OCEANSILVERY inthis light, almost metallic, as if from somefuture-scape.  The lone surfer SHREDS a long, endlessrightwall.ACCELERATING INTO REAL TIME -- as he stares into the pit,digs in, drops into the sweet spot on thewave, hunkersdown.His moves becoming aggressive, frenzied--INT.  BLACK SEDANAn M-16 clip isSMACKED into place and cocked with aCACHACK!  Ammo clips are SNICK-SNICKED into handgunbuttsand a long clip is SSSNICKED into an UZI.Watches are checked.  The PIG NOSE people nod toeachother.EXT.  BANKPig Nose #1, steals into position near the glass doors,slams his back to the wall,weapon to cheek, breath fast.EXT.  OCEANFAST NOW -- the surfboard rips a brutal gash in the faceof thewave.  The surfer TRIMS down the line, pivoting theboard and going straight down, CARVING thebottom.  Heslashes viciously back toward the lip and--In a radical INVERTED AIR ATTACK sails SIX feetabove thewave in an explosion of water--INT.  BANK--BAAAAAAMMM!Glass doors explode OPEN and PigNose #1 SPINS inside.  Hefires a burst into the ceiling.  BRRAAMM!!                         PIG NOSE#1          EVERYBODY on the floor!PEOPLE drop.VERY FAST HERE--Two bandits handle BANK EMPLOYEESand customers--Another PIG NOSE watches the door--Pig Nose #1 moves behind counter, Uzi and canvassack inhand.INT.  SURVEILLANCE VANDark. Monitors SHOW SLOW SCANS of the bank INTERIOR.TwoMEN wear headphones and black windbreakers with FBIstenciled on the back.  One watches withbinoculars.                         BINOCULARS          Bingo.  We're on.  Let's go.          Where's the bigcollege          quarterback?!  Are you with us,          Utah?EXT.  BANK WALLA MAN in his twenties.  Hishead spins revealing rain-slicked hair and face, eyes wide, bright.  An edgyhandsomeness to him.He popsa stick of Wrigley's in his mouth, rests a shotgunon one leg and leans against the wall.  He wearsaheadset... through which we hear the FBI guy yelling forhim.This is JOHNNYUTAH.                         BINOCULARS (FILTERED)          Utah, where the hell are ya!?Utah takes hisheadset off...INT.  BANKPig Nose #1 LEAPS over the counter, holds a canvas sackfilled with booty fromtellers' drawers.                         PIG NOSE #1          Fuckin' shake it!Pig Nose #2 nods with his snubbynose, hurries toward theexit.EXT.  FIRST VIRGINIA BANKThe bandits burst through the doors and sprintto thealley where they jump into the SEDAN.  THE DRIVER, theWOMAN PIG NOSE, punches it and theTIRES WHIRRR on theslick pavement.The sedan launches down the alley.Utah running.  Like a freighttrain.  Splashing through across-alley.  He doesn't break stride as he slams hisshoulder into a large, steelGARBAGE DUMPSTER.DRIVING it like a football training sled into the ALLEYwhere--THE SEDAN LOCKS'EM UP seconds too late as it SKIDS andSLAMS into it, CRUNCHING into the brick wall and--Still alive --GRINDS into reverse back down the alley,HEADLIGHTS SMASHED, it guns it backward as--UTAH leapsover the dumpster and sprints after the car.He has a brick in his right hand.  He cocks it back.JohnnyHEAVES the brick thirty yards and--SMASH!  The brick EXPLODES into the windshield,SPIDERWEBBINGthe glass.Lady Pignose flinches from the glass fragments thrown intoher face.                         LADYPIGNOSE          Son of a bitch!The car slews backward onto the street, slamming a parkedcar.  LadyPignose slams the thing into DRIVE, cuts thewheel hard, and punches it, skidding on wet pavement.UTAH


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Palamon and Arcite, by John DrydenThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Palamon and ArciteAuthor: John DrydenEditor: George E. EliotRelease Date:February, 2005 [EBook #7490]This file was first posted on May 10, 2003Last Updated: May 10,2013Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PALAMON AND ARCITE***Produced by Ted Garvin, Charles Franks and the DistributedProofreaders TeamDRYDEN'S PALAMONAND ARCITEEdited With Introduction And Notes By George E. Eliot, A.M.English Master In The MorganSchoolToHenry A. BeersProfessor Of English Literature In Yale UniversityWho First Aroused My Interest InDrydenAnd Directed My Study Of His WorksThis Volume Is Respectfully InscribedPREFACE.To edit anEnglish classic for study in secondary schools is difficult.The lack of anything like uniformity in the type ofexamination requiredby the colleges and universities complicates treatment. Not only do twodistinctinstitutions differ in the scope and character of theirquestions, but the same university varies its demandsfrom year to year.The only safe course to pursue is, therefore, a generally comprehensiveone. But here,again, we are hampered by limited space, and are forcedto content ourselves with a bare outline, whichthe individualinstructor can fill in as much or as little as he pleases.The ignorance of most of our classicalstudents in regard to the historyof English literature is appalling; and yet it is impossible properly tostudya given work of a given author without some knowledge of thebackground against which that particularwriter stands. I have,therefore, sketched the politics, society, and literature of the age inwhich Drydenlived, and during which he gave to the world his _Palamonand Arcite_. In the critical comments of theintroduction I havecontented myself with little more than hints. That particular line ofstudy, whether itconcerns the poet's style, his verse forms, or thepossession of the divine instinct itself, can be muchmoresatisfactorily developed by the instructor, as the student's knowledgeof the poem grows.It iscertainly a subject for congratulation that so many youth will beintroduced, through the medium ofDryden's crisp and vigorous verse, toone of the tales of Chaucer. May it now, as in his owncentury,accomplish the poet's desire, and awaken in them appreciative admirationfor the old bard, thebest story-teller in the English language.G. E. E. CLINTON, CONN., July 26, 1897.INTRODUCTION.THEBACKGROUND.The fifty years of Dryden's literary production just fill the last halfof the seventeenthcentury. It was a period bristling with violentpolitical and religious prejudices, provocative of strife thatamountedto revolution. Its social life ran the gamut from the severity of theCommonwealth Puritan to theunbridled debauchery of the RestorationCourtier. In literature it experienced a remarkable transformationinpoetry, and developed modern prose, watched the production of thegreatest English epics, smartedunder the lash of the greatest Englishsatires, blushed at the brilliant wit of unspeakable comedies,andapplauded the beginnings of English criticism.When the period began, England was a Commonwealth.Charles I., byobstinate insistence upon absolutism, by fickleness and faithlessness,had increased andstrengthened his enemies. Parliament had seized thereins of government in 1642, had completelyestablished its authority atNaseby in 1645, and had beheaded the king in front of his own palace in1649.The army had accomplished these results, and the army proposed toenjoy the reward. Cromwell, theidolized commander of the Ironsides, wasplaced at the head of the new-formed state with the title ofLordProtector; and for five years he ruled England, as she had been ruled byno sovereign since Elizabeth.He suppressed Parliamentary dissensionsand royalist uprisings, humbled the Dutch, took vengeance ontheSpaniard, and made England indisputably mistress of the ocean. He wassucceeded, at his death in1658, by his son Richard; but the father'sstrong instinct for government had not been inherited by theson. Thenation, homesick for monarchy, was tiring of dissension and bickering,and by the Restoration of1660 the son of Charles I became Charles II ofEngland.Scarcely had the demonstrations of joy at theRestoration subsided whenLondon was visited by the devouring plague of 1665. All who could fledfromthe stricken city where thousands died in a day. In 1666 came thegreat fire which swept from the Towerto the Temple; but, while itdestroyed a vast deal of property, it prevented by its violentpurification a


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Outlaw of Torn, by Edgar Rice BurroughsThis eBook is for the useof anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Outlaw of TornAuthor: Edgar Rice BurroughsRelease Date: July 8, 2008[EBook #369]Last updated: February 12, 2012Last updated: August 31, 2012Language: English***START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OUTLAW OF TORN ***Produced by Judith BossTHEOUTLAW OF TORNBy Edgar Rice BurroughsTo My FriendJOSEPH E. BRAYCHAPTER IHere is a story thathas lain dormant for seven hundred years. At firstit was suppressed by one of the Plantagenet kings ofEngland. Later itwas forgotten. I happened to dig it up by accident. The accident beingthe relationship ofmy wife's cousin to a certain Father Superior in avery ancient monastery in Europe.He let me pry aboutamong a quantity of mildewed and musty manuscriptsand I came across this. It is veryinteresting--partially since it is abit of hitherto unrecorded history, but principally from the fact thatitrecords the story of a most remarkable revenge and the adventurouslife of its innocent victim--Richard,the lost prince of England.In the retelling of it, I have left out most of the history. Whatinterested me wasthe unique character about whom the tale revolves--thevisored horseman who--but let us wait until weget to him.It all happened in the thirteenth century, and while it was happening,it shook England fromnorth to south and from east to west; and reachedacross the channel and shook France. It started,directly, in the Londonpalace of Henry III, and was the result of a quarrel between the Kingand hispowerful brother-in-law, Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester.Never mind the quarrel, that's history, andyou can read all about it atyour leisure. But on this June day in the year of our Lord 1243, Henryso forgothimself as to very unjustly accuse De Montfort of treason inthe presence of a number of the King'sgentlemen.De Montfort paled. He was a tall, handsome man, and when he drew himselfto his full heightand turned those gray eyes on the victim of hiswrath, as he did that day, he was very imposing. A powerin England,second only to the King himself, and with the heart of a lion in him, heanswered the King asno other man in all England would have dared answerhim."My Lord King," he cried, "that you be my LordKing alone prevents Simonde Montfort from demanding satisfaction for such a gross insult. Thatyou takeadvantage of your kingship to say what you would never dare saywere you not king, brands me not atraitor, though it does brand you acoward."Tense silence fell upon the little company of lords andcourtiers asthese awful words fell from the lips of a subject, addressed to hisking. They were horrified, forDe Montfort's bold challenge was to thembut little short of sacrilege.Henry, flushing in mortification andanger, rose to advance upon DeMontfort, but suddenly recollecting the power which he represented,hethought better of whatever action he contemplated and, with a haughtysneer, turned to hiscourtiers."Come, my gentlemen," he said, "methought that we were to have a turnwith the foils thismorning. Already it waxeth late. Come, De Fulm! Come,Leybourn!" and the King left the apartmentfollowed by his gentlemen,all of whom had drawn away from the Earl of Leicester when itbecameapparent that the royal displeasure was strong against him. As thearras fell behind the departingKing, De Montfort shrugged his broadshoulders, and turning, left the apartment by another door.Whenthe King, with his gentlemen, entered the armory he was stillsmarting from the humiliation of DeMontfort's reproaches, and as helaid aside his surcoat and plumed hat to take the foils with De Fulm,hiseyes alighted on the master of fence, Sir Jules de Vac, who wasadvancing with the King's foil and helmet.Henry felt in no mood forfencing with De Fulm, who, like the other sycophants that surroundedhim,always allowed the King easily to best him in every encounter.De Vac he knew to be too jealous of hisfame as a swordsman to permithimself to be overcome by aught but superior skill, and this day Henryfeltthat he could best the devil himself.The armory was a great room on the main floor of the palace, offtheguard room. It was built in a small wing of the building so that ithad light from three sides. In chargeof it was the lean, grizzled,leather-skinned Sir Jules de Vac, and it was he whom Henry commandedtoface him in mimic combat with the foils, for the King wished to go withhammer and tongs at someoneto vent his suppressed rage.So he let De Vac assume to his mind's eye the person of the hated


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tale of Tom Kitten, by Beatrix PotterThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Tale of Tom KittenAuthor: Beatrix PotterRelease Date: January 29, 2005[EBook #14837]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE OF TOMKITTEN ***Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeam (http://www.pgdp.net).[Illustration]THE TALE OFTOM KITTENBYBEATRIX POTTER_Author of__"TheTale of Peter Rabbit", &c._[Illustration]FREDERICK WARNEFirst published 19071907 by Frederick Warne& Co.Printed and bound in Great Britain byWilliam Clowes Limited, Beccles and LondonDEDICATEDTOALLPICKLES,--ESPECIALLY TO THOSE THATGET UPON MY GARDEN WALL[Illustration]Once upon a timethere were three little kittens, and their names wereMittens, Tom Kitten, and Moppet.They had dear littlefur coats of their own; and they tumbled about thedoorstep and played in the dust.But one day theirmother--Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit--expected friends to tea;so she fetched the kittens indoors, to wash anddress them, before thefine company arrived.[Illustration][Illustration]First she scrubbed their faces (thisone is Moppet).Then she brushed their fur, (this one is Mittens).[Illustration][Illustration]Then shecombed their tails and whiskers (this is Tom Kitten).Tom was very naughty, and he scratched.Mrs.Tabitha dressed Moppet and Mittens in clean pinafores and tuckers;and then she took all sorts of elegantuncomfortable clothes out of achest of drawers, in order to dress up her sonThomas.[Illustration][Illustration]Tom Kitten was very fat, and he had grown; several buttons burst off.Hismother sewed them on again.When the three kittens were ready, Mrs. Tabitha unwisely turned themoutinto the garden, to be out of the way while she made hot buttered toast."Now keep your frocks clean,children! You must walk on your hind legs.Keep away from the dirty ash-pit, and from Sally Henny Penny,and from thepig-stye and the Puddle-Ducks."[Illustration][Illustration]Moppet and Mittens walked downthe garden path unsteadily. Presently theytrod upon their pinafores and fell on their noses.When theystood up there were several green smears!"Let us climb up the rockery, and sit on the garden wall," saidMoppet.They turned their pinafores back to front, and went up with a skip and ajump; Moppet's whitetucker fell down into the road.[Illustration][Illustration]Tom Kitten was quite unable to jump whenwalking upon his hind legs introusers. He came up the rockery by degrees, breaking the ferns,andshedding buttons right and left.He was all in pieces when he reached the top of the wall.Moppet andMittens tried to pull him together; his hat fell off, and therest of his buttonsburst.[Illustration][Illustration]While they were in difficulties, there was a pit pat paddle pat! andthethree Puddle-Ducks came along the hard high road, marching one behind theother and doing thegoose step--pit pat paddle pat! pit pat waddle pat!They stopped and stood in a row, and stared up at thekittens. They hadvery small eyes and looked surprised.[Illustration][Illustration]Then the two duck-birds,Rebeccah and Jemima Puddle-Duck, picked up thehat and tucker and put them on.Mittens laughed sothat she fell off the wall. Moppet and Tom descendedafter her; the pinafores and all the rest of Tom'sclothes came off on theway down."Come! Mr. Drake Puddle-Duck," said Moppet--"Come and help us todresshim! Come and button up Tom!"[Illustration][Illustration]Mr. Drake Puddle-Duck advanced in a slowsideways manner, and picked upthe various articles.But he put them on _himself!_ They fitted him evenworse than Tom Kitten."It's a very fine morning!" said Mr. DrakePuddle-Duck.[Illustration][Illustration]And he and Jemima and Rebeccah Puddle-Duck set off up the road,keepingstep--pit pat, paddle pat! pit pat, waddle pat!Then Tabitha Twitchit came down the garden andfound her kittens on thewall with no clothes on.[Illustration][Illustration]She pulled them off the wall,smacked them, and took them back to thehouse."My friends will arrive in a minute, and you are not fit tobe seen; I amaffronted," said Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit.She sent them upstairs; and I am sorry to say shetold her friends thatthey were in bed with the measles; which was not true.[Illustration][Illustration]Quitethe contrary; they were not in bed: _not_ in the least.Somehow there were very extraordinary noisesover-head, which disturbedthe dignity and repose of the tea party.And I think that some day I shall have


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of On the Fourfold Root of the Principle ofSufficient Reason and On theWill in Nat, by Arthur SchopenhauerThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United Statesand mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it,give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook oronline atwww.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll haveto check the laws ofthe country where you are located before using this ebook.Title: On the Fourfold Root of the Principle ofSufficient Reason and On the Will in Nature: Two Essays (revised edition)Author: ArthurSchopenhauerTranslator: Karl HillebrandRelease Date: January 19, 2016 [EBook #50966]Language:EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRINCIPLE OFSUFFICIENT REASON ***Produced by Charlene Taylor, Sharon Joiner, Bryan Ness andthe OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scannedimages ofpublic domain material from the Google Booksproject.)TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:Italics have beentranscribed using _underscores_, bold with =equalsigns=, spaced text with +plus signs+, small capitalsas ALL CAPITALS,and text in superscript is preceded by a ^carat. Inconsistencies inhyphenation,punctuation, spelling and abbreviations have not beencorrected. A list of other corrections can be foundat the end of thedocument.  _BOHN'S PHILOSOPHICAL LIBRARY._  TWO ESSAYS  BY  ARTHURSCHOPENHAUER.  LONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS  PORTUGAL ST. LINCOLN'S INN,W.C.  CAMBRIDGE: DEIGHTON, BELL & CO.  NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.  BOMBAY: A. H. WHEELER& CO.  ON  THE FOURFOLD ROOT OF THE PRINCIPLE OF SUFFICIENT REASON  AND  ON THE WILL INNATURE.  TWO ESSAYS BY  ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER.  TRANSLATED BY MME. KARLHILLEBRAND.  _REVISED EDITION._  LONDON  GEORGE BELL AND SONS  1907  CHISWICK PRESS:CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.  TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.TRANSLATOR'SPREFACE.In venturing to lay the present translation[1] before the public, Iam aware of the greatdifficulties of my task, and indeed can hardlyhope to do justice to the Author. In fact, had it not been fortheconsiderations I am about to state, I might probably never havepublished what had originally beenundertaken in order to acquire aclearer comprehension of these essays, rather than with a viewtopublicity.  [1] From the fourth edition by Julius FrauenstÃ¤dt. "Fourfold Root,"  Leipzig, 1875; "Will inNature," Leipzig, 1878.The two treatises which form the contents of the present volume have somuchimportance for a profound and correct knowledge of Schopenhauer'sphilosophy, that it may even bedoubted whether the translation ofhis chief work, "Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung," cancontributemuch towards the appreciation of his system without the help atleast of the "Vierfache Wurzeldes Satzes vom zureichenden Grunde."Schopenhauer himself repeatedly and urgently insists upon apreviousthorough knowledge of Kant's philosophy, as the basis, and of hisown "Fourfold Root," as thekey, to his own system, asserting thatknowledge to be the indispensable condition for a rightcomprehensionof his meaning. So far as I am aware, neither the "Fourfold Root"nor the "Will in Nature"have as yet found a translator; therefore,considering the dawning interest which has begun to make itselffeltfor Schopenhauer's philosophy in England and in America, and the factthat no more competent scholarhas come forward to do the work, it maynot seem presumptuous to suppose that this version may beacceptableto those who wish to acquire a more than superficial knowledge of thisremarkable thinker, yetwhose acquaintance with German does not permitthem to read his works in the original.Now althoughsome portions of both the Essays published in the presentvolume have of course become antiquated,owing to the subsequentdevelopment of the empirical sciences, while others--such as, forinstance,Schopenhauer's denunciation of plagiarism in the cases ofBrandis and Rosas in the beginning ofPhysiology and Pathology[2]--canhave no interest for the reader of the present day, I haveneverthelessgiven them just as he left them and refrained from all suppression oralteration. And if, onthe whole, the "Will in Nature" may be lessindispensable for a right understanding of our philosopher'sviewsthan the "Fourfold Root," being merely a record of the confirmationswhich had been contributedduring his lifetime by the various branchesof Natural Science to his doctrine, that _the thing in itself is


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Indiscretions of Archie, by P. G. WodehouseThis eBook is for the useof anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Indiscretions of ArchieAuthor: P. G. WodehouseRelease Date: June 25, 2008[EBook #3756]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INDISCRETIONS OFARCHIE ***Produced by Charles Franks, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeamINDISCRETIONS OF ARCHIEBy P. G. WodehouseIt wasn't Archie's fault really. Its true he went toAmerica and fell inlove with Lucille, the daughter of a millionaire hotel proprietor and ifhe did marryher--well, what else was there to do?From his point of view, the whole thing was a thoroughly good egg;butMr. Brewster, his father-in-law, thought differently, Archie hadneither money nor occupation, whichwas distasteful in the eyes of theindustrious Mr. Brewster; but the real bar was the fact that he hadonceadversely criticised one of his hotels.Archie does his best to heal the breach; but, being something ofan ass,genus priceless, he finds it almost beyond his powers to placate "theman-eating fish" whomProvidence has given him as a father-in-lawP. G. WodehouseAUTHOR OF "THE LITTLE WARRIOR," "ADAMSEL IN DISTRESS," "UNEASY MONEY,"ETC.NEW YORKGEORGE H. DORANCOMPANYCOPYRIGHT,1921, BY GEORGE H, DORAN COMPANYCOPYRIGHT, 1920, BY INTERNATIONALMAGAZINE COMPANY (COSMOPOLITANMAGAZINE)PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OFAMERICADEDICATION TO B. W. KING-HALL My dear Buddy,-- We have been friends for eighteen years. Aconsiderable proportion of my books were written under your hospitable roof. And yet I have neverdedicated one to you. What will be the verdict of Posterity on this? The fact is, I have become rathersuperstitious about dedications. No sooner do you label a book with the legend--                          TOMY                        BEST FRIEND                            X than X cuts you in Piccadilly, or you bring a lawsuitagainst him. There is a fatality about it. However, I can't imagine anyone quarrelling with you, and I amgetting more attractive all the time, so let's take a chance. Yours ever, P. G.WODEHOUSE.CONTENTS         I   DISTRESSING SCENE IN A HOTEL        II   A SHOCK FOR MR.BREWSTER       III   MR. BREWSTER DELIVERS SENTENCE        IV   WORK WANTED         V   STRANGEEXPERIENCE OF AN ARTIST'S MODEL        VI   THE BOMB       VII   MR. ROSCOE SHERRIFF HAS ANIDEA      VIII   A DISTURBED NIGHT FOR DEAR OLD SQUIFFY        IX   A LETTER FROMPARKER         X   DOING FATHER A BIT OF GOOD        XI   SALVATORE CHOOSES THE WRONGMOMENT       XII   BRIGHT EYES-AND A FLY      XIII   RALLYING ROUND PERCY       XIV   THE SAD CASEOF LOONEY BIDDLE        XV   SUMMER STORMS       XVI   ARCHIE ACCEPTS ASITUATION      XVII   BROTHER BILL'S ROMANCE     XVIII   THE SAUSAGE CHAPPIE       XIX   REGGIECOMES TO LIFE        XX   THE SAUSAGE CHAPPIE CLICKS       XXI   THE-GROWINGBOY      XXII   WASHY STEPS INTO THE HALL OF FAME     XXIII   MOTHER'S-KNEE      XXIV   THEMELTING OF MR. CONNOLLY       XXV   THE WIGMORE VENUS      XXVI   A TALE OF AGRANDFATHERCHAPTER I. DISTRESSING SCENE"I say, laddie!" said Archie."Sir?" replied the desk-clerkalertly. All the employes of the HotelCosmopolis were alert. It was one of the things on which Mr.DanielBrewster, the proprietor, insisted. And as he was always wandering aboutthe lobby of the hotelkeeping a personal eye on affairs, it was neversafe to relax."I want to see the manager.""Is thereanything I could do, sir?"Archie looked at him doubtfully."Well, as a matter of fact, my dear olddesk-clerk," he said, "I want tokick up a fearful row, and it hardly seems fair to lug you into it. Whyyou, Imean to say? The blighter whose head I want on a charger is thebally manager."At this point a massive,grey-haired man, who had been standing closeby, gazing on the lobby with an air of restrained severity,as if daringit to start anything, joined in the conversation."I am the manager," he said.His eye was coldand hostile. Others, it seemed to say, might likeArchie Moffam, but not he. Daniel Brewster was bristlingfor combat.What he had overheard had shocked him to the core of his being. TheHotel Cosmopolis washis own private, personal property, and the thingdearest to him in the world, after his daughter Lucille.He pridedhimself on the fact that his hotel was not like other New York hotels,which were run by


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ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Rise and Fall of Cesar Birotteau, by Honore de BalzacThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Rise and Fall of Cesar BirotteauAuthor: Honore de BalzacTranslator: KatharinePrescott WormeleyRelease Date: October, 1999  [Etext #1942]Posting Date: March 6, 2010Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RISE AND FALL OF CESAR BIROTTEAU***Produced by John Bickers, and DagnyRISE AND FALL OF CESAR BIROTTEAUBy Honore DeBalzacTranslated by Katharine Prescott WormeleyPART I. CESAR AT HIS APOGEEIDuring winter nightsnoise never ceases in the Rue Saint-Honore exceptfor a short interval. Kitchen-gardeners carrying theirproduce to marketcontinue the stir of carriages returning from theatres and balls. Nearthe middle of thissustained pause in the grand symphony of Parisianuproar, which occurs about one o'clock in the morning,the wife ofMonsieur Cesar Birotteau, a perfumer established near the Place Vendome,was startled fromher sleep by a frightful dream. She had seen herdouble. She had appeared to herself clothed in rags,turning with ashrivelled, withered hand the latch of her own shop-door, seeming to beat the threshold,yet at the same time seated in her armchair behind thecounter. She was asking alms of herself, andheard herself speaking fromthe doorway and also from her seat at the desk.She tried to grasp herhusband, but her hand fell on a cold place.Her terror became so intense that she could not move herneck, whichstiffened as if petrified; the membranes of her throat became gluedtogether, her voice failedher. She remained sitting erect in the sameposture in the middle of the alcove, both panels of which werewideopen, her eyes staring and fixed, her hair quivering, her ears filledwith strange noises, her hearttightened yet palpitating, and her personbathed in perspiration though chilled to the bone.Fear is ahalf-diseased sentiment, which presses so violently upon thehuman mechanism that the faculties aresuddenly excited to the highestdegree of their power or driven to utter disorganization. Physiologistshavelong wondered at this phenomenon, which overturns their systemsand upsets all theories; it is in fact athunderbolt working within thebeing, and, like all electric accidents, capricious and whimsical in itscourse.This explanation will become a mere commonplace in the daywhen scientific men are brought torecognize the immense part whichelectricity plays in human thought.Madame Birotteau now passedthrough several of the shocks, in some sortelectrical, which are produced by terrible explosions of the willforcedout, or held under, by some mysterious mechanism. Thus during aperiod of time, very short ifjudged by a watch, but immeasurable whencalculated by the rapidity of her impressions, the poor womanhad thesupernatural power of emitting more ideas and bringing to the surfacemore recollections than,under any ordinary use of her faculties, shecould put forth in the course of a whole day. The poignant taleof hermonologue may be abridged into a few absurd sentences, as contradictoryand bare of meaning asthe monologue itself."There is no reason why Birotteau should leave my bed! He has eaten somuch vealthat he may be ill. But if he were ill he would have wakedme. For nineteen years that we have slepttogether in this bed, in thishouse, it has never happened that he left his place without tellingme,--poorsheep! He never slept away except to pass the night in theguard-room. Did he come to bed to-night?Why, of course; goodness! howstupid I am."She cast her eyes upon the bed and saw her husband'snight-cap, whichstill retained the almost conical shape of his head."Can he be dead? Has he killedhimself? Why?" she went on. "For thelast two years, since they made him deputy-mayor, heis_all-I-don't-know-how_. To put him into public life! On the word of anhonest woman, isn't it pitiable?His business is doing well, for he gaveme a shawl. But perhaps it isn't doing well? Bah! I should know ofit.Does one ever know what a man has got in his head; or a womaneither?--there is no harm in that. Didn'twe sell five thousand francs'worth to-day? Besides, a deputy mayor couldn't kill himself; he knowsthelaws too well. Where is he then?"She could neither turn her neck, nor stretch out her hand to pullthe bell,which would have put in motion a cook, three clerks, and ashop-boy. A prey to the nightmare, which stilllasted though hermind was wide awake, she forgot her daughter peacefully asleep in anadjoining room,the door of which opened at the foot of her bed. At lastshe cried "Birotteau!" but got no answer. She


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Letters of Two Brides, by Honore de BalzacThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Letters of Two BridesAuthor: Honore de BalzacTranslator: R. S. ScottReleaseDate: October, 1999  [Etext #1941]Posting Date: November 23, 2009Language: English*** START OFTHIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS OF TWO BRIDES ***Produced by John Bickers andDagnyLETTERS OF TWO BRIDESBy Honore de BalzacTranslated by R. S. ScottDEDICATION  To GeorgeSand  Your name, dear George, while casting a reflected radiance on my  book, can gain no new gloryfrom this page. And yet it is neither  self-interest nor diffidence which has led me to place it there,  butonly the wish that it should bear witness to the solid  friendship between us, which has survived ourwanderings and  separations, and triumphed over the busy malice of the world. This  feeling is hardlylikely now to change. The goodly company of  friendly names, which will remain attached to my works,forms an  element of pleasure in the midst of the vexation caused by their  increasing number. Each freshbook, in fact, gives rise to fresh  annoyance, were it only in the reproaches aimed at my too prolific  pen,as though it could rival in fertility the world from which I  draw my models! Would it not be a fine thing,George, if the  future antiquarian of dead literatures were to find in this  company none but great namesand generous hearts, friends bound by  pure and holy ties, the illustrious figures of the century? MayI  not justly pride myself on this assured possession, rather than on  a popularity necessarily unstable?For him who knows you well, it  is happiness to be able to sign himself, as I do here,  Your friend,  DEBALZAC.  PARIS, June 1840.LETTERS OF TWO BRIDESFIRST PARTI. LOUISE DE CHAULIEU TO RENEE DEMAUCOMBE. PARIS, September.Sweetheart, I too am free! And I am the first too, unless you havewrittento Blois, at our sweet tryst of letter-writing.Raise those great black eyes of yours, fixed on my openingsentence,and keep this excitement for the letter which shall tell you of my firstlove. By the way, whyalways "first?" Is there, I wonder, a second love?Don't go running on like this, you will say, but tell merather howyou made your escape from the convent where you were to take your vows.Well, dear, I don'tknow about the Carmelites, but the miracle of my owndeliverance was, I can assure you, most humdrum.The cries of an alarmedconscience triumphed over the dictates of a stern policy--there's thewholemystery. The sombre melancholy which seized me after you lefthastened the happy climax, my aunt didnot want to see me die of adecline, and my mother, whose one unfailing cure for my malady wasanovitiate, gave way before her.So I am in Paris, thanks to you, my love! Dear Renee, could youhaveseen me the day I found myself parted from you, well might you havegloried in the deep impressionyou had made on so youthful a bosom. Wehad lived so constantly together, sharing our dreams andletting ourfancy roam together, that I verily believe our souls had become weldedtogether, like those twoHungarian girls, whose death we heard aboutfrom M. Beauvisage--poor misnamed being! Never surelywas man better cutout by nature for the post of convent physician!Tell me, did you not droop and sickenwith your darling?In my gloomy depression, I could do nothing but count over the tieswhich bind us. Butit seemed as though distance had loosened them; Iwearied of life, like a turtle-dove widowed of hermate. Death smiledsweetly on me, and I was proceeding quietly to die. To be at Blois, atthe Carmelites,consumed by dread of having to take my vows there, aMlle. de la Valliere, but without her prelude, andwithout my Renee! Howcould I not be sick--sick unto death?How different it used to be! That monotonousexistence, where every hourbrings its duty, its prayer, its task, with such desperate regularitythat youcan tell what a Carmelite sister is doing in any place, at anyhour of the night or day; that deadly dullroutine, which crushes outall interest in one's surroundings, had become for us two a world oflife andmovement. Imagination had thrown open her fairy realms, and inthese our spirits ranged at will, each inturn serving as magic steedto the other, the more alert quickening the drowsy; the world fromwhich ourbodies were shut out became the playground of our fancy, whichreveled there in frolicsome adventure.The very _Lives of the Saints_helped us to understand what was so carefully left unsaid! But the daywhenI was reft of your sweet company, I became a true Carmelite, suchas they appeared to us, a modern


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Out of Time's Abyss, by Edgar Rice BurroughsThis eBook is for the useof anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: Out of Time's AbyssAuthor: Edgar Rice BurroughsPosting Date: July 30, 2008[EBook #553]Release Date: June, 1996[Last updated: November 24, 2012]Language: English*** STARTOF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF TIME'S ABYSS ***Produced by Judith Boss.Out of Time'sAbyssByEdgar Rice BurroughsChapter IThis is the tale of Bradley after he left Fort Dinosaur upon thewestcoast of the great lake that is in the center of the island.Upon the fourth day of September, 1916, heset out with fourcompanions, Sinclair, Brady, James, and Tippet, to search along thebase of the barriercliffs for a point at which they might be scaled.Through the heavy Caspakian air, beneath the swollensun, the five menmarched northwest from Fort Dinosaur, now waist-deep in lush, junglegrasses starredwith myriad gorgeous blooms, now across openmeadow-land and parklike expanses and again plunginginto dense forestsof eucalyptus and acacia and giant arboreous ferns with featheredfronds waving gentlya hundred feet above their heads.About them upon the ground, among the trees and in the air overthemmoved and swung and soared the countless forms of Caspak's teeminglife.  Always were theymenaced by some frightful thing and seldom weretheir rifles cool, yet even in the brief time they haddwelt uponCaprona they had become callous to danger, so that they swung alonglaughing and chattinglike soldiers on a summer hike."This reminds me of South Clark Street," remarked Brady, who hadonceserved on the traffic squad in Chicago; and as no one asked him why, hevolunteered that it was"because it's no place for an Irishman.""South Clark Street and heaven have something in common,then,"suggested Sinclair.  James and Tippet laughed, and then a hideous growlbroke from a dense thicketahead and diverted their attention to othermatters."One of them behemoths of 'Oly Writ," mutteredTippet as they came to ahalt and with guns ready awaited the almost inevitable charge."Hungry lot o'beggars, these," said Bradley; "always trying to eateverything they see."For a moment no further soundcame from the thicket.  "He may befeeding now," suggested Bradley.  "We'll try to go aroundhim.  Can'twaste ammunition.  Won't last forever.  Follow me."  And he set off atright angles to theirformer course, hoping to avert a charge.  Theyhad taken a dozen steps, perhaps, when the thicket movedto the advanceof the thing within it, the leafy branches parted, and the hideous headof a gigantic bearemerged."Pick your trees," whispered Bradley.  "Can't waste ammunition."The men looked aboutthem.  The bear took a couple of steps forward,still growling menacingly.  He was exposed to theshoulders now.Tippet took one look at the monster and bolted for the nearest tree;and then the bearcharged.  He charged straight for Tippet.  The othermen scattered for the various trees they hadselected--all exceptBradley.  He stood watching Tippet and the bear.  The man had a goodstart and thetree was not far away; but the speed of the enormouscreature behind him was something to marvel at,yet Tippet was in afair way to make his sanctuary when his foot caught in a tangle ofroots and down hewent, his rifle flying from his hand and fallingseveral yards away.  Instantly Bradley's piece was at hisshoulder,there was a sharp report answered by a roar of mingled rage and painfrom thecarnivore.  Tippet attempted to scramble to his feet."Lie still!" shouted Bradley.  "Can't wasteammunition."The bear halted in its tracks, wheeled toward Bradley and then backagain towardTippet.  Again the former's rifle spit angrily, and thebear turned again in his direction.  Bradley shoutedloudly.  "Come on,you behemoth of Holy Writ!" he cried.  "Come on, you duffer!  Can'twasteammunition."  And as he saw the bear apparently upon the verge ofdeciding to charge him, heencouraged the idea by backing rapidly away,knowing that an angry beast will more often charge onewho moves thanone who lies still.And the bear did charge.  Like a bolt of lightning he flashed downuponthe Englishman.  "Now run!"  Bradley called to Tippet and himselfturned in flight toward a nearbytree.  The other men, now safelyensconced upon various branches, watched the race withbreathlessinterest.  Would Bradley make it?  It seemed scarce possible.  And ifhe didn't!  James gaspedat the thought.  Six feet at the shoulderstood the frightful mountain of blood-mad flesh and bone and


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ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Tom Swift and his Electric Rifle, by Victor AppletonThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: Tom Swift and his Electric RifleAuthor: Victor AppletonPosting Date: January 16,2009 [EBook #3777]Release Date: February, 2003Last updated November 10, 2010Last updated: April22, 2012Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SWIFT AND HISELECTRIC RIFLE ***Produced by This etext was produced by Charles Franks,Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLEORDaring Adventures in ElephantLandby VICTOR APPLETONCONTENTS     I   TOM WANTS EXCITEMENT    II   TRYING THE NEWGUN   III   A DIFFICULT TEST    IV   BIG TUSKS WANTED     V   RUSH WORK    VI   NEWS FROMANDY   VII   THE BLACK HAWK FLIES  VIII   OFF FOR AFRICA    IX   ATTACKED BY A WHALE     X   OFFIN THE AIRSHIP    XI   ANCHORED TO EARTH   XII   AMONG THE NATIVES  XIII   ON THE ELEPHANTTRAIL   XIV   A STAMPEDE    XV   LIONS IN THE NIGHT   XVI   SEEKING THEMISSIONARIES  XVII   SHOTS FROM ABOVE XVIII   NEWS OF THE RED PYGMIES   XIX   AN APPEAL FORHELP    XX   THE FIGHT   XXI   DRIVEN BACK  XXII   A NIGHT ATTACK XXIII   THE RESCUE  XXIV   TWOOTHER CAPTIVES   XXV   THE ROGUE ELEPHANT--CONCLUSIONCHAPTER ITOM WANTSEXCITEMENT"Have you anything special to do to-night, Ned?" asked Tom Swift,the well-known inventor,as he paused in front of his chum's window,in the Shopton National Bank."No, nothing in particular,"replied the bank clerk, as he stackedup some bundles of bills. "Why do you ask?""I wanted you to comeover to the house for a while.""Going to have a surprise party, or something like that?""No, only I've gotsomething I'd like to show you.""A new invention?""Well, not exactly new. You've seen it before, but notsince I'veimproved it. I'm speaking of my new electric rifle. I've got itready to try, now, and I'd like to seewhat you think of it. There'sa rifle range over at the house, and we can practice some shooting,if youhaven't anything else to do.""I haven't, and I'll be glad to come. What are you doing in thebank, anyhow;putting away more of your wealth, Tom?""Yes, I just made a little deposit. It's some money I got fromthegovernment for the patents on my sky racer, and I'm salting it downhere until Dad and I can think ofa better investment.""Good idea. Bring us all the money you can," and the bank clerk, whoheld a smallamount of stock in the financial institution, laughed,his chum joining in with him."Well, then. I'll expectyou over this evening," went on theyouthful inventor, as he turned to leave the bank."Yes, I'll be there.Say, Tom, have you heard the latest about AndyFoger?""No, I haven't heard much since he left townright after I beat himin the aeroplane race at Eagle Park.""Well, he's out of town all right, and I guess fora long time thistrip. He's gone to Europe.""To Europe, eh? Well, he threatened to go there after he failedtobeat me in the race, but I thought he was only bluffing.""No, he's really gone this time.""Well, I, forone, am glad of it. Did he take his aeroplane along?""Yes, that's what he went for. It seems that this Mr.Landbacher,the German who really invented it, and built it with money which Mr.Foger supplied, has anidea he can interest the German or some otherEuropean government in the machine. Andy wanted to goalong withhim, and as Mr. Foger financed the scheme, I guess he thought itwould be a good thing to havesome one represent him. So Andy'sgone.""Then he won't bother me. Well, I must get along. I'll expectyouover to-night," and with a wave of his hand Tom Swift hurried fromthe bank.The young inventorjumped into his electric runabout which stoodoutside the institution, and was about to start off when hesaw anewsboy selling papers which had just come in from New York, on themorning train."Here, Jack,give me a TIMES," called Tom to the lad, and he tossedthe newsboy a nickel. Then, after glancing at thefront page, andnoting the headings, Tom started off his speedy car, in which, onone occasion, he hadmade a great run, against time. He was soon athome."Well, Dad, I've got the money safely put away," heremarked to anaged gentleman who sat in the library reading a book. "Now we won'thave to worry aboutthieves until we get some more cash in.""Well, I'm glad it's coming in so plentifully," said Mr. Swift withasmile. "Since my illness I haven't been able to do much, Tom, andit all depends on you, now.""Don't letthat worry you, Dad. You'll soon be as busy as ever,"for, following a serious operation for an ailment of


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Ball at Sceaux, by Honore de BalzacThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Ball at SceauxAuthor: Honore de BalzacTranslator: Clara BellRelease Date:May, 1998  [Etext #1305]Posting Date: February 22, 2010Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BALL AT SCEAUX ***Produced by DagnyTHE BALL AT SCEAUXBYHONORE DE BALZACTranslated By Clara Bell              To Henri de Balzac, his brother Honore.THE BALLAT SCEAUXThe Comte de Fontaine, head of one of the oldest families in Poitou, hadserved the Bourboncause with intelligence and bravery during the warin La Vendee against the Republic. After havingescaped all the dangerswhich threatened the royalist leaders during this stormy period ofmodern history,he was wont to say in jest, "I am one of the men whogave themselves to be killed on the steps of thethrone." And thepleasantry had some truth in it, as spoken by a man left for dead at thebloody battle ofLes Quatre Chemins. Though ruined by confiscation, thestaunch Vendeen steadily refused the lucrativeposts offered to himby the Emperor Napoleon. Immovable in his aristocratic faith, he hadblindly obeyedits precepts when he thought it fitting to choosea companion for life. In spite of the blandishments of arich butrevolutionary parvenu, who valued the alliance at a high figure, hemarried Mademoiselle deKergarouet, without a fortune, but belonging toone of the oldest families in Brittany.When the secondrevolution burst on Monsieur de Fontaine he wasencumbered with a large family. Though it was no part ofthe noblegentlemen's views to solicit favors, he yielded to his wife's wish, lefthis country estate, of whichthe income barely sufficed to maintain hischildren, and came to Paris. Saddened by seeing the greedinessof hisformer comrades in the rush for places and dignities under the newConstitution, he was about toreturn to his property when he received aministerial despatch, in which a well-known magnateannounced to him hisnomination as marechal de camp, or brigadier-general, under a rulewhich allowedthe officers of the Catholic armies to count the twentysubmerged years of Louis XVIII.'s reign as years ofservice. Some dayslater he further received, without any solicitation, ex officio, thecrosses of the Legionof Honor and of Saint-Louis.Shaken in his determination by these successive favors, due, as hesupposed,to the monarch's remembrance, he was no longer satisfied withtaking his family, as he had piously doneevery Sunday, to cry "Vive leRoi" in the hall of the Tuileries when the royal family passed throughon theirway to chapel; he craved the favor of a private audience.The audience, at once granted, was in no senseprivate. The royaldrawing-room was full of old adherents, whose powdered heads, seen fromabove,suggested a carpet of snow. There the Count met some old friends,who received him somewhat coldly;but the princes he thought ADORABLE,an enthusiastic expression which escaped him when the mostgracious ofhis masters, to whom the Count had supposed himself to be known onlyby name, came toshake hands with him, and spoke of him as the mostthorough Vendeen of them all. Notwithstanding thisovation, none ofthese august persons thought of inquiring as to the sum of his losses,or of the money hehad poured so generously into the chests of theCatholic regiments. He discovered, a little late, that hehad made warat his own cost. Towards the end of the evening he thought he mightventure on a wittyallusion to the state of his affairs, similar, asit was, to that of many other gentlemen. His Majesty laughedheartilyenough; any speech that bore the hall-mark of wit was certain to pleasehim; but he neverthelessreplied with one of those royal pleasantrieswhose sweetness is more formidable than the anger of arebuke. One ofthe King's most intimate advisers took an opportunity of going up to thefortune-seekingVendeen, and made him understand by a keen and politehint that the time had not yet come for settlingaccounts with thesovereign; that there were bills of much longer standing than his on thebooks, andthere, no doubt, they would remain, as part of the history ofthe Revolution. The Count prudentlywithdrew from the venerable group,which formed a respectful semi-circle before the august family;then,having extricated his sword, not without some difficulty, from among thelean legs which had gotmixed up with it, he crossed the courtyard ofthe Tuileries and got into the hackney cab he had left on thequay. Withthe restive spirit, which is peculiar to the nobility of the old school,in whom still survives the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cicero's Brutus or History of FamousOrators; also His Orator, orAccomplished Speaker., by CiceroThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmostno restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the ProjectGutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Cicero's Brutus orHistory of Famous Orators; also His Orator, or Accomplished Speaker.Author: CiceroPosting Date:November 15, 2011 [EBook #9776]Release Date: January, 2006First Posted: October 15,2003Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CICERO'S BRUTUS***Produced by Anne Soulard, Ted Garvin, and the ProjectGutenberg Online Distributed ProofreadingTeamCICERO'S BRUTUS,ORHISTORY OF FAMOUS ORATORS:ALSO,HIS ORATOR,ORACCOMPLISHEDSPEAKER.Now first translated into English by E. JonesPREFACE.As the following Rhetorical Pieces havenever appeared before in theEnglish language, I thought a Translation of them would be nounacceptableoffering to the Public. The character of the Author (Marcus TulliusCicero) is so universallycelebrated, that it would be needless, andindeed impertinent, to say any thing to recommend them.Thefirst of them was the fruit of his retirement, during the remains ofthe _Civil War_ in Africa; and wascomposed in the form of a Dialogue. Itcontains a few short, but very masterly sketches of all theSpeakerswho had flourished either in Greece or Rome, with any reputation ofEloquence, down to his owntime; and as he generally touches the principalincidents of their lives, it will be considered, by anattentive reader,as a _concealed epitome of the Roman history_. The conference is supposedto havebeen held with Atticus, and their common friend Brutus, inCicero's garden at Rome, under the statue ofPlato, whom he alwaysadmired, and usually imitated in his dialogues: and he seems in this tohave copiedeven his _double titles_, calling it _Brutus, or the Historyof famous Orators_. It was intended as a_supplement_, or _fourth book_,to three former ones, on the qualifications of an Orator.The second,which is intitled _The Orator_, was composed a very short timeafterwards (both of them in the 61st yearof his age) and at the requestof Brutus. It contains a plan, or critical delineation, of what hehimselfesteemed the most finished Eloquence, or style of Speaking. He calls it_The Fifth Part, or Book_,designed to complete his _Brutus_, and _theformer three_ on the same subject. It was received withgreat approbation;and in a letter to Lepta, who had complimented him upon it, he declares,that whateverjudgment he had in Speaking, he had thrown it all into thatwork, and was content to risk his reputationon the merit of it. But it isparticularly recommended to our curiosity, by a more exact account oftherhetorical _composition_, or _prosaic harmony_ of the ancients, than is tobe met with in any otherpart of his works.As to the present Translation, I must leave the merit of it to be decidedby the Public;and have only to observe, that though I have not, to myknowledge, omitted a single sentence of theoriginal, I was obliged, insome places, to paraphrase my author, to render his meaning intelligibleto amodern reader. My chief aim was to be clear and perspicuous: if Ihave succeeded in _that_, it is all Ipretend to. I must leave it to ablerpens to copy the _Eloquence_ of Cicero. _Mine_ is unequal to thetask.BRUTUS, OR THE HISTORY OF ELOQUENCE.When I had left Cilicia, and arrived at Rhodes, word wasbrought me of thedeath of Hortensius. I was more affected with it than, I believe, wasgenerally expected.For, by the loss of my friend, I saw myself for everdeprived of the pleasure of his acquaintance, and ofour mutualintercourse of good offices. I likewise reflected, with Concern, that thedignity of our Collegemust suffer greatly by the decease of such aneminent augur. This reminded me, that _he_ was theperson who firstintroduced me to the College, where he attested my qualification uponoath; and that itwas _he_ also who installed me as a member; so that Iwas bound by the constitution of the Order torespect and honour him as aparent. My affliction was increased, that, in such a deplorable dearth ofwifeand virtuous citizens, this excellent man, my faithful associate inthe service of the Public, expired at thevery time when the Commonwealthcould least spare him, and when we had the greatest reason to regretthewant of his prudence and authority. I can add, very sincerely, that in_him_ I lamented the loss, not(as most people imagined) of a dangerousrival and competitor, but of a generous partner and companionin thepursuit of same. For if we have instances in history, though in studies ofless public consequence,


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Bliss, and Other Stories, by Katherine MansfieldThis eBook is for the use ofanyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Bliss, and Other StoriesAuthor: Katherine MansfieldRelease Date: December 8,2013 [EBook #44385]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLISS, ANDOTHER STORIES ***Produced by Paul Haxo from page images generously madeavailable by the InternetArchive and the University ofMichigan Library.BLISSAND OTHER STORIES". . . _but I tell you, my lordfool, out of this nettle danger, wepluck this flower, safety._"BLISSAND OTHER STORIESBYKATHERINEMANSFIELDLONDON: CONSTABLE& COMPANY LIMITED_Published_ 1920_Reprinted_ 1920_Reprinted_1921_Reprinted_ 1921_Reprinted_ 1921_Reprinted_ 1922_Reprinted_ 1922_Reprinted_1923_Reprinted_ 1924_Reprinted_ 1925Printed in Great Britain at_The Mayflower Press, Plymouth._William Brendon & Son, Ltd.TOJOHN MIDDLETONMURRYCONTENTS                                       PAGEPRELUDE  .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .    1JE NE PARLE PASFRANÃAIS .   .   .   .   71BLISS    .   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  116THE WIND BLOWS   .   .   .   .   .   .  137PSYCHOLOGY   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  145PICTURES     .   .   .   .   .   .   .  157THE MAN WITHOUT ATEMPERAMENT    .   .  172MR. REGINALD PEACOCK'S DAY   .   .   .  194SUN ANDMOON     .   .   .   .   .   .  208FEUILLE D'ALBUM  .   .   .   .   .   .  218A DILLPICKLE    .   .   .   .   .   .  228THE LITTLE GOVERNESS.   .   .   .   .  239REVELATIONS  .   .   .   .   .   .   .  262THEESCAPE   .   .   .   .   .   .   .  272PRELUDE1THERE was not an inch of room for Lottie and Kezia in thebuggy. WhenPat swung them on top of the luggage they wobbled; the grandmother'slap was full andLinda Burnell could not possibly have held a lump ofa child on hers for any distance. Isabel, very superior,was perchedbeside the new handy-man on the driver's seat. Hold-alls, bags andboxes were piled uponthe floor. "These are absolute necessities thatI will not let out of my sight for one instant," said LindaBurnell,her voice trembling with fatigue and excitement.Lottie and Kezia stood on the patch of lawn justinside the gate allready for the fray in their coats with brass anchor buttons and littleround caps withbattleship ribbons. Hand in hand, they stared withround solemn eyes first at the absolute necessities andthen at theirmother."We shall simply have to leave them. That is all. We shall simply haveto cast themoff," said Linda Burnell. A strange little laugh flewfrom her lips; she leaned back against the buttonedleather cushionsand shut her eyes, her lips trembling with laughter. Happily at thatmoment Mrs. SamuelJosephs, who had been watching the scene frombehind her drawing-room blind, waddled down thegarden path."Why nod leave the chudren with be for the afterdoon, Brs. Burnell?They could go on thedray with the storeban when he comes in theeveding. Those thigs on the path have to go, dod'tthey?""Yes, everything outside the house is supposed to go," said LindaBurnell, and she waved a whitehand at the tables and chairs standingon their heads on the front lawn. How absurd they looked! Eithertheyought to be the other way up, or Lottie and Kezia ought to stand ontheir heads, too. And she longedto say: "Stand on your heads,children, and wait for the store-man." It seemed to her that would besoexquisitely funny that she could not attend to Mrs. Samuel Josephs.The fat creaking body leaned acrossthe gate, and the big jelly of aface smiled. "Dod't you worry, Brs. Burnell. Loddie and Kezia can haveteawith by chudren in the dursery, and I'll see theb on the drayafterwards."The grandmother considered."Yes, it really is quite the best plan. Weare very obliged to you, Mrs. Samuel Josephs. Children, say'thankyou' to Mrs. Samuel Josephs."Two subdued chirrups: "Thank you, Mrs. Samuel Josephs.""And begood little girls, and--come closer--" they advanced, "don'tforget to tell Mrs. Samuel Josephs when youwant to. . . .""No, granma.""Dod't worry, Brs. Burnell."At the last moment Kezia let go Lottie's hand anddarted towards thebuggy."I want to kiss my granma good-bye again."But she was too late. The buggyrolled off up the road, Isabelbursting with pride, her nose turned up at all the world, LindaBurnellprostrated, and the grandmother rummaging among the verycurious oddments she had had put in herblack silk reticule at thelast moment, for something to give her daughter. The buggy twinkledaway in the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Father Goriot, by Honore de BalzacThis eBook is for the use of anyoneanywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Father GoriotAuthor: Honore de BalzacTranslator: Ellen MarriageRelease Date:March, 1998  [Etext #1237]Posting Date: February 22, 2010Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FATHER GORIOT ***Produced by DagnyFATHER GORIOTBy Honore DeBalzacTranslated by Ellen Marriage     To the great and illustrious Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, a token     ofadmiration for his works and genius.                                                      DE BALZAC.FATHERGORIOTMme. Vauquer (_nee_ de Conflans) is an elderly person, who for the pastforty years has kept alodging-house in the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve,in the district that lies between the Latin Quarter andthe FaubourgSaint-Marcel. Her house (known in the neighborhood as the _MaisonVauquer_) receivesmen and women, old and young, and no word has everbeen breathed against her respectableestablishment; but, at the sametime, it must be said that as a matter of fact no young woman hasbeenunder her roof for thirty years, and that if a young man stays there forany length of time it is a suresign that his allowance must be of theslenderest. In 1819, however, the time when this drama opens,there wasan almost penniless young girl among Mme. Vauquer's boarders.That word drama has beensomewhat discredited of late; it has beenoverworked and twisted to strange uses in these days ofdolorousliterature; but it must do service again here, not because this story isdramatic in the restrictedsense of the word, but because some tears mayperhaps be shed _intra et extra muros_ before it isover.Will any one without the walls of Paris understand it? It is open todoubt. The only audience whocould appreciate the results of closeobservation, the careful reproduction of minute detail and localcolor,are dwellers between the heights of Montrouge and Montmartre, in a valeof crumbling stuccowatered by streams of black mud, a vale of sorrowswhich are real and joys too often hollow; but thisaudience is soaccustomed to terrible sensations, that only some unimaginable andwell-neigh impossiblewoe could produce any lasting impression there.Now and again there are tragedies so awful and so grandby reason of thecomplication of virtues and vices that bring them about, that egotismand selfishness areforced to pause and are moved to pity; but theimpression that they receive is like a luscious fruit, soonconsumed.Civilization, like the car of Juggernaut, is scarcely stayed perceptiblyin its progress by a heartless easy to break than the others that liein its course; this also is broken, and Civilization continues onhercourse triumphant. And you, too, will do the like; you who with thisbook in your white hand will sinkback among the cushions of yourarmchair, and say to yourself, "Perhaps this may amuse me." Youwillread the story of Father Goriot's secret woes, and, dining thereafterwith an unspoiled appetite, will laythe blame of your insensibilityupon the writer, and accuse him of exaggeration, of writing romances.Ah!once for all, this drama is neither a fiction nor a romance! _All istrue_,--so true, that every one candiscern the elements of the tragedyin his own house, perhaps in his own heart.The lodging-house is Mme.Vauquer's own property. It is still standingin the lower end of the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve, justwhere the roadslopes so sharply down to the Rue de l'Arbalete, that wheeled trafficseldom passes thatway, because it is so stony and steep. This positionis sufficient to account for the silence prevalent in thestreets shutin between the dome of the Pantheon and the dome of the Val-de-Grace,two conspicuouspublic buildings which give a yellowish tone to thelandscape and darken the whole district that liesbeneath the shadow oftheir leaden-hued cupolas.In that district the pavements are clean and dry, thereis neither mudnor water in the gutters, grass grows in the chinks of the walls. Themost heedlesspasser-by feels the depressing influences of a place wherethe sound of wheels creates a sensation; thereis a grim look about thehouses, a suggestion of a jail about those high garden walls. A Parisianstrayinginto a suburb apparently composed of lodging-houses and publicinstitutions would see poverty anddullness, old age lying down to die,and joyous youth condemned to drudgery. It is the ugliest quarterofParis, and, it may be added, the least known. But, before all things,the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve islike a bronze frame for a picture forwhich the mind cannot be too well prepared by the contemplation of


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