ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of When We Dead Awaken, by Henrik IbsenThis 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: When We Dead AwakenAuthor: Henrik IbsenCommentator: WilliamArcherTranslator: William ArcherRelease Date: December, 2003 [EBook #4782]Posting Date: February17, 2010Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN***Produced by Sonia KWHEN WE DEAD AWAKENBy Henrik Ibsen.Introduction and translation by WilliamArcher.INTRODUCTION.From _Pillars of Society_ to _John Gabriel Borkman_, Ibsen's plays hadfollowedeach other at regular intervals of two years, save when hisindignation over the abuse heaped upon_Ghosts_ reduced to a singleyear the interval between that play and _An Enemy of the People_._JohnGabriel Borkman_ having appeared in 1896, its successor was expected in1898; but Christmascame and brought no rumour of a new play. In aman now over seventy, this breach of a long-establishedhabit seemedominous. The new National Theatre in Christiania was opened in Septemberof the followingyear; and when I then met Ibsen (for the last time) hetold me that he was actually at work on a newplay, which he thought ofcalling a "Dramatic Epilogue." "He wrote _When We Dead Awaken_,"says Dr.Elias, "with such labour and such passionate agitation, sospasmodically and so feverishly, that thosearound him were almostalarmed. He must get on with it, he must get on! He seemed to hearthe beatingof dark pinions over his head. He seemed to feel the grimVisitant, who had accompanied Alfred Allmerson the mountain paths,already standing behind him with uplifted hand. His relatives are firmlyconvincedthat he knew quite clearly that this would be his last play,that he was to write no more. And soon theblow fell."_When We Dead Awaken_ was published very shortly before Christmas 1899.He had still a yearof comparative health before him. We find him inMarch 1900, writing to Count Prozor: "I cannot say yetwhether or notI shall write another drama; but if I continue to retain the vigour ofbody and mind which Iat present enjoy, I do not imagine that I shall beable to keep permanently away from the old battlefields.However, if Iwere to make my appearance again, it would be with new weapons andin new armour." Washe hinting at the desire, which he had long agoconfessed to Professor Herford, that his last work shouldbe a drama inverse? Whatever his dream, it was not to be realised. His last letter(defending his attitudeof philosophic impartiality with regard to theSouth African war) is dated December 9, 1900. With thedawn of the newcentury, the curtain descended upon the mind of the great dramatic poetof the age whichhad passed away._When We Dead Awaken_ was acted during 1900 at most of the leadingtheatres inScandinavia and Germany. In some German cities (notablyin Frankfort on Main) it even attained aconsiderable number ofrepresentatives. I cannot learn, however, that it has anywhere held thestage. Itwas produced in London, by the State Society, at the ImperialTheatre, on January 25 and 26, 1903. Mr.G. S. Titheradge played Rubek,Miss Henrietta Watson Irene, Miss Mabel Hackney Maia, and Mr.LaurenceIrving Ulfheim. I find no record of any American performance.In the above-mentioned letter toCount Prozor, Ibsen confirmed thatcritic's conjecture that "the series which ends with the Epiloguereallybegan with _The Master Builder_." As the last confession, so to speak,of a great artist, the Epiloguewill always be read with interest. Itcontains, moreover, many flashes of the old genius, many strokes oftheold incommunicable magic. One may say with perfect sincerity that thereis more fascination in thedregs of Ibsen's mind than in the "firstsprightly running" of more common-place talents. But to hissaneadmirers the interest of the play must always be melancholy, because itis purely pathological. Todeny this is, in my opinion, to cast a slurover all the poet's previous work, and in great measure to justifythecriticisms of his most violent detractors. For _When We Dead Awaken_ isvery like the sort of play thathaunted the "anti-Ibsenite" imaginationin the year 1893 or thereabouts. It is a piece of self-caricature,aseries of echoes from all the earlier plays, an exaggeration of mannerto the pitch of mannerism.Moreover, in his treatment of his symbolicmotives, Ibsen did exactly what he had hitherto, with perfectjustice,plumed himself upon never doing: he sacrificed the surface realityto the underlying meaning.Take, for instance, the history of Rubek'sstatue and its development into a group. In actual sculpture


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lone Star Planetby Henry Beam Piper and John Joseph McGuireThiseBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You maycopy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBookor online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Lone Star PlanetAuthor: Henry Beam Piper and John JosephMcGuireRelease Date: January 3, 2007 [EBook #20121][This file was first posted on December 16,2006]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LONE STAR PLANET***Produced by Greg Weeks, Malcolm Farmer, and the Online DistributedProofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net                     LONE STAR PLANET                           by             H. Beam Piper andJohn J. McGuireTranscriber's Note:This etext was prepared from a 1979 reprint of the 1958 original.There isno evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed.Obvious typesetting errors in thesource text have been correctedLone Star PlanetSFace booksA Division of Charter Communications Inc.AGROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY360 Park Avenue SouthNew York, New York 10010LONE STARPLANETCopyright Â© 1958 by Ace Books, Inc.Originally published as A PLANET FOR TEXANSAll rightsreserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any formor by any means, except for the inclusion ofbrief quotations in areview, without permission in writing from the publisher.All characters in this bookare fictitious. Any resemblance to actualpersons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.This Ace Printing:April 1979Printed in U.S.A.CHAPTER IThey started giving me the business as soon as I came through thedoorinto the Secretary's outer office.There was Ethel K'wang-Li, the Secretary's receptionist, at herdesk.There was Courtlant Staynes, the assistant secretary to theUndersecretary for EconomicPenetration, and Norman Gazarin, fromProtocol, and Toby Lawder, from Humanoid Peoples' Affairs, andRaoulChavier, and Hans Mannteufel, and Olga Reznik.It was a wonder there weren't more of themwatching the condemned man'smarch to the gibbet: the word that the Secretary had called me inmusthave gotten all over the Department since the offices had opened."Ah, Mr. Machiavelli, I presume,"Ethel kicked off."Machiavelli, Junior." Olga picked up the ball. "At least, that's theway he signs it.""God'sgift to the Consular Service, and the Consular Service's gift toPolicy Planning," Gazarin added."Take iteasy, folks. These Hooligan Diplomats would as soon shoot youas look at you," Mannteufel warned."Besure and tell the Secretary that your friends all want importantposts in the Galactic Empire." Olgaagain."Well, I'm glad some of you could read it," I fired back. "Maybe even afew of you understood whatit was all about.""Don't worry, Silk," Gazarin told me. "Secretary Ghopal understands whatit was allabout. All too well, you'll find."A buzzer sounded gently on Ethel K'wang-Li's desk. She snatched upthehandphone and whispered into it. A deathly silence filled the room whileshe listened, whispered somemore, then hung it up.They were all staring at me."Secretary Ghopal is ready to see Mr. Stephen Silk,"she said. "Thisway, please."As I started across the room, Staynes began drumming on the top of thedeskwith his fingers, the slow reiterated rhythm to which a man marchesto a military execution."A cigarette?"Lawder inquired tonelessly. "A glass of rum?"There were three men in the Secretary of State's privateoffice. GhopalSingh, the Secretary, dark-faced, gray-haired, slender and elegant,meeting me halfway tohis desk. Another slender man, in black, with asilver-threaded, black neck-scarf: Rudolf KlÃ¼ng, theSecretary of theDepartment of Aggression.And a huge, gross-bodied man with a fat baby-face andopaque black eyes.When I saw him, I really began to get frightened.The fat man was Natalenko, theSecurity CoÃ¶rdinator."Good morning, Mister Silk," Secretary Ghopal greeted me, his handextended."Gentlemen, Mr. Stephen Silk, about whom we were speaking.This way, Mr. Silk, if you please."Therewas a low coffee-table at the rear of the office, and four easychairs around it. On the round brasstable-top were cups and saucers, acoffee urn, cigarettes--and a copy of the current issue of the_GalacticStatesmen's Journal_, open at an article entitled _Probable FutureCourses of Solar LeagueDiplomacy_, by somebody who had signed himselfMachiavelli, Jr.I was beginning to wish that thepseudonymous Machiavelli, Jr. had neverbeen born, or, at least, had stayed on Theta Virgo IV and beenawineberry planter as his father had wanted him to be.As I sat down and accepted a cup of coffee, Iavoided looking at theperiodical. They were probably going to hang it around my neck beforethey shoved


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Man's Woman, by Frank NorrisThis 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.netTitle: A Man's WomanAuthor: Frank NorrisRelease Date: June 20, 2005  [eBook#16096]Language: English***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN'S WOMAN***E-textprepared by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan, Project Gutenberg BeginnersProjects, and the ProjectGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team(http://www.pgdp.net)A MAN'S WOMANbyFRANKNORRIS1904The following novel was completed March 22, 1899, and sent to theprinter in October of thesame year. After the plates had been madenotice was received that a play called "A Man's Woman" hadbeen writtenby Anne Crawford Flexner, and that this title had been copyrighted.As it was impossible tochange the name of the novel at the time thisnotice was received, it has been published under its originaltitle.F.N.New York.A MAN'S WOMANI.At four o'clock in the morning everybody in the tent was stillasleep,exhausted by the terrible march of the previous day. The hummocky iceand pressure-ridges thatBennett had foreseen had at last been met with,and, though camp had been broken at six o'clock andthough men and dogshad hauled and tugged and wrestled with the heavy sledges until fiveo'clock in theafternoon, only a mile and a half had been covered. Butthough the progress was slow, it was yetprogress. It was not theharrowing, heart-breaking immobility of those long months aboard theFreja.Every yard to the southward, though won at the expense of abattle with the ice, brought them nearer toWrangel Island and ultimatesafety.Then, too, at supper-time the unexpected had happened. Bennett,moved nodoubt by their weakened condition, had dealt out extra rations to eachman: one and two-thirdsounces of butter and six and two-thirds ouncesof aleuronate bread--a veritable luxury after the unvaryingdiet ofpemmican, lime juice, and dried potatoes of the past fortnight. The menhad got into theirsleeping-bags early, and until four o'clock in themorning had slept profoundly, inert, stupefied, almostwithout movement.But a few minutes after four o'clock Bennett awoke. He was usually upabout half anhour before the others. On the day before he had been ableto get a meridian altitude of the sun, and wasanxious to complete hiscalculations as to the expedition's position on the chart that he hadbegun in theevening.He pushed back the flap of the sleeping-bag and rose to his full height,passing his hands over hisface, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He wasan enormous man, standing six feet two inches in hisreindeer footnipsand having the look more of a prize-fighter than of a scientist. Evenmaking allowancesfor its coating of dirt and its harsh, black stubbleof half a week's growth, the face was not pleasant.Bennett was an uglyman. His lower jaw was huge almost to deformity, like that of thebulldog, the chinsalient, the mouth close-gripped, with great lips,indomitable, brutal. The forehead was contracted andsmall, the foreheadof men of single ideas, and the eyes, too, were small and twinkling, oneof themmarred by a sharply defined cast.But as Bennett was fumbling in the tin box that was lashed uponthenumber four sledge, looking for his notebook wherein he had begun hiscalculations for latitude, hewas surprised to find a copy of the recordhe had left in the instrument box under the cairn at CapeKammeni at thebeginning of this southerly march. He had supposed that this copy hadbeen mislaid, andwas not a little relieved to come across it now. Heread it through hastily, his mind reviewing again theincidents of thelast few months. Certain extracts of this record ran as follows:"Arctic steamer Freja, onice off Cape Kammeni, New SiberianIslands, 76 deg. 10 min. north latitude, 150 deg. 40 min.eastlongitude, July 12, 1891.... We accordingly froze the ship in onthe last day of September, 1890, andduring the following winterdrifted with the pack in a northwesterly direction.... On Friday,July 10, 1891,being in latitude 76 deg. 10 min. north; longitude150 deg. 10 min. east, the Freja was caught in a severenip betweentwo floes and was crushed, sinking in about two hours. We abandonedher, saving 200 days'provisions and all necessary clothing,instruments, etc...."I shall now attempt a southerly march over theice to Kolyuchin Bayby way of Wrangel Island, where provisions have been cached, hopingto fall in withthe relief ships or steam whalers on the way. Ourparty consists of the following twelve persons: ... Allwell withthe exception of Mr. Ferriss, the chief engineer, whose left handhas been badly frostbitten. No


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, The American Senator, by Anthony TrollopeThis 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 American SenatorAuthor: Anthony TrollopeRelease Date: May 4,2002  [eBook #5118]Most recently updated: April 8, 2011Language: English***START OF THE PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE AMERICAN SENATOR***E-text prepared by Tapio Riikonenand revised byJoseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.THE AMERICAN SENATORbyAnthony TrollopeFirst published in serial form in_Temple Bar Magazine_ May, 1876,through July, 1877, and in book form in 1877 by Chapman andHall.CONTENTS   VOLUME I.          I. DILLSBOROUGH.         II. THE MORTON FAMILY.        III. THEMASTERS FAMILY.         IV. THE DILLSBOROUGH CLUB.          V. REGINALD MORTON.         VI. NOT INLOVE.        VII. THE WALK HOME.       VIII. THE PARAGON'S PARTY AT BRAGTON.         IX. THE OLDKENNELS.          X. GOARLY'S REVENGE.         XI. FROM IMPINGTON GORSE.        XII. ARABELLATREFOIL.       XIII. AT BRAGTON.        XIV. THE DILLSBOROUGH FEUD.         XV. A FITCOMPANION,--FOR ME AND MY SISTERS.        XVI. MR. GOTOBED'S PHILANTHROPY.       XVII. LORDRUFFORD'S INVITATION.      XVIII. THE ATTORNEY'S FAMILY IS DISTURBED.        XIX. "WHO VALUEDTHE GEESE?"         XX. THERE ARE CONVENANCES.        XXI. THE FIRST EVENING AT RUFFORDHALL.       XXII. JEMIMA.      XXIII. POOR CANEBACK.       XXIV. THE BALL.        XXV. THE LASTMORNING AT RUFFORD HALL.       XXVI. GIVE ME SIX MONTHS.      XXVII. "WONDERFULBIRD!"   VOLUME II.          I. MOUNSER GREEN.         II. THE SENATOR'S LETTER.        III. ATCHELTENHAM.         IV. THE RUFFORD CORRESPONDENCE.          V. "IT IS A LONG WAY."         VI. THEBEGINNING OF PERSECUTION.        VII. MARY'S LETTER.       VIII. CHOWTON FARM FOR SALE.         IX.MISTLETOE.          X. HOW THINGS WERE ARRANGED.         XI. "YOU ARE SO SEVERE."        XII. THEDAY AT PELTRY.       XIII. LORD RUFFORD WANTS TO SEE A HORSE.        XIV. THE SENATOR IS BADLYTREATED.         XV. MR. MAINWARING'S LITTLE DINNER.        XVI. PERSECUTION.       XVII."PARTICULARLY PROUD OF YOU."      XVIII. LORD RUFFORD MAKES UP HIS MIND.        XIX. IT CANNOTBE ARRANGED.         XX. "BUT THERE IS SOME ONE."        XXI. THE DINNER AT THE BUSH.       XXII.MISS TREFOIL'S DECISION.      XXIII. "IN THESE DAYS ONE CAN'T MAKE A MAN MARRY."       XXIV. THESENATOR'S SECOND LETTER.        XXV. PROVIDENCE INTERFERES.       XXVI. LADY USHANT ATBRAGTON.      XXVII. ARABELLA AGAIN AT BRAGTON.   VOLUME III.          I. "I HAVE TOLD HIMEVERYTHING."         II. "NOW WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO SAY?"        III. MRS. MORTONRETURNS.         IV. THE TWO OLD LADIES.          V. THE LAST EFFORT.         VI. AGAIN ATMISTLETOE.        VII. THE SUCCESS OF LADY AUGUSTUS.       VIII. "WE SHALL KILL EACHOTHER."         IX. CHANGES AT BRAGTON.          X. THE WILL.         XI. THE NEW MINISTER.        XII. "IMUST GO."       XIII. IN THE PARK.        XIV. LORD RUFFORD'S MODEL FARM.         XV. SCROBBY'STRIAL.        XVI. AT LAST.       XVII. "MY OWN, OWN HUSBAND."      XVIII. "BID HIM BE AMAN."        XIX. "IS IT TANTI?"         XX. BENEDICT.        XXI. ARABELLA'S SUCCESS.       XXII. THEWEDDING.      XXIII. THE SENATOR'S LECTURE.--NO. I.       XXIV. THE SENATOR'S LECTURE.--NO.II.        XXV. THE LAST DAYS OF MARY MASTERS.       XXVI. CONCLUSION.VOLUME I.CHAPTERI.DILLSBOROUGH.I never could understand why anybody should ever have begun to liveat Dillsborough,or why the population there should have been at anytime recruited by new comers. That a man with afamily should clingto a house in which he has once established himself is intelligible.The butcher whosupplied Dillsborough, or the baker, or theironmonger, though he might not drive what is called a roaringtrade,nevertheless found himself probably able to live, and might wellhesitate before he would encounterthe dangers of a more energeticlocality. But how it came to pass that he first got himself toDillsborough,or his father, or his grandfather before him, hasalways been a mystery to me. The town has noattractions, and neverhad any. It does not stand on a bed of coal and has no connectionwith iron. It hasno water peculiarly adapted for beer, or fordyeing, or for the cure of maladies. It is not surrounded bybeautyof scenery strong enough to bring tourists and holiday travellers.There is no cathedral there to


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of All the Way to Fairyland, by Evelyn SharpThis 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: All the Way to Fairyland       Fairy StoriesAuthor: Evelyn SharpIllustrator: Mrs.Percy DearmerRelease Date: November 3, 2009 [EBook #30400]Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALL THE WAY TO FAIRYLAND ***Produced by Al Haines[Illustration: Coverart]All the Way to FairylandFairy StoriesBYEVELYN SHARPAUTHOR OF "WYMPS"WITH EIGHT COLOUREDILLUSTRATIONSAND A COVER BY MRS. PERCY DEARMERJOHN LANETHE BODLEY HEADLONDON ANDNEW YORK1898COPYRIGHT, 1897, BYJOHN LANE.FIRST EDITIONUniversity Press:JOHN WILSON ANDSON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A._By the Same author:_WYMPS: FAIRY TALES.  With eight coloured illustrationsby Mrs. PercyDearmer.THE MAKING OF A SCHOOLGIRL.AT THE RELTON ARMS.THE MAKING OF APRIG.[Illustration: A PRINCESS FLOATING ABOUT ON A SOFT WHITE CLOUD]THESE STORIESAREFORGEOFFREY AND CHRISTOPHERTRISTAN AND ISEULTMARGARET AND BOYANDEVERARDAND ALL THEOTHER CHILDRENWHO WOULD LIKE TO GOALL THE WAY TO FAIRYLANDContentsCHAPTER    I.  THECOUNTRY CALLED NONAMIA   II.  WHY THE WYMPS CRIED  III.  THE STORY OF HONEY ANDSUNNY   IV.  THE LITTLE PRINCESS AND THE POET    V.  THE WONDERFUL TOYMAKER   VI.  THEPROFESSOR OF PRACTICAL JOKES  VII.  THE DOLL THAT CAME STRAIGHT FROM FAIRYLANDVIII.  THOSE WYMPS AGAIN!List of IllustrationsBY MRS. PERCY DEARMER    I.  A PRINCESS FLOATINGABOUT ON A SOFT WHITE CLOUD . _Frontispiece_   II.  THE WYMPS SAY THAT QUEER BEGANIT  III.  SUNNY WAS SO ASTONISHED THAT SHE STOPPED CRYING AT ONCE   IV.  "COME WITH ME,POET," SAID THE LITTLE PRINCESS    V.  THE ROCKING-HORSES RUSHED OVER THE GROUND   VI.  HECURLED HIMSELF UP IN THE SUN AND CLOSED HIS EYES  VII.  THE LADY EMMELINA IS ALWAYS KEPT INHER PROPER PLACE NOW VIII.  "WILL YOU COME AND PLAY WITH ME, LITTLE WISDOM?"The CountryCalled NonamiaEver so long ago, in the wonderful country of Nonamia, there lived anabsent-mindedmagician.  It is not usual, of course, for a magician tobe absent-minded; but then, if it were usual itwould not have happenedin Nonamia.  Nobody knew very much about this particular magician, forhelived in his castle in the air, and it is not easy to visit any onewho lives in the air.  He did not want to bevisited, however; visitorsalways meant conversation, and he could not endure conversation.  This,by theway, was not surprising, for he was so absent-minded that healways forgot the end of his sentencebefore he was half-way throughthe beginning of it; and as for his visitors' remarks--well, if he hadhadany visitors, he would never have heard their remarks at all.  So,when some one did call on him, oneday,--and that was when he had beenliving in his castle in the air for seven hundred andseventy-sevenyears and had almost forgotten who he was and why he was there,--themagician was soastonished that he could not think of anything to say."How did you get here?" he asked at last; for evenan absent-mindedmagician cannot remain altogether silent, when he looks out of hiscastle in the air andsees a Princess in a gold and silver frock, witha bright little crown on her head, floating about on a softwhite cloud."Well, I just came, that's all," answered the Princess, with aparticularly friendly smile.  "Yousee, I have never been able to findmy own castle in the air, so when the West Wind told me about yoursIasked him to blow me here.  May I come in and see what it is like?""Certainly not," said the magician,hastily.  "It is not like anything;and even if it were, I should not let you come in.  Don't you knowthat, ifyou were to enter another person's castle in the air, it wouldvanish away like a puff of smoke?""Oh,dear!" sighed the Princess.  "I did so want to know what a realcastle in the air was like.  I wonder if yoursis at all like mine!""Tell me about yours," said the magician.  "I may be able to help youto find it."  Ofcourse, he only said this in order to prevent her fromcoming inside his own castle.  At the same time, alittle conversationwith a friendly Princess in a gold and silver gown is not at allunpleasant, when one haslived in a castle in the air for seven hundredand seventy-seven years."My castle in the air is much biggerthan yours," she explained.  "Ithas ever so many rooms in it,--a large room to laugh in and a smallroomto cry in--""To cry in?" interrupted the magician.  "Why, no one ever thinks ofcrying in a castle in the


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Felix Holt, The Radical, by George EliotThis 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.org/licenseTitle: Felix Holt, The RadicalAuthor: George EliotRelease Date: September 28,2012 [EBook #40882]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FELIX HOLT,THE RADICAL ***Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Jane Robins and the OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeam at http://www.pgdp.net    [Illustration: ESTHER LYON.]    FELIX HOLT, THE RADICAL    BY GEORGEELIOT    Upon the midlands now the industrious muse doth fall,    The shires which we the heart ofEngland well may call.        *       *       *       *       *    My native country thou, which so brave spiritshast bred,    If there be virtues yet remaining in the earth,    Or any good of thine thou bred'st into mybirth,    Accept it as thine own, whilst now I sing of thee,    Of all thy later brood the unworthiest though Ibe.                                           --DRAYTON; _Polyolbion_.    _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_    BOSTON    DEWOLFE, FISKE & COMPANY    361 AND 365 WASHINGTON STREETFELIX HOLT, THERADICAL.INTRODUCTION.Five-and-thirty years ago the glory had not yet departed from the oldcoachroads: the great roadside inns were still brilliant withwell-polished tankards, the smiling glances of prettybarmaids, and therepartees of jocose hostlers; the mail still announced itself by themerry notes of thehorn; the hedge-cutter or the rick-thatcher mightstill know the exact hour by the unfailing yet otherwisemeteoricapparition of the pea-green Tally-ho or the yellow Independent; andelderly gentlemen inpony-chaises, quartering nervously to make way forthe rolling, swinging swiftness, had not ceased toremark that timeswere finely changed since they used to see the pack-horses and hear thetinkling oftheir bells on this very highway.In those days there were pocket boroughs, a Birmingham unrepresentedinParliament and compelled to make strong representations out of it,unrepealed corn-laws,three-and-sixpenny letters, a brawny andmany-breeding pauperism, and other departed evils; but therewere somepleasant things, too, which have also departed. _Non omnia grandior Ã¦tasquÃ¦ fugiamushabet_, says the wise goddess: you have not the best of itin all things, O youngsters! the elderly man hashis enviable memories,and not the least of them is the memory of a long journey in mid-springor autumnon the outside of a stage coach. Posterity may be shot, like abullet through a tube, by atmosphericpressure, from Winchester toNewcastle: that is a fine result to have among our hopes; but the slow,oldfashioned way of getting from one end of our country to the other isthe better thing to have in thememory. The tube-journey can never lendmuch to picture and narrative; it is as barren as anexclamatory O!Whereas, the happy outside passenger, seated on the box from the dawn tothe gloaming,gathered enough stories of English life, enough of Englishlabors in town and country, enough aspects ofearth and sky, to makeepisodes for a modern Odyssey. Suppose only that his journey took himthroughthat central plain, watered at one extremity by the Avon, at theother by the Trent. As the morningsilvered the meadows with their longlines of bushy willows marking the water-courses, or burnishedthegolden corn-ricks clustered near the long roofs of some midlandhomestead, he saw the full-udderedcows driven from their pasture to theearly milking. Perhaps it was the shepherd, head-servant of thefarm,who drove them, his sheep-dog following with a heedless, unofficial air,as of a beadle in undress.The shepherd, with a slow and slouching walk,timed by the walk of grazing beasts, moved aside, as ifunwillingly,throwing out a monosyllabic hint to his cattle; his glance, accustomedto rest on things verynear the earth, seemed to lift itself withdifficulty to the coachman. Mail or stage coach for him belongedto themysterious distant system of things called "Gover'ment," which, whateverit might be, was nobusiness of his, any more than the most outlyingnebula or the coal-sacks of the southern hemisphere: hissolar systemwas the parish; the master's temper and the casualties of lambing-timewere his region ofstorms. He cut his bread and bacon with hispocket-knife, and felt no bitterness except in the matter ofpauperlaborers and the bad-luck that sent contrarious seasons and thesheep-rot. He and his cows weresoon left behind, and the homestead,too, with its pond overhung by elder-trees, its untidykitchen-gardenand cone-shaped yew-tree arbor. But everywhere the bushy hedgerowswasted the land


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The Lady With The Dog and Other Stories, by Anton ChekhovThis eBook is for theuse of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give itaway orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org/licenseTitle: The Lady With The Dog and Other StoriesAuthor: AntonChekhovRelease Date: September 9, 2004 [EBook #13415][Last updated: July 29, 2017]Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY WITH THE DOG ***Produced byJames RuskTHE TALES OF CHEKHOVVOLUME 3THE LADY WITH THE DOG AND OTHER STORIESBYANTONTCHEKHOVTranslated by CONSTANCE GARNETTCONTENTSTHE LADY WITH THE DOGA DOCTOR'SVISITAN UPHEAVALIONITCHTHE HEAD OF THE FAMILYTHE BLACK MONKVOLODYAAN ANONYMOUSSTORYTHE HUSBANDTHE LADY WITH THE DOGIIT was said that a new person had appeared on thesea-front: a lady witha little dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had by then been a fortnightat Yalta, andso was fairly at home there, had begun to take an interestin new arrivals. Sitting in Verney's pavilion, hesaw, walking on thesea-front, a fair-haired young lady of medium height, wearing a _bÃ©ret_;a whitePomeranian dog was running behind her.And afterwards he met her in the public gardens and in thesquareseveral times a day. She was walking alone, always wearing the same_bÃ©ret_, and always withthe same white dog; no one knew who she was,and every one called her simply "the lady with thedog.""If she is here alone without a husband or friends, it wouldn't be amissto make her acquaintance,"Gurov reflected.He was under forty, but he had a daughter already twelve years old, andtwo sons atschool. He had been married young, when he was a student inhis second year, and by now his wifeseemed half as old again as he. Shewas a tall, erect woman with dark eyebrows, staid and dignified, and,asshe said of herself, intellectual. She read a great deal, used phoneticspelling, called her husband, notDmitri, but Dimitri, and he secretlyconsidered her unintelligent, narrow, inelegant, was afraid of her,anddid not like to be at home. He had begun being unfaithful to her longago--had been unfaithful to heroften, and, probably on that account,almost always spoke ill of women, and when they were talked aboutin hispresence, used to call them "the lower race."It seemed to him that he had been so schooled bybitter experience thathe might call them what he liked, and yet he could not get on for twodays togetherwithout "the lower race." In the society of men he wasbored and not himself, with them he was cold anduncommunicative; butwhen he was in the company of women he felt free, and knew what to sayto themand how to behave; and he was at ease with them even when he wassilent. In his appearance, in hischaracter, in his whole nature, therewas something attractive and elusive which allured women anddisposedthem in his favour; he knew that, and some force seemed to draw him,too, to them.Experienceoften repeated, truly bitter experience, had taught him longago that with decent people, especiallyMoscow people--always slow tomove and irresolute--every intimacy, which at first so agreeablydiversifieslife and appears a light and charming adventure, inevitablygrows into a regular problem of extremeintricacy, and in the long runthe situation becomes unbearable. But at every fresh meeting withaninteresting woman this experience seemed to slip out of his memory, andhe was eager for life, andeverything seemed simple and amusing.One evening he was dining in the gardens, and the lady in the_bÃ©ret_came up slowly to take the next table. Her expression, her gait, herdress, and the way she didher hair told him that she was a lady, thatshe was married, that she was in Yalta for the first time andalone, andthat she was dull there.... The stories told of the immorality in suchplaces as Yalta are to agreat extent untrue; he despised them, and knewthat such stories were for the most part made up bypersons who wouldthemselves have been glad to sin if they had been able; but when thelady sat down atthe next table three paces from him, he rememberedthese tales of easy conquests, of trips to themountains, and thetempting thought of a swift, fleeting love affair, a romance with anunknown woman,whose name he did not know, suddenly took possession ofhim.He beckoned coaxingly to the Pomeranian,and when the dog came up to himhe shook his finger at it. The Pomeranian growled: Gurov shookhisfinger at it again.The lady looked at him and at once dropped her eyes."He doesn't bite," she said, andblushed."May I give him a bone?" he asked; and when she nodded he askedcourteously, "Have you been


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ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens, by J. M. BarrieThis 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: Peter Pan in Kensington GardensAuthor: J. M. BarriePosting Date: August 27,2008 [EBook #1332]Release Date: May, 1998Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK PETER PAN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS ***Produced by Ron BurkeyPETER PAN INKENSINGTON GARDENSBy J. M. BarrieCONTENTS     Peter Pan     The Thrush's Nest     The LittleHouse     Lock-Out TimePeter PanIf you ask your mother whether she knew about Peter Pan when shewas alittle girl she will say, "Why, of course, I did, child," and if youask her whether he rode on a goat inthose days she will say, "Whata foolish question to ask, certainly he did." Then if you askyourgrandmother whether she knew about Peter Pan when she was a girl, shealso says, "Why, of course,I did, child," but if you ask her whether herode on a goat in those days, she says she never heard of hishaving agoat. Perhaps she has forgotten, just as she sometimes forgets your nameand calls you Mildred,which is your mother's name. Still, she couldhardly forget such an important thing as the goat. Thereforethere wasno goat when your grandmother was a little girl. This shows that, intelling the story of PeterPan, to begin with the goat (as most peopledo) is as silly as to put on your jacket before your vest.Ofcourse, it also shows that Peter is ever so old, but he is reallyalways the same age, so that does notmatter in the least. His ageis one week, and though he was born so long ago he has never had abirthday,nor is there the slightest chance of his ever having one. Thereason is that he escaped from being ahuman when he was seven days'old; he escaped by the window and flew back to the KensingtonGardens.If you think he was the only baby who ever wanted to escape, it showshow completely you haveforgotten your own young days. When David heardthis story first he was quite certain that he had nevertried to escape,but I told him to think back hard, pressing his hands to his temples,and when he haddone this hard, and even harder, he distinctlyremembered a youthful desire to return to the tree-tops,and with thatmemory came others, as that he had lain in bed planning to escape assoon as his motherwas asleep, and how she had once caught him half-wayup the chimney. All children could have suchrecollections if they wouldpress their hands hard to their temples, for, having been birds beforethey werehuman, they are naturally a little wild during the first fewweeks, and very itchy at the shoulders, wheretheir wings used to be. SoDavid tells me.I ought to mention here that the following is our way with astory:First, I tell it to him, and then he tells it to me, the understandingbeing that it is quite a differentstory; and then I retell it with hisadditions, and so we go on until no one could say whether it is morehisstory or mine. In this story of Peter Pan, for instance, the baldnarrative and most of the moral reflectionsare mine, though not all,for this boy can be a stern moralist, but the interesting bits about theways andcustoms of babies in the bird-stage are mostly reminiscencesof David's, recalled by pressing his hands tohis temples and thinkinghard.Well, Peter Pan got out by the window, which had no bars. Standingon theledge he could see trees far away, which were doubtless theKensington Gardens, and the moment he sawthem he entirely forgot thathe was now a little boy in a nightgown, and away he flew, right overthehouses to the Gardens. It is wonderful that he could fly without wings,but the place itchedtremendously, and, perhaps we could all fly if wewere as dead-confident-sure of our capacity to do it aswas bold PeterPan that evening.He alighted gaily on the open sward, between the Baby's Palace andtheSerpentine, and the first thing he did was to lie on his back and kick.He was quite unaware alreadythat he had ever been human, and thought hewas a bird, even in appearance, just the same as in hisearly days, andwhen he tried to catch a fly he did not understand that the reason hemissed it wasbecause he had attempted to seize it with his hand, which,of course, a bird never does. He saw, however,that it must be pastLock-out Time, for there were a good many fairies about, all too busyto notice him;they were getting breakfast ready, milking their cows,drawing water, and so on, and the sight of thewater-pails made himthirsty, so he flew over to the Round Pond to have a drink. He stooped,and dippedhis beak in the pond; he thought it was his beak, but, ofcourse, it was only his nose, and, therefore, very


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Good Shepherd, by AnonymousThis 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 Good Shepherd       A Life of Christ for ChildrenAuthor: AnonymousReleaseDate: June 11, 2006 [EBook #18558]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERGEBOOK THE GOOD SHEPHERD ***Produced by Al Haines[Frontispiece: "I am the good shepherd. . ."]THEGOOD SHEPHERDA LIFE OF CHRIST FOR CHILDRENFLEMING H. REVELL COMPANYNEW YORK : :CHICAGO : : TORONTOPublishers of Evangelical LiteratureTABLE OF CONTENTSCHAPTER    I.  WHYJESUS CAME TO THIS WORLD   II.  JESUS IS BORN IN BETHLEHEM  III.  THE BOYHOOD OFJESUS   IV.  JOHN THE BAPTIST    V.  JESUS BEGINS HIS WORK   VI.  SOME WORDS AND WORKS OFJESUS  VII.  A FRIEND FOR THE SORROWFUL VIII.  MORE WONDERFUL WORKS AND WORDS   IX.  THEMAN BORN BLIND, AND LAZARUS    X.  THE PRODIGAL SON, AND OTHER STORIES   XI.  THE LAST DAYSIN JERUSALEM  XII.  THE CRUCIFIXION AND THE RESURRECTION   XX   SELECTED SONGS, PSALMS,AND PRAYERSLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS"I am the good shepherd . . ." . . . . . . _Frontispiece_Map ofPalestine at the time of ChristThe shepherd's careBethlehemNazareth, from hill aboveJewish womengrinding cornThe River JordanJericho, from plains aboveA modern Jew's wedding party in GalileeJacob'swellRuins of CapernaumThe good SamaritanBethanyChild at prayerThe shepherd's care (2nd version)Theshepherd's care (3rd version)The Jordan near BethabaraMount of Olives andJerusalemGethsemaneCalvaryThe empty tombThe Sea of GalileeThe Mount of OlivesCHAPTER IWHYJESUS CAME TO THIS WORLDIn the beginning, before the world was made, the Lord Jesus livedinheaven.  He lived in that happy place with God.  Then God made theworld.  He told the hills to come upout of the earth, and the seas torun down into the deep places which He had made for them.  He madethegrass, the trees, and all the pretty flowers.  He put the sun, themoon, and the stars in the sky.  Hefilled the water with swimmingfish, the air with flying birds, and the dry land with walking andcreepinganimals.  And then He said, 'Let _Us_ make man.'  Who weremeant by 'Us'?  Who was with God when Hemade the world?  It was Jesus.The Bible says:'THE WORD (that means Jesus) WAS WITH GOD, AND THEWORD WAS GOD.  THESAME WAS IN THE BEGINNING WITH GOD.  ALL THINGS WERE MADE BY HIM.'Soafter He had made everything else, God made a man, and named himAdam.  God put Adam into thebeautiful Garden of Eden, and at first hewas good and very happy.  God also made a woman, named Eve,to be hiswife, and to help him to take care of the garden.  All the fruit in thegarden, except what grew onone tree, was given to Adam and Eve to eat;all the animals were their servants; and God was theirFriend.A wicked angel, who had been turned out of heaven, saw how happy Adamand Eve were, and hewas angry, and thought, 'I will make them as badand unhappy as I am; I will make them do what Godhas told them not todo.  Then he will turn them out of Eden, and they and their childrenwill be myservants for ever, and I shall be king of the world.'So the wicked angel, whose name was Satan, cameinto Eden.  He got Adamand Eve to take the fruit which God had told them not to eat, and Godhad tosend them out of the beautiful garden; for God had said He wouldpunish Adam and Eve if they took thatfruit, and God always keeps Hisword.But God went on loving Adam and Eve even when He knew that Hemustpunish them, and He tried to make them good in this way.  He thought,'I will send My dear Sondown to the earth.  He shall become a littlechild, and grow up to be a man, and shall die for the sins oftheworld.'Hundreds and hundreds of years passed away before Jesus came.  But agreat many of thepeople who lived in Palestine were expecting Him.God had said that when Jesus came, He would be aJew.  The Jews werevery proud about that.  They often talked about the coming of Jesus.When theytalked about Him, they called Him the Messiah.Just before Jesus was born, the Jews were veryunhappy.  Roman soldiershad been fighting with them, and had conquered them, and madethemservants of the great Roman king.  He was called Augustus Caesar, andhe gave the Jews anotherking called Herod.  He was very wicked.[Illustration: Map of Palestine at the time of Christ.]The Jewslonged to get rid of Herod, and many of them thought, 'It willbe all right when the Messiah comes.  The


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Self-control, by Mary BruntonThis 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: Self-controlAuthor: Mary BruntonRelease Date: October 27, 2012 [EBook#41196]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SELF-CONTROL***Produced by Delphine Lettau, fh and the Online DistributedProofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net    SELF-CONTROL    _A Novel by_    MARY BRUNTON    His warfare is within.--Thereunfatigued    His fervent spirit labours.--There he fights,    And there obtains fresh triumphs o'erhimself,    And never-withering wreaths, compared with which    The laurels that a Caesar reaps areweeds                                                   Cowper                           TO                   MISS JOANNABAILLIEMADAM,You would smile to hear the insect of a day pay the tribute of itspraise to the lasting oakwhich aided its first feeble soaring--Smilethen;--for a person whom nature, fortune, and inclination, alike,havemarked for obscurity, one whose very name may never reach your ear,offers this tribute of respectto the author of PLAYS on the PASSIONS.The pleasure of expressing heart-felt admiration is not,however, myonly motive for inscribing this tale to you. Unknown to the world bothas an individual and asan author, I own myself desirous of giving apledge of spotless intention in my work, by adorning it withthe name ofone whose writings force every unvitiated heart to glow with a warmerlove of virtue. On onesolitary point I claim equality with you:--Inpurity of intention I yield not even to JOANNA BAILLIE.May Iventure to avow another feeling which has prompted this intrusion?What point so small that vanitycannot build on it a resting-place! Willyou believe that this trifle claims affinity with the Plays onthePassions?--Your portraitures of the progress and of the consequences ofpassion,--portraitures whoseexquisite truth gives them the force ofliving examples,--are powerful warnings to watch the first risingsofthe insidious rebel. No guard but one is equal to the task. Theregulation of the passions is the province,it is the triumph ofRELIGION. In the character of Laura Montreville the religious principleis exhibited asrejecting the bribes of ambition; bestowing fortitude inwant and sorrow; as restraining just displeasure;overcomingconstitutional timidity; conquering misplaced affection; and triumphingover the fear of deathand of disgrace.This little tale was begun at first merely for my own amusement. It ispublished that I mayreconcile my conscience to the time which it hasemployed, by making it in some degree useful. Let notthe term soimplied provoke a smile! If my book is read, its uses to the author areobvious. Nor is a workof fiction necessarily unprofitable to thereaders. When the vitiated appetite refuses its proper food,thealternative may be administered in a sweetmeat. It may be imprudent toconfess the presence of themedicine, lest the sickly palate, thuswarned, turn from it in loathing. But I rely in this instance ontheworld of the philosopher, who avers that 'young ladies never readprefaces'; and I am not withouthope, that with you, and with all whoform exceptions to this rule, the avowal of a useful purpose may beaninducement to tolerate what otherwise might be thought unworthy ofregard.Perhaps in an age whoselax morality, declining the glorious toils ofvirtue, is poorly 'content to dwell in decencies for ever',emulationmay be repressed by the eminence which the character of Laura claimsover the ordinarystandard of the times. A virtue which, thoughessentially Christian, is certainly not very popular in thisChristiancountry, may be stigmatized as romantic; a chilling term of reproach,which has blighted many afair blossom of goodness ere it ripened intofruit. Perhaps some of my fair countrywomen, finding itdifficult totrace in the delineation of Self-Control any striking feature of theirown minds, may pronouncemy picture unnatural. It might be enough toreply, that I do not ascribe any of the virtues of Laura tonature, and,least of all, the one whose office is to regulate and control nature.But if my principal figurewant the air, and vivacity of life, the blamelies in the painter, not in the subject. Laura is indebted tofancy forher drapery and attitudes alone. I have had the happiness of witnessing,in real life, aself-command operating with as much force, permanence,and uniformity, as that which is depicted in thefollowing volumes. Toyou, Madam, I should perhaps further apologize for having left in mymodel sometraces of human imperfection; while, for the generality of myreaders, I breathe a fervent wish, that these


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Condition of the Working-Class in Englandin 1844, by FrederickEngels, Translated by Florence Kelley WischnewetzkyThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at nocost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: TheCondition of the Working-Class in England in 1844       with a Preface written in 1892Author: FrederickEngelsRelease Date: December 13, 2005  [eBook #17306]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding:ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CONDITION OF THEWORKING-CLASSIN ENGLAND IN 1844***Transcribed from the January 1943 George Allen & Unwinreprint of theMarch 1892 edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.ukThe Condition of theWorking-Class in England in 1844With a Preface written in 1892byFREDERICK ENGELS_Translated byFlorence Kelley Wischnewetzky__London_GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD_Museum Street_PREFACEThebook, an English translation of which is here republished, was firstissued in Germany in 1845.  Theauthor, at that time, was young, twenty-four years of age, and his production bears the stamp of hisyouth withits good and its faulty features, of neither of which he feels ashamed.It was translated intoEnglish, in 1885, by an American lady, Mrs. F.Kelley Wischnewetzky, and published in the following yearin New York.The American edition being as good as exhausted, and having never beenextensivelycirculated on this side of the Atlantic, the present Englishcopyright edition is brought out with the fullconsent of all partiesinterested.For the American edition, a new Preface and an Appendix were writteninEnglish by the author.  The first had little to do with the book itself;it discussed the AmericanWorking-Class Movement of the day, and is,therefore, here omitted as irrelevant, the second--theoriginalpreface--is largely made use of in the present introductory remarks.The state of things describedin this book belongs to-day, in manyrespects, to the past, as far as England is concerned.  Thoughnotexpressly stated in our recognised treatises, it is still a law of modernPolitical Economy that the largerthe scale on which CapitalisticProduction is carried on, the less can it support the petty devicesofswindling and pilfering which characterise its early stages.  Thepettifogging business tricks of the PolishJew, the representative inEurope of commerce in its lowest stage, those tricks that serve him sowell inhis own country, and are generally practised there, he finds tobe out of date and out of place when hecomes to Hamburg or Berlin; and,again, the commission agent, who hails from Berlin or Hamburg, JeworChristian, after frequenting the Manchester Exchange for a few months,finds out that, in order to buycotton yarn or cloth cheap, he, too, hadbetter drop those slightly more refined but still miserable wilesandsubterfuges which are considered the acme of cleverness in his nativecountry.  The fact is, thosetricks do not pay any longer in a largemarket, where time is money, and where a certain standard ofcommercialmorality is unavoidably developed, purely as a means of saving time andtrouble.  And it is thesame with the relation between the manufacturerand his "hands."The revival of trade, after the crisis of1847, was the dawn of a newindustrial epoch.  The repeal of the Corn Laws and the financialreformssubsequent thereon gave to English industry and commerce all the elbow-room they had askedfor.  The discovery of the Californian and Australiangold-fields followed in rapid succession.  The Colonialmarkets developedat an increasing rate their capacity for absorbing English manufacturedgoods.  In Indiamillions of hand-weavers were finally crushed out by theLancashire power-loom.  China was more andmore being opened up.  Aboveall, the United States--then, commercially speaking, a merecolonialmarket, but by far the biggest of them all--underwent an economicdevelopment astounding evenfor that rapidly progressive country.  And,finally, the new means of communication introduced at theclose of thepreceding period--railways and ocean steamers--were now worked out on aninternationalscale; they realised actually, what had hitherto existedonly potentially, a world-market.  Thisworld-market, at first, wascomposed of a number of chiefly or entirely agricultural countriesgroupedaround one manufacturing centre--England--which consumed thegreater part of their surplus rawproduce, and supplied them in returnwith the greater part of their requirements in manufacturedarticles.  Nowonder England's industrial progress was colossal and unparalleled, andsuch that the status


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Wives' Tale, by Arnold BennettThis 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 Old Wives' TaleAuthor: Arnold BennettPosting Date: November 28, 2011[EBook #5247]Release Date: March, 2004First Posted: June 10, 2002[Last Updated: December 8,2011]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD WIVES' TALE***Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading TeamThe Old Wives' TaleArnoldBennettTo W. W. K.PREFACE TO THIS EDITIONIn the autumn of 1903 I used to dine frequently in arestaurant in theRue de Clichy, Paris. Here were, among others, two waitresses thatattracted myattention. One was a beautiful, pale young girl, to whom Inever spoke, for she was employed far awayfrom the table which Iaffected. The other, a stout, middle-aged managing Breton woman, hadsolecommand over my table and me, and gradually she began to assumesuch a maternal tone towards methat I saw I should be compelled toleave that restaurant. If I was absent for a couple of nightsrunningshe would reproach me sharply: "What! you are unfaithful to me?" Once,when I complained aboutsome French beans, she informed me roundly thatFrench beans were a subject which I did notunderstand. I then decidedto be eternally unfaithful to her, and I abandoned the restaurant. Afew nightsbefore the final parting an old woman came into therestaurant to dine. She was fat, shapeless, ugly, andgrotesque. Shehad a ridiculous voice, and ridiculous gestures. It was easy to seethat she lived alone, andthat in the long lapse of years she haddeveloped the kind of peculiarity which induces guffaws amongthethoughtless. She was burdened with a lot of small parcels, which shekept dropping. She chose oneseat; and then, not liking it, choseanother; and then another. In a few moments she had thewholerestaurant laughing at her. That my middle-aged Breton should laugh wasindifferent to me, but Iwas pained to see a coarse grimace of gigglingon the pale face of the beautiful young waitress to whom Ihad neverspoken.I reflected, concerning the grotesque diner: "This woman was onceyoung, slim, perhapsbeautiful; certainly free from these ridiculousmannerisms. Very probably she is unconscious of hersingularities. Hercase is a tragedy. One ought to be able to make a heartrending novelout of the historyof a woman such as she." Every stout, ageing womanis not grotesque--far from it!--but there is anextreme pathos in themere fact that every stout ageing woman was once a young girl with theuniquecharm of youth in her form and movements and in her mind. Andthe fact that the change from the younggirl to the stout ageing womanis made up of an infinite number of infinitesimal changes, eachunperceivedby her, only intensifies the pathos.It was at this instant that I was visited by the idea of writing thebookwhich ultimately became "The Old Wives' Tale." Of course I feltthat the woman who caused the ignoblemirth in the restaurant would notserve me as a type of heroine. For she was much too old andobviouslyunsympathetic. It is an absolute rule that the principal character of anovel must not beunsympathetic, and the whole modern tendency ofrealistic fiction is against oddness in a prominentfigure. I knew thatI must choose the sort of woman who would pass unnoticed in a crowd.I put the ideaaside for a long time, but it was never very distantfrom me. For several reasons it made a special appealto me. I hadalways been a convinced admirer of Mrs. W. K. Clifford's most preciousnovel, "Aunt Anne,"but I wanted to see in the story of an old womanmany things that Mrs. W. K. Clifford had omitted from"Aunt Anne."Moreover, I had always revolted against the absurd youthfulness, theunfading youthfulnessof the average heroine. And as a protest againstthis fashion, I was already, in 1903, planning a novel("Leonora") ofwhich the heroine was aged forty, and had daughters old enough to be inlove. Thereviewers, by the way, were staggered by my hardihood inoffering a woman of forty as a subject ofserious interest to thepublic. But I meant to go much farther than forty! Finally as a supremereason, Ihad the example and the challenge of Guy de Maupassant's "UneVie." In the nineties we used to regard"Une Vie" with mute awe, asbeing the summit of achievement in fiction. And I remember being verycrosswith Mr. Bernard Shaw because, having read "Une Vie" at thesuggestion (I think) of Mr. William Archer,he failed to see in itanything very remarkable. Here I must confess that, in 1908, I read"Une Vie" again,


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Louis Lambert, 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: Louis LambertAuthor: Honore de BalzacTranslator: Clara Bell and JamesWaringRelease Date: October, 1999  [Etext #1943]Posting Date: March 6, 2010Language: English***START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOUIS LAMBERT ***Produced by John Bickers, andDagnyLOUIS LAMBERTBy Honore De BalzacTranslated by Clara Bell and JamesWaring                              DEDICATION                "Et nunc et semper dilectoe dicatum."LOUISLAMBERTLouis Lambert was born at Montoire, a little town in the Vendomois,where his father owned atannery of no great magnitude, and intendedthat his son should succeed him; but his precocious bent forstudymodified the paternal decision. For, indeed, the tanner and his wifeadored Louis, their only child,and never contradicted him in anything.At the age of five Louis had begun by reading the Old andNewTestaments; and these two Books, including so many books, had sealed hisfate. Could that childishimagination understand the mystical depths ofthe Scriptures? Could it so early follow the flight of the HolySpiritacross the worlds? Or was it merely attracted by the romantic toucheswhich abound in thoseOriental poems! Our narrative will answer thesequestions to some readers.One thing resulted from thisfirst reading of the Bible: Louis went allover Montoire begging for books, and he obtained them by thosewinningways peculiar to children, which no one can resist. While devotinghimself to these studies underno sort of guidance, he reached the ageof ten.At that period substitutes for the army were scarce; richfamiliessecured them long beforehand to have them ready when the lots weredrawn. The poor tanner'smodest fortune did not allow of theirpurchasing a substitute for their son, and they saw no means allowedbylaw for evading the conscription but that of making him a priest; so,in 1807, they sent him to hismaternal uncle, the parish priest of Mer,another small town on the Loire, not far from Blois. Thisarrangement atonce satisfied Louis' passion for knowledge, and his parents' wish notto expose him to thedreadful chances of war; and, indeed, his taste forstudy and precocious intelligence gave grounds forhoping that he mightrise to high fortunes in the Church.After remaining for about three years with hisuncle, an old and notuncultured Oratorian, Louis left him early in 1811 to enter the collegeat Vendome,where he was maintained at the cost of Madame de Stael.Lambert owed the favor and patronage of thiscelebrated lady to chance,or shall we not say to Providence, who can smooth the path of forlorngenius?To us, indeed, who do not see below the surface of human things,such vicissitudes, of which we findmany examples in the lives of greatmen, appear to be merely the result of physical phenomena; tomostbiographers the head of a man of genius rises above the herd assome noble plant in the fieldsattracts the eye of a botanist inits splendor. This comparison may well be applied to LouisLambert'sadventure; he was accustomed to spend the time allowed him by his unclefor holidays at hisfather's house; but instead of indulging, after themanner of schoolboys, in the sweets of the delightful_far niente_ thattempts us at every age, he set out every morning with part of a loafand his books, andwent to read and meditate in the woods, to escapehis mother's remonstrances, for she believed suchpersistent study to beinjurious. How admirable is a mother's instinct! From that time readingwas in Louisa sort of appetite which nothing could satisfy; he devouredbooks of every kind, feeding indiscriminatelyon religious works,history, philosophy, and physics. He has told me that he foundindescribable delight inreading dictionaries for lack of other books,and I readily believed him. What scholar has not many a timefoundpleasure in seeking the probable meaning of some unknown word? Theanalysis of a word, itsphysiognomy and history, would be to Lambertmatter for long dreaming. But these were not theinstinctive dreams bywhich a boy accustoms himself to the phenomena of life, steels himselfto everymoral or physical perception--an involuntary education whichsubsequently brings forth fruit both in theunderstanding and characterof a man; no, Louis mastered the facts, and he accounted for themafterseeking out both the principle and the end with the mother wit of asavage. Indeed, from the age offourteen, by one of those startlingfreaks in which nature sometimes indulges, and which proved


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