ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tancred, by Benjamin DisraeliThis 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: Tancred       Or, The New CrusadeAuthor: Benjamin DisraeliRelease Date:December 3, 2006 [EBook #20004]Last Updated: September 6, 2016Language: EnglishCharacter setencoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TANCRED ***Produced by DavidWidgerTANCREDORTHE NEW CRUSADEBy Benjamin Disraeli[Illustration: cover][Illustration:frontplate][Illustration: tancred-frontis-p72][Illustration: tancred-frontis-label][Illustration:tancred-titlepage][Illustration: page001]CHAPTER I.     _A Matter of Importance_IN THAT part of thecelebrated parish of St. George which is bounded onone side by Piccadilly and on the other by CurzonStreet, is a districtof a peculiar character. âTis cluster of small streets of little houses,frequentlyintersected by mews, which here are numerous, and sometimesgradually, rather than abruptly,terminating in a ramification of thosemysterious regions. Sometimes a group of courts develops itself,andyou may even chance to find your way into a small market-place. Those,however, who areaccustomed to connect these hidden residences ofthe humble with scenes of misery and characters ofviolence, need notapprehend in this district any appeal to their sympathies, or any shockto their tastes.All is extremely genteel; and there is almost as muchrepose as in the golden saloons of the contiguouspalaces. At any rate,if there be as much vice, there is as little crime.No sight or sound can be seen orheard at any hour, which could pain themost precise or the most fastidious. Even if a chance oath mayfloat onthe air from the stable-yard to the lodging of a French cook, âtis ofthe newest fashion, and, ifresponded to with less of novel charm, therepartee is at least conveyed in the language of the most politeofnations. They bet upon the Derby in these parts a little, are interestedin Goodwood, which theyfrequent, have perhaps, in general, a weaknessfor play, live highly, and indulge those passions whichluxury andrefinement encourage; but that is all.A policeman would as soon think of reconnoitring thesesecluded streetsas of walking into a house in Park Lane or Berkeley Square, to which,in fact, thispopulation in a great measure belongs. For here reside thewives of house-stewards and of butlers, intenements furnished by thehonest savings of their husbands, and let in lodgings to increase theirswellingincomes; here dwells the retired servant, who now devoteshis practised energies to the occasionalfestival, which, with hisaccumulations in the three per cents., or in one of the public-houses ofthequarter, secures him at the same time an easy living, and the casualenjoyment of that great world whichlingers in his memory. Here may befound his graceâs coachman, and here his lordshipâs groom,who keeps abook and bleeds periodically too speculative footmen, by betting oddson his masterâshorses. But, above all, it is in this district thatthe cooks have ever sought a favourite and elegant abode.An air ofstillness and serenity, of exhausted passions and suppressed emotion,rather than of sluggishnessand of dullness, distinguishes this quarterduring the day.When you turn from the vitality and brightnessof Piccadilly, thepark, the palace, the terraced mansions, the sparkling equipages, thecavaliers canteringup the hill, the swarming multitude, and enterthe region of which we are speaking, the effect is at firstalmostunearthly. Not a carriage, not a horseman, scarcely a passenger; thereseems some great andsudden collapse in the metropolitan system, as ifa pest had been announced, or an enemy were expectedin alarm by avanquished capital. The approach from Curzon Street has not this effect.Hyde Park has stillabout it something of Arcadia. There are woods andwaters, and the occasional illusion of an illimitabledistance of sylvanjoyance. The spirit is allured to gentle thoughts as we wander in whatis still really alane, and, turning down Stanhope Street, behold thathouse which the great Lord Chesterfield tells us, inone of his letters,he was âbuilding among the fields.â The cawing of the rooks in hisgardenssustains the tone of mind, and Curzon Street, after a long,straggling, sawney course, ceasing to be athoroughfare, and losingitself in the gardens of another palace, is quite in keeping with alltheaccessories.In the night, however, the quarter of which we are speaking is alive.The manners of thepopulation follow those of their masters. They keeplate hours. The banquet and the ball dismiss them to


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<html><title>Pump Up The Volume Transcript</title><pre>Happy Harry Hardon - Did you ever get thefeeling that everything in America is completely fucked up. You know that feeling that the whole countryis like one inch away from saying 'That's it, forget it.' You think about it. Everything is polluted. Theenvironment, the government, the schools you name it. Speaking of schools. I was walking thehouseholds the other day and I asked myself. Is there live after high school? Because I can't facetomorrow, let alone a whole year of this shit. Yeah, you got it folks. It's me again with a little attitude forall you out here and waiting for Atlanta. All you nice people living in the middle of America the beautiful.Lets see, we're on er 92 FM tonight and it feels like a nice clean little band so far. No one else is using it.The price is right. Heh, heh. And yes folks you guest it. Tonight I am as horny as a ten peckerd house, sostay tuned because this is Happy Harry Hardon reminding you to eat your cereal with a fork and do yourhomework in the dark..Murdock - Mr. Travis, Louis Travis. It's just for a second.Mr Woodward - So, I'llpick you up after your yearbook.Paige Woodward - Okay, dad.Mr Woodward - And no big dates tonight,you have to be well rested for your History examtomorrow.Paige - Okay.Mazz - Yo Paige, anytimeanywhere beautiful. Mr. Paige.Nora Diniro - Oh, Miss Paige Woodward arriving.Janie - So rich, sosmart.Nora - So perfect.Murdock - Cheryl, good to see you. You're going to see the principal thismorning.Cheryl - Can you tell me what this is about.Murdock - We'll see. Excuse Misses Creswood.LuisChavez - Yes.Nora  - Check this out.Janie - What is it?Nora -  It's this guy. He's got a pirate radio station.Hiss name is Happy Harry Hardon. He's a total sex maniac.Janie - Off course.Nora - He comes on everynight at ten o'clock.Happy Harry Hardon - Okay, down to business. I got my wild cherry diet Pepsi and Igot my Black Jack gum here and I got that feeling, mmm that familiar feeling that something rank isgoing down up there. Yeah, I can smell it. I can almost taste it. The rankness in the air. It's everywhere.It's running through that old pipeline out there, trickling along the dumb concrete river and coming upthe drains of those lovely tracktones we all live in. I mean I don't know. Everywhere I look it seemseverything is sold out.Annie - They say this is where the reception is the coolest.Johnathan - Then he'llprobably live right around here.Mazz - Fucking Yuppies.Happy Harry Hardon - My dad sold out. And mymom sold out years ago when she had me. And then they sold me out when they brought me to this holein the world. They made me everything I am today so naturally I hate the bastards. Speaking of which, Iam running a contest on the best way to put them out of their misery. Tonight we have number twelve ofone hundred things to do with your body when you're all alone. Now are you ready of the incrediblesound of Happy Harry Hardon coming on his own face. Oh, my god, it's very possible you know. Oh, ohthis is a champion one. I'm going for it. He's still growing. This... Yes, Happy Harry Hardon will go to anylanguage to keep his three listeners glued with Huwy Bluwy to their radios. But the question is. How farwill you go? How far can you go to amaze and discuss the sensational Happy Harry Hardon. I mean. Howserious are you? I ask you that. dear listener.Mr Woodward - Hi beautiful. You know I can't figure out howyou manage to get such greatgrades and you listen to that radio all night. You know. Tomorrow don'tforget Yale interview. And I don't want you to look too sleepy. You know. Goodnight Sweetheart.HappyHarry Hardon - I'm getting a lot of letters here guys. Here. Dear Happy Harry Hardon, my boyfriend won'ttalk to me anymore. How do I show him that I really love him? Look, I don't know anything about theseletters asking for love advice. I mean, if I knew anything about love I would be out there making itinstead of talking to you guys. So just send me stuff to box 20710, USA Mail Paradise Hill Mess Arizona84012. Replies guarantied. Dear Harry, I think your boring and upknocktius and have a high opinion ofyourself. Course I'm you I'll probably thinking I sent this to myself. I think school is okay. if you just lookat it right. I like your music, but I really don't see why you can't be cheerful for one second. I tell yousince you ask. I just arrived in this stupid suburb. I have no friends, no money, no car, no licence. Andeven if I did have a licence all I can do is drive out to some stupid mall. Maybe if I'm lucky play somefucking video games, smoke a joint and get stupid. You see, there's nothing to do anymore. Everythingdecents been done. All the great themes have been used up. Turned into theme parks. So I don't reallyfind it cheerful to be living in totally exhausted decade where there is nothing to look forward to and no


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shadows in Zamboula, by Robert E. HowardThis 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.org/licenseTitle: Shadows in ZamboulaAuthor: Robert E. HowardRelease Date: February25, 2013 [EBook #42196]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKSHADOWS IN ZAMBOULA ***Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net                          SHADOWS INZAMBOULA                          By Robert E. Howard    [Transcriber's Note: This etext was first published inWeird Tales    November 1935. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that    the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed.]1 A Drum Begins'Peril hides in the house of Aram Baksh!'Thespeaker's voice quivered with earnestness and his lean, black-nailedfingers clawed at Conan's mightilymuscled arm as he croaked hiswarning. He was a wiry, sun-burnt man with a straggling black beard,andhis ragged garments proclaimed him a nomad. He looked smaller and meanerthan ever in contrast tothe giant Cimmerian with his black brows, broadchest, and powerful limbs. They stood in a corner of theSword-Makers'Bazar, and on either side of them flowed past the many-tongued,many-colored stream ofthe Zamboula streets, which is exotic, hybrid,flamboyant and clamorous.Conan pulled his eyes back fromfollowing a bold-eyed, red-lippedGhanara whose short skirt bared her brown thigh at each insolentstep,and frowned down at his importunate companion.'What do you mean by peril?' he demanded.Thedesert man glanced furtively over his shoulder before replying, andlowered his voice.'Who can say? Butdesert men and travelers _have_ slept in the house ofAram Baksh, and never been seen or heard ofagain. What became of them?_He_ swore they rose and went their way--and it is true that no citizenofthe city has ever disappeared from his house. But no one saw thetravelers again, and men say that goodsand equipment recognized astheirs have been seen in the bazars. If Aram did not sell them, afterdoingaway with their owners, how came they here?''I have no goods,' growled the Cimmerian, touching theshagreen-boundhilt of the broadsword that hung at his hip. 'I have even sold myhorse.''But it is notalways rich strangers who vanish by night from the houseof Aram Baksh!' chattered the Zuagir. 'Nay,poor desert men have sleptthere--because his score is less than that of the other taverns--andhave beenseen no more. Once a chief of the Zuagirs whose son had thusvanished complained to the satrap, JungirKhan, who ordered the housesearched by soldiers.''And they found a cellar full of corpses?' asked Conanin good-humoredderision.'Nay! They found naught! And drove the chief from the city with threatsandcurses! But--' he drew closer to Conan and shivered--'something elsewas found! At the edge of thedesert, beyond the houses, there is aclump of palm trees, and within that grove there is a pit. Andwithinthat pit have been found human bones, charred and blackened! Not once,but many times!''Whichproves what?' grunted the Cimmerian.'Aram Baksh is a demon! Nay, in this accursed city which Stygiansbuiltand which Hyrkanians rule--where white, brown and black folk mingletogether to produce hybrids ofall unholy hues and breeds--who can tellwho is a man, and who a demon in disguise? Aram Baksh is ademon in theform of a man! At night he assumes his true guise and carries his guestsoff into the desertwhere his fellow demons from the waste meet inconclave.''Why does he always carry off strangers?'asked Conan skeptically.'The people of the city would not suffer him to slay their people, butthey carenaught for the strangers who fall into his hands. Conan, youare of the West, and know not the secrets ofthis ancient land. But,since the beginning of happenings, the demons of the desert haveworshipped Yog,the Lord of the Empty Abodes, with fire--fire thatdevours human victims.'Be warned! You have dwelt formany moons in the tents of the Zuagirs,and you are our brother! Go not to the house of AramBaksh!''Get out of sight!' Conan said suddenly. 'Yonder comes a squad of thecity-watch. If they see youthey may remember a horse that was stolenfrom the satrap's stable--'The Zuagir gasped, and movedconvulsively. He ducked between a booth anda stone horse-trough, pausing only long enough to chatter:'Be warned,my brother! There are demons in the house of Aram Baksh!' Then he darteddown a narrowalley and was gone.Conan shifted his broad sword-belt to his liking, and calmly returnedthe searching


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ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar, 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: Tarzan and the Jewels of OparAuthor: Edgar Rice BurroughsPosting Date: June23, 2008 [EBook #92]Release Date: December, 1995First Posted: November 1, 2001Last updated: May26, 2012Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARZAN AND THE JEWELSOF OPAR ***Produced by Judith Boss.  HTML version by Al Haines.Tarzan and the Jewels of OparByEdgarRice BurroughsContentsCHAPTER   1  Belgian and Arab   2  On the Road to Opar   3  The Call of theJungle   4  Prophecy and Fulfillment   5  The Altar of the Flaming God   6  The Arab Raid   7  TheJewel-Room of Opar   8  The Escape from Opar   9  The Theft of the Jewels  10  Achmet Zek Sees theJewels  11  Tarzan Becomes a Beast Again  12  La Seeks Vengeance  13  Condemned to Torture andDeath  14  A Priestess But Yet a Woman  15  The Flight of Werper  16  Tarzan Again Leads theMangani  17  The Deadly Peril of Jane Clayton  18  The Fight For the Treasure  19  Jane Clayton and TheBeasts of the Jungle  20  Jane Clayton Again a Prisoner  21  The Flight to the Jungle  22  Tarzan RecoversHis Reason  23  A Night of Terror  24  Home1Belgian and ArabLieutenant Albert Werper had only theprestige of the name he haddishonored to thank for his narrow escape from being cashiered.  Atfirst hehad been humbly thankful, too, that they had sent him to thisGodforsaken Congo post instead ofcourt-martialing him, as he had sojustly deserved; but now six months of the monotony, thefrightfulisolation and the loneliness had wrought a change.  The young manbrooded continually over hisfate.  His days were filled with morbidself-pity, which eventually engendered in his weak and vacillatingminda hatred for those who had sent him here--for the very men he had atfirst inwardly thanked forsaving him from the ignominy of degradation.He regretted the gay life of Brussels as he never hadregretted thesins which had snatched him from that gayest of capitals, and as thedays passed he came tocenter his resentment upon the representative inCongo land of the authority which had exiled him--hiscaptain andimmediate superior.This officer was a cold, taciturn man, inspiring little love in thosedirectlybeneath him, yet respected and feared by the black soldiers ofhis little command.Werper was accustomedto sit for hours glaring at his superior as thetwo sat upon the veranda of their common quarters, smokingtheirevening cigarets in a silence which neither seemed desirous ofbreaking.  The senseless hatred of thelieutenant grew at last into aform of mania.  The captain's natural taciturnity he distorted into astudiedattempt to insult him because of his past shortcomings.  Heimagined that his superior held him incontempt, and so he chafed andfumed inwardly until one evening his madness became suddenlyhomicidal.He fingered the butt of the revolver at his hip, his eyes narrowed andhis brows contracted.  Atlast he spoke."You have insulted me for the last time!" he cried, springing to hisfeet.  "I am an officer anda gentleman, and I shall put up with it nolonger without an accounting from you, you pig."The captain, anexpression of surprise upon his features, turned towardhis junior.  He had seen men before with thejungle madness uponthem--the madness of solitude and unrestrained brooding, and perhaps atouch offever.He rose and extended his hand to lay it upon the other's shoulder.Quiet words of counsel were uponhis lips; but they were never spoken.Werper construed his superior's action into an attempt to closewithhim.  His revolver was on a level with the captain's heart, and thelatter had taken but a step whenWerper pulled the trigger.  Without amoan the man sank to the rough planking of the veranda, and as hefellthe mists that had clouded Werper's brain lifted, so that he sawhimself and the deed that he had donein the same light that those whomust judge him would see them.He heard excited exclamations from thequarters of the soldiers and heheard men running in his direction.  They would seize him, and iftheydidn't kill him they would take him down the Congo to a point where aproperly ordered militarytribunal would do so just as effectively,though in a more regular manner.Werper had no desire todie.  Never before had he so yearned for lifeas in this moment that he had so effectively forfeited his righttolive.  The men were nearing him.  What was he to do?  He glanced aboutas though searching for thetangible form of a legitimate excuse forhis crime; but he could find only the body of the man he had


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, Catriona, by Robert Louis StevensonThis 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: CatrionaAuthor: Robert Louis StevensonRelease Date: November 11,2012  [eBook #589][This file was first posted on May 15, 1996]Language: EnglishCharacter setencoding: UTF-8***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CATRIONA***Transcribed from the1904 Cassell and Company edition by David Price,email ccx074@pglaf.org                                 CATRIONADEDICATION.                                    To                 CHARLES BAXTER, _Writer to the Signet_.MYDEAR CHARLES,It is the fate of sequels to disappoint those who have waited for them;and my David,having been left to kick his heels for more than a lustrein the British Linen Companyâs office, mustexpect his late re-appearanceto be greeted with hoots, if not with missiles.  Yet, when I rememberthedays of our explorations, I am not without hope.  There should be left inour native city some seed ofthe elect; some long-legged, hot-headedyouth must repeat to-day our dreams and wanderings of somany years ago;he will relish the pleasure, which should have been ours, to follow amongnamed streetsand numbered houses the country walks of David Balfour, toidentify Dean, and Silvermills, andBroughton, and Hope Park, and Pilrig,and poor old Lochendâif it still be standing, and the FiggateWhinsâifthere be any of them left; or to push (on a long holiday) so far afieldas Gillane or theBass.  So, perhaps, his eye shall be opened to beholdthe series of the generations, and he shall weighwith surprise hismomentous and nugatory gift of life.You are stillâas when first I saw, as when I lastaddressed youâin thevenerable city which I must always think of as my home.  And I have comesofar; and the sights and thoughts of my youth pursue me; and I see likea vision the youth of my father,and of his father, and the whole streamof lives flowing down there far in the north, with the sound oflaughterand tears, to cast me out in the end, as by a sudden freshet, on theseultimate islands.  And Iadmire and bow my head before the romance ofdestiny.                                                                  R.L. S._Vailima_, _Upolu_,_Samoa_, 1892.CATRIONAâPart IâTHE LORD ADVOCATECHAPTERIâA BEGGAR ON HORSEBACKThe 25th day of August, 1751, about two in the afternoon, I,DavidBalfour, came forth of the British Linen Company, a porter attending mewith a bag of money, andsome of the chief of these merchants bowing mefrom their doors.  Two days before, and even so late asyestermorning, Iwas like a beggar-man by the wayside, clad in rags, brought down to mylast shillings,my companion a condemned traitor, a price set on my ownhead for a crime with the news of which thecountry rang.  To-day I wasserved heir to my position in life, a landed laird, a bank porter by mecarryingmy gold, recommendations in my pocket, and (in the words of thesaying) the ball directly at myfoot.There were two circumstances that served me as ballast to so much sail.The first was the verydifficult and deadly business I had still tohandle; the second, the place that I was in.  The tall, black city,andthe numbers and movement and noise of so many folk, made a new world forme, after the moorlandbraes, the sea-sands and the still country-sidesthat I had frequented up to then.  The throng of thecitizens inparticular abashed me.  Rankeillorâs son was short and small in thegirth; his clothes scarceheld on me; and it was plain I was illqualified to strut in the front of a bank-porter.  It was plain, if Ididso, I should but set folk laughing, and (what was worse in my case) setthem asking questions.  Sothat I behooved to come by some clothes of myown, and in the meanwhile to walk by the porterâsside, and put my handon his arm as though we were a pair of friends.At a merchantâs in theLuckenbooths I had myself fitted out: none toofine, for I had no idea to appear like a beggar onhorseback; but comelyand responsible, so that servants should respect me.  Thence toanarmourerâs, where I got a plain sword, to suit with my degree in life.  Ifelt safer with the weapon,though (for one so ignorant of defence) itmight be called an added danger.  The porter, who wasnaturally a man ofsome experience, judged my accoutrement to be well chosen.âNaethingkenspeckle,â {1} said he; âplain, dacent claes.  As for therapier, nae doubt it sits wiâ yourdegree; but an I had been you, I wouldhas waired my siller better-gates than that.â  And he


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pillars of Society, by Henrik IbsenThis 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: Pillars of SocietyAuthor: Henrik IbsenTranslator: R. Farquharson SharpPostingDate: February 27, 2010 [EBook #2296]Release Date: August, 2000Language: English*** START OFTHIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PILLARS OF SOCIETY ***Produced by Martin Adamson.  HTMLversion by Al Haines.Pillars of SocietyA play in four acts.byHenrik IbsenTranslated by R. FarquharsonSharpDRAMATIS PERSONAE  Karsten Bernick, a shipbuilder.  Mrs. Bernick, his wife.  Olaf, their son,thirteen years old.  Martha Bernick, Karsten Bernick's sister.  Johan Tonnesen, Mrs. Bernick's youngerbrother.  Lona Hessel, Mrs. Bernick's elder half-sister.  Hilmar Tonnesen, Mrs. Bernick's cousin.  DinaDorf, a young girl living with the Bernicks.  Rorlund, a schoolmaster.  Rummel, a merchant.  Vigeland andSandstad, tradesman  Krap, Bernick's confidential clerk.  Aune, foreman of Bernick's shipbuildingyard.  Mrs. Rummel.  Hilda Rummel, her daughter.  Mrs. Holt.  Netta Holt, her daughter.  Mrs.Lynge.Townsfolk and visitors, foreign sailors, steamboat passengers, etc.,etc.(The action takes place atthe Bernicks' house in one of the smallercoast towns in Norway)ACT I.(SCENE.--A spacious garden-roomin the BERNICKS' house. In theforeground on the left is a door leading to BERNICK'S businessroom;farther back in the same wall, a similar door. In the middle of theopposite wall is a largeentrance-door, which leads to the street. Thewall in the background is almost wholly composed ofplate-glass; a doorin it opens upon a broad flight of steps which lead down to the garden;a sun-awning isstretched over the steps. Below the steps a part of thegarden is visible, bordered by a fence with a smallgate in it. On theother side of the fence runs a street, the opposite side of which isoccupied by smallwooden houses painted in bright colours. It issummer, and the sun is shining warmly. People are seen,every now andthen, passing along the street and stopping to talk to one another;others going in and outof a shop at the corner, etc.In the room a gathering of ladies is seated round a table. MRS. BERNICKispresiding; on her left side are MRS. HOLT and her daughter NETTA,and next to them MRS. RUMMEL andHILDA RUMMEL. On MRS. BERNICK'S rightare MRS. LYNGE, MARTHA BERNICK and DINA DORF. All theladies are busyworking. On the table lie great piles of linen garments and otherarticles of clothing, somehalf finished, and some merely cut out.Farther back, at a small table on which two pots of flowers and aglassof sugared water are standing, RORLUND is sitting, reading aloud from abook with gilt edges, butonly loud enough for the spectators to catcha word now and then. Out in the garden OLAF BERNICK isrunning aboutand shooting at a target with a toy crossbow.After a moment AUNE comes in quietlythrough the door on the right.There is a slight interruption in the reading. MRS. BERNICK nods to himandpoints to the door on the left. AUNE goes quietly across, knockssoftly at the door of BERNICK'S room, andafter a moment's pause,knocks again. KRAP comes out of the room, with his hat in his hand andsomepapers under his arm.)Krap: Oh, it was you knocking?Aune: Mr. Bernick sent for me.Krap: He did--but hecannot see you. He has deputed me to tell you--Aune: Deputed you? All the same, I would muchrather--Krap: --deputed me to tell you what he wanted to say to you. You mustgive up these Saturdaylectures of yours to the men.Aune: Indeed? I supposed I might use my own time--Krap: You must notuse your own time in making the men useless inworking hours. Last Saturday you were talking to them ofthe harm thatwould be done to the workmen by our new machines and the new workingmethods at theyard. What makes you do that?Aune: I do it for the good of the community.Krap: That's curious, becauseMr. Bernick says it is disorganising thecommunity.Aune: My community is not Mr. Bernick's, Mr. Krap! AsPresident of theIndustrial Association, I must--Krap: You are, first and foremost, President of Mr.Bernick'sshipbuilding yard; and, before everything else, you have to do yourduty to the communityknown as the firm of Bernick & Co.; that is whatevery one of us lives for. Well, now you know what Mr.Bernick had tosay to you.Aune: Mr. Bernick would not have put it that way, Mr. Krap! But I knowwellenough whom I have to thank for this. It is that damned Americanboat. Those fellows expect to get workdone here the way they areaccustomed to it over there, and that--Krap: Yes, yes, but I can't go into all


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Our Southern Highlanders, by Horace KephartThis 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: Our Southern HighlandersAuthor: Horace KephartRelease Date: March 20, 2010[EBook #31709]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR SOUTHERNHIGHLANDERS ***Produced by David Garcia, Stephanie Eason, and the OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeam at http://www.pgdp.net. (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby TheKentuckiana Digital Library.)OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERS[Illustration: Photo by U. S. Forest ServiceBigTom Wilson, the bear hunter, who discovered the body of Prof. ElishaMitchell where he perished near thesummit of the Peak that afterwardwas named in his honor]  OUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERS  BY  HORACEKEPHART  AUTHOR OF "THE BOOK OF CAMPING AND WOODCRAFT," "CAMP  COOKERY," "SPORTINGFIREARMS," ETC.  _Illustrated_  NEW YORK  OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY  MCMXVI  COPYRIGHT,1913, BY  OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY  All rights reserved  First Printing, November 1913  SecondPrinting, December 1913  Third Printing, January 1914  Fourth Printing, April1914CONTENTSCHAPTER                                      PAGE   I. "SOMETHING HIDDEN; GO AND FINDIT"       11  II. "THE BACK OF BEYOND"                     28 III. THE GREAT SMOKYMOUNTAINS                50  IV. A BEAR HUNT IN THE SMOKIES               75   V. MOONSHINELAND                          110  VI. WAYS THAT ARE DARK                      126 VII. A LEAF FROM THEPAST                    145VIII. "BLOCKADERS" AND "THE REVENUE"          167  IX. THE OUTLANDER ANDTHE NATIVE            191   X. THE PEOPLE OF THE HILLS                 212  XI. THE LAND OF DOWITHOUT                  234 XII. HOME FOLKS AND NEIGHBOR PEOPLE          256XIII. THE MOUNTAINDIALECT                    276 XIV. THE LAW OF THE WILDERNESS               305  XV. THEBLOOD-FEUD                          327 XVI. WHO ARE THE MOUNTAINEERS?               354XVII. "WHEN THESLEEPER WAKES"                378ILLUSTRATIONSBig Tom Wilson, the bearhunter              _Frontispiece_                                                FACING PAGEMap ofAppalachia                                         8A family of pioneers in the twentieth century            16"The verycliffs are sheathed with trees and shrubs"     24At the Post-Office                                       32The authorin camp in the Big Smokies                    40"Bob"                                                    48"There are fewjutting crags"                            56The bears' home--laurel and rhododendron                 64The oldcopper mine                                      72"What soldiers these fellows would make underleadership ofsome backwoods Napoleon"                   80"By and by up they came, carrying the bear onthe trimmedsapling"                                     88Skinning a frozen bear                                   96"... Powerful steepand laurely...."                    104Mountain still-house hidden in the laurel               112Moonshine still,side view                              120Moonshine still in full operation                       128Corn mill andblacksmith forge                          136A tub-mill                                              152Cabin on the LittleFork of Sugar Fork of HazelCreek in which the author lived alone for three years   160A mountainhome                                         176Many of the homes have but one window                   192Theschoolhouse                                         208"At thirty a mountain woman is apt to have aworn and fadedlook"                                    216The misty veil of falling water                         232An averagemountain cabin                               240A bee-gum                                               248Let the womendo the work                               264"Till the sky-line blends with the sky itself"          288WhitewaterFalls                                        312The road follows the creek--there may be a dozenfords in amile                                         320"Dense forest and luxuriant undergrowth"                336[Illustration:APPALACHIAThe wavy black line shows the outer boundaries of Southern AppalachianRegion. The shadedportion shows the chief areas covered by highmountains, 3,000 to 6,700 feet above sea-level.]OURSOUTHERN HIGHLANDERSOUR SOUTHERN HIGHLANDERSCHAPTER I"SOMETHING HIDDEN; GO ANDFIND IT"In one of Poe's minor tales, written in 1845, there is a vague allusionto wild mountains inwestern Virginia "tenanted by fierce and uncouthraces of men." This, so far as I know, was the first


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Marius the Epicurean, Volume One, by Walter Horatio PaterThis 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.netTitle: Marius the Epicurean, Volume OneAuthor: Walter Horatio PaterPosting Date:June 13, 2009 [EBook #4057]Release Date: May, 2003First Posted: October 25, 2001Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARIUS THE EPICUREAN, VOLUME ONE***Produced by Alfred J. Drake.  HTML version by Al Haines.MARIUS THE EPICUREAN, VOLUMEONEWALTER HORATIO PATERLondon: 1910. (The Library Edition.)NOTES BY THE E-TEXT EDITOR:Notes:The 1910 Library Edition employs footnotes, a style inconvenientin an electronic edition.  I have thereforeplaced an asteriskimmediately after each of Pater's footnotes and a + sign after my ownnotes, and havelisted each chapter's notes at that chapter's end.Pagination and Paragraphing: To avoid an unwieldyelectronic copy, Ihave transferred original pagination to brackets.  A bracketed numeralsuch as [22]indicates that the material immediately following thenumber marks the beginning of the relevant page.  Ihave preservedparagraph structure except for first-line indentation.Hyphenation: I have not preservedoriginal hyphenation since an e-textdoes not require line-end or page-end hyphenation.Greek typeface:For this full-text edition, I have transliteratedPater's Greek quotations.  If there is a need for the originalGreek,it can be viewed at my site, http://www.ajdrake.com/etexts, aVictorianist archive that contains thecomplete works of Walter Paterand many other nineteenth-century texts, mostly in first editions.MARIUSTHE EPICUREAN, VOLUME ONE WALTER PATER    Cheimerinos oneiros, hote mÃªkistai haivyktes.+    +"A winter's dream, when nights are longest."    Lucian, The Dream, Vol.3.CONTENTS    PART THE FIRST    1. "The Religion of Numa": 3-12    2. White-Nights: 13-26    3. Changeof Air: 27-42    4. The Tree of Knowledge: 43-54    5. The Golden Book: 55-91    6. Euphuism:92-110    7. A Pagan End: 111-120    PART THE SECOND    8. Animula Vagula: 123-143    9. NewCyrenaicism: 144-157    10. On the Way: 158-171    11. "The Most Religious City in the World":172-187    12. "The Divinity that Doth Hedge a King": 188-211    13. The "Mistress and Mother" ofPalaces: 212-229    14. Manly Amusement: 230-243MARIUS THE EPICUREAN, VOLUME ONEPART THEFIRSTCHAPTER I: "THE RELIGION OF NUMA"[3] As, in the triumph of Christianity, the old religionlingeredlatest in the country, and died out at last as but paganism--thereligion of the villagers, before theadvance of the Christian Church;so, in an earlier century, it was in places remote from town-life thattheolder and purer forms of paganism itself had survived the longest.While, in Rome, new religions hadarisen with bewildering complexityaround the dying old one, the earlier and simpler patriarchalreligion,"the religion of Numa," as people loved to fancy, lingered on withlittle change amid the pastorallife, out of the habits and sentimentof which so much of it had grown. Glimpses of such a survival wemaycatch below the merely artificial attitudes of Latin pastoral poetry;in Tibullus especially, who haspreserved for us many poetic details ofold Roman religious usage.     At mihi contingat patrios celebrarePenates,     Reddereque antiquo menstrua thura Lari:[4] --he prays, with unaffectedseriousness.  Something liturgical,with repetitions of a consecrated form of words, is traceable in oneofhis elegies, as part of the order of a birthday sacrifice.  The hearth,from a spark of which, as one formof old legend related, the childRomulus had been miraculously born, was still indeed an altar; andtheworthiest sacrifice to the gods the perfect physical sanity of theyoung men and women, which thescrupulous ways of that religion of thehearth had tended to maintain.  A religion of usages andsentimentrather than of facts and belief, and attached to very definite thingsand places--the oak ofimmemorial age, the rock on the heath fashionedby weather as if by some dim human art, the shadowygrove of ilex,passing into which one exclaimed involuntarily, in consecrated phrase,Deity is in thisPlace!  Numen Inest!--it was in natural harmony withthe temper of a quiet people amid the spectacle ofrural life, likethat simpler faith between man and man, which Tibullus expresslyconnects with the periodwhen, with an inexpensive worship, the oldwooden gods had been still pressed for room in their homelylittleshrines.And about the time when the dying Antoninus Pius ordered his goldenimage of Fortune to be


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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Z. Marcas, 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: Z. MarcasAuthor: Honore de BalzacTranslator: Clara Bell and OthersReleaseDate: August, 1999  [Etext #1841]Posting Date: March 3, 2010Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK Z. MARCAS ***Produced by John Bickers, and DagnyZ. MARCASBy HonoreDe BalzacTranslated by Clara Bell and Others                             DEDICATION  To His Highness CountWilliam of Wurtemberg, as a token of the  Author's respectfulgratitude.                                                      DE BALZAC.Z. MARCASI never saw anybody, not evenamong the most remarkable men of theday, whose appearance was so striking as this man's; the studyof hiscountenance at first gave me a feeling of great melancholy, and at lastproduced an almost painfulimpression.There was a certain harmony between the man and his name. The Z.preceding Marcas, whichwas seen on the addresses of his letters, andwhich he never omitted from his signature, as the last letterof thealphabet, suggested some mysterious fatality.MARCAS! say this two-syllabled name again andagain; do you not feel asif it had some sinister meaning? Does it not seem to you that its ownermust bedoomed to martyrdom? Though foreign, savage, the name has aright to be handed down to posterity; itis well constructed, easilypronounced, and has the brevity that beseems a famous name. Is it notpleasantas well as odd? But does it not sound unfinished?I will not take it upon myself to assert that names haveno influence onthe destiny of men. There is a certain secret and inexplicable concordor a visible discordbetween the events of a man's life and his namewhich is truly surprising; often some remote but veryreal correlationis revealed. Our globe is round; everything is linked to everythingelse. Some day perhapswe shall revert to the occult sciences.Do you not discern in that letter Z an adverse influence? Does itnotprefigure the wayward and fantastic progress of a storm-tossed life?What wind blew on that letter,which, whatever language we find it in,begins scarcely fifty words? Marcas' name was Zephirin; SaintZephirinis highly venerated in Brittany, and Marcas was a Breton.Study the name once more: Z Marcas!The man's whole life lies in thisfantastic juxtaposition of seven letters; seven! the most significant ofallthe cabalistic numbers. And he died at five-and-thirty, so his lifeextended over seven lustres.Marcas!Does it not hint of some precious object that is broken with afall, with or without a crash?I had finishedstudying the law in Paris in 1836. I lived at that timein the Rue Corneille in a house where none butstudents came to lodge,one of those large houses where there is a winding staircase quite atthe backlighted below from the street, higher up by borrowedlights, and at the top by a skylight. There were fortyfurnishedrooms--furnished as students' rooms are! What does youth demand morethan was heresupplied? A bed, a few chairs, a chest of drawers, alooking-glass, and a table. As soon as the sky is bluethe student openshis window.But in this street there are no fair neighbors to flirt with. In frontis theOdeon, long since closed, presenting a wall that is beginning togo black, its tiny gallery windows and itsvast expanse of slate roof.I was not rich enough to have a good room; I was not even rich enoughto havea room to myself. Juste and I shared a double-bedded room on thefifth floor.On our side of the landingthere were but two rooms--ours and a smallerone, occupied by Z. Marcas, our neighbor. For six monthsJuste and Iremained in perfect ignorance of the fact. The old woman who managed thehouse had indeedtold us that the room was inhabited, but she had addedthat we should not be disturbed, that theoccupant was exceedinglyquiet. In fact, for those six months, we never met our fellow-lodger,and wenever heard a sound in his room, in spite of the thinness of thepartition that divided us--one of thosewalls of lath and plaster whichare common in Paris houses.Our room, a little over seven feet high, washung with a vile cheappaper sprigged with blue. The floor was painted, and knew nothing ofthe polishgiven by the _frotteur's_ brush. By our beds there was onlya scrap of thin carpet. The chimney openedimmediately to the roof, andsmoked so abominably that we were obliged to provide a stove at ourownexpense. Our beds were mere painted wooden cribs like those in schools;on the chimney shelf therewere but two brass candlesticks, with orwithout tallow candles in them, and our two pipes with some


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of House Rats and Mice, by David E. LantzThis 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: House Rats and Mice       Farmers' Bulletin 896Author: David E. LantzReleaseDate: March 10, 2011 [EBook #35542]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERGEBOOK HOUSE RATS AND MICE ***Produced by Erica Pfister-Altschul, Larry B. Harrison andthe OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net  [Transcriber's Note:  The following suspectederrors have been changed in this text:    Page 6: "highdays" changed to "highways"    Page 11:"abbatoirs" changed to "abattoirs"    Page 11: Added missing "." to "FIG. 5."]    Page 14: Added missing"." to "FIG. 10."]HOUSE RATS AND MICEDAVID E. LANTZAssistant Biologist[Illustration]FARMERS'BULLETIN 896UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OFAGRICULTURE       *       *       *       *       *Contribution from the Bureau of Biological SurveyE. W.NELSON, Chief    Washington, D. C.                                      October, 1917    Show this bulletin to aneighbor. Additional copies may be obtained    free from the Division of Publications, United StatesDepartment of    Agriculture                            WASHINGTON: GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE:1917The rat is the worst animal pest in the world.From its home among filth it visits dwellings andstorerooms to polluteand destroy human food.It carries bubonic plague and many other diseases fatal toman and hasbeen responsible for more untimely deaths among human beings than allthe wars ofhistory.In the United States rats and mice each year destroy crops and otherproperty valued at over$200,000,000.This destruction is equivalent to the gross earnings of an army of over200,000 men.Onmany a farm, if the grain eaten and wasted by rats and mice could besold, the proceeds would more thanpay all the farmer's taxes.The common brown rat breeds 6 to 10 times a year and produces an averageof10 young at a litter. Young females breed when only three or fourmonths old.At this rate a pair of rats,breeding uninterruptedly and withoutdeaths, would at the end of three years (18 generations) beincreased to359,709,482 individuals.For centuries the world has been fighting rats without organizationandat the same time has been feeding them and building for them fortressesfor concealment. If we are tofight them on equal terms we must denythem food and hiding places. We must organize and unite toridcommunities of these pests. The time to begin is now.HOUSE RATS ANDMICE.CONTENTS.                                                   Page.    Destructivehabits                                 3    Protection of food and other stores                5      Rat-proofbuilding                               5      Keeping food from rats and mice                  9    Destroying rats and mice                          11      Traps                                           11      Poisons                                         15      Domestic animals                                18      Fumigation                                      18      Ratviruses                                     19      Natural enemies                                 20    Organized efforts todestroy rats                 20      Community efforts                               21      State and nationalaid                          21    Important repressive measures                     23DESTRUCTIVE HABITS OFHOUSE RATS AND MICE.Losses from depredations of house rats amount to many millions ofdollarsyearly--to more, in fact, than those from all other injuriousmammals combined. The common housemouse[1] and the brown rat[2] (fig.1), too familiar to need description, are pests in nearly all parts ofthecountry; while two other kinds of house rats, known as the blackrat[3] and the roof rat,[4] are foundwithin our borders.[Illustration: FIG. 1.--Brown rat.]Of these four introduced species--for none is nativeto America--thebrown rat is the most destructive, and, except the mouse, the mostnumerous and mostwidely distributed. Brought to America just beforethe Revolution, it has supplanted and nearlyexterminated its lessrobust relative the black rat; and in spite of the constant warfare ofman hasextended its range and steadily increased in numbers. Itsdominance is due to its great fecundity and itsability to adapt itselfto all sorts of surroundings. It breeds (in the middle part of theUnited States) six ormore times a year and produces from 6 to 20 young(average 10) in a litter. Females breed when only 3or 4 months old.Thus a pair, breeding uninterruptedly and without deaths, could in threeyears (18


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ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Venus in Furs, by Ritter von Leopold Sacher-MasochThis 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: Venus in FursAuthor: Ritter von Leopold Sacher-MasochTranslator: FernandaSavagePosting Date: October 20, 2011 [EBook #6852]Release Date: November, 2004[This file was firstposted on February 2, 2003]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENUSIN FURS ***Produced by Avinash Kothare, Tom Allen, Tiffany Vergon,Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franksand the Online DistributedProofreading Team.VENUS IN FURSOf this book, intended forprivate circulation,only1225 copies have beenprinted, and type afterwarddistributed.VENUS IN FURSByLEOPOLD VONSACHER-MASOCHTranslated from the GermanByFERNANDA SAVAGEINTRODUCTIONLeopold vonSacher-Masoch was born in Lemberg, Austrian Galicia, onJanuary 27, 1836. He studied jurisprudence atPrague and Graz, and in1857 became a teacher at the latter university. He published severalhistoricalworks, but soon gave up his academic career to devotehimself wholly to literature. For a number of yearshe edited theinternational review, _Auf der Hohe_, at Leipzig, but later removed toParis, for he wasalways strongly Francophile. His last years he spentat Lindheim in Hesse, Germany, where he died onMarch 9, 1895. In 1873he married Aurora von Rumelin, who wrote a number of novels underthepseudonym of Wanda von Dunajew, which it is interesting to note is thename of the heroine of _Venusin Furs_. Her sensational memoirs whichhave been the cause of considerable controversy were publishedin 1906.During his career as writer an endless number of works poured fromSacher-Masoch's pen. Manyof these were works of ephemeral journalism,and some of them unfortunately pure sensationalism, foreconomicnecessity forced him to turn his pen to unworthy ends.There is, however, a residue among hisworks which has a distinctliterary and even greater psychological value. His principal literaryambition wasnever completely fulfilled. It was a somewhatprogrammatic plan to give a picture of contemporary life inall itsvarious aspects and interrelations under the general title of the_Heritage of Cain_. This idea wasprobably derived from Balzac's_Comedie Humaine_. The whole was to be divided into six subdivisionswiththe general titles _Love, Property, Money, The State, War,_ and_Death_. Each of these divisions in itsturn consisted of six novels,of which the last was intended to summarize the author's conclusionsand topresent his solution for the problems set in the others.This extensive plan remained unachieved, and onlythe first two parts,_Love_ and _Property_, were completed. Of the other sections onlyfragments remain.The present novel, _Venus in Furs_, forms the fifthin the series, _Love_.The best of Sacher-Masoch'swork is characterized by a swiftnarration and a graphic representation of character and scene and arichhumor. The latter has made many of his shorter stories dealingwith his native Galicia little masterpiecesof local color.There is, however, another element in his work which has caused hisname to become aseponym for an entire series of phenomena at one endof the psycho-sexual scale. This gives hisproductions a peculiarpsychological value, though it cannot be denied also a morbid tingethat makesthem often repellent. However, it is well to remember thatnature is neither good nor bad, neitheraltruistic nor egoistic, andthat it operates through the human psyche as well as through crystalsandplants and animals with the same inexorable laws.Sacher-Masoch was the poet of the anomaly nowgenerally known as_masochism_. By this is meant the desire on the part of the individualaffected ofdesiring himself completely and unconditionally subject tothe will of a person of the opposite sex, andbeing treated by thisperson as by a master, to be humiliated, abused, and tormented, evento the vergeof death. This motive is treated in all its innumerablevariations. As a creative artist Sacher-Masoch was,of course, on thequest for the absolute, and sometimes, when impulses in the humanbeing assume anabnormal or exaggerated form, there is just for amoment a flash that gives a glimpse of the thing initself.If any defense were needed for the publication of work likeSacher-Masoch's it is well to rememberthat artists are the historiansof the human soul and one might recall the wise and tolerantMontaigne'sessay _On the Duty of Historians_ where he says, "One may cover oversecret actions, but tobe silent on what all the world knows, and thingswhich have had effects which are public and of so much


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ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The Time Machine, by H. G. (Herbert George) WellsThis 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 Time MachineAuthor: H. G. (Herbert George) WellsRelease Date: October2, 2004 [EBook #35][Last updated: October 3, 2014]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE TIME MACHINE ***The Time Machine, by H. G. Wells [1898]IThe Time Traveller(for so it will be convenient to speak of him)was expounding a recondite matter to us. His grey eyesshone andtwinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. Thefire burned brightly, and thesoft radiance of the incandescentlights in the lilies of silver caught the bubbles that flashed andpassed inour glasses. Our chairs, being his patents, embraced andcaressed us rather than submitted to be satupon, and there was thatluxurious after-dinner atmosphere when thought roams gracefullyfree of thetrammels of precision. And he put it to us in thisway--marking the points with a lean forefinger--as we satand lazilyadmired his earnestness over this new paradox (as we thought it)and his fecundity.'You mustfollow me carefully. I shall have to controvert one or twoideas that are almost universally accepted. Thegeometry, forinstance, they taught you at school is founded on a misconception.''Is not that rather alarge thing to expect us to begin upon?'said Filby, an argumentative person with red hair.'I do not meanto ask you to accept anything without reasonableground for it. You will soon admit as much as I needfrom you. Youknow of course that a mathematical line, a line of thickness _nil_,has no real existence.They taught you that? Neither has amathematical plane. These things are mere abstractions.''That is allright,' said the Psychologist.'Nor, having only length, breadth, and thickness, can a cube have arealexistence.''There I object,' said Filby. 'Of course a solid body may exist. Allreal things--''So most peoplethink. But wait a moment. Can an _instantaneous_cube exist?''Don't follow you,' said Filby.'Can a cubethat does not last for any time at all, have a realexistence?'Filby became pensive. 'Clearly,' the TimeTraveller proceeded, 'anyreal body must have extension in _four_ directions: it must haveLength,Breadth, Thickness, and--Duration. But through a naturalinfirmity of the flesh, which I will explain to youin a moment, weincline to overlook this fact. There are really four dimensions,three which we call thethree planes of Space, and a fourth, Time.There is, however, a tendency to draw an unreal distinctionbetweenthe former three dimensions and the latter, because it happens thatour consciousness movesintermittently in one direction along thelatter from the beginning to the end of our lives.''That,' said avery young man, making spasmodic efforts to relighthis cigar over the lamp; 'that ... very clearindeed.''Now, it is very remarkable that this is so extensively overlooked,'continued the Time Traveller,with a slight accession ofcheerfulness. 'Really this is what is meant by the Fourth Dimension,though somepeople who talk about the Fourth Dimension do not knowthey mean it. It is only another way of lookingat Time. _There isno difference between Time and any of the three dimensions of Spaceexcept that ourconsciousness moves along it_. But some foolishpeople have got hold of the wrong side of that idea. Youhave allheard what they have to say about this Fourth Dimension?''_I_ have not,' said the ProvincialMayor.'It is simply this. That Space, as our mathematicians have it, isspoken of as having threedimensions, which one may call Length,Breadth, and Thickness, and is always definable by referencetothree planes, each at right angles to the others. But somephilosophical people have been asking why_three_ dimensionsparticularly--why not another direction at right angles to the otherthree?--and haveeven tried to construct a Four-Dimension geometry.Professor Simon Newcomb was expounding this tothe New YorkMathematical Society only a month or so ago. You know how on a flatsurface, which hasonly two dimensions, we can represent a figure ofa three-dimensional solid, and similarly they think thatby modelsof three dimensions they could represent one of four--if they couldmaster the perspective ofthe thing. See?''I think so,' murmured the Provincial Mayor; and, knitting hisbrows, he lapsed into anintrospective state, his lips moving as onewho repeats mystic words. 'Yes, I think I see it now,' he saidaftersome time, brightening in a quite transitory manner.'Well, I do not mind telling you I have been atwork upon thisgeometry of Four Dimensions for some time. Some of my resultsare curious. For instance,


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ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The Passionate Friends, by Herbert George WellsThis 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 Passionate FriendsAuthor: Herbert George WellsRelease Date: October 26,2009 [EBook #30340]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEPASSIONATE FRIENDS ***Produced by Carl Hudkins, Martin Pettit and the OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeam at http://www.pgdp.netThe Passionate FriendsBy H. G. WELLSAuthor of"Marriage."[Illustration]WITH FRONTISPIECEA. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS114-120 EastTwenty-third Street - - New YorkPUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH HARPER & BROTHERSCOPYRIGHT,1913, BY HARPER & BROTHERSPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICAPUBLISHED OCTOBER,1913TOL. E. N. S.[Illustration: "OUR KISSES WERE KISSES OF MOONLIGHT" See p.85]CONTENTSCHAP.                                            PAGE   I. MR. STRATTON TO HISSON                       1  II. BOYHOOD                                      14 III. INTENTIONS AND THE LADY MARYCHRISTIAN       40  IV. THE MARRIAGE OF THE LADY MARY CHRISTIAN      73   V. THE WAR IN SOUTHAFRICA                     102  VI. LADY MARY JUSTIN                            132 VII. BEGINNINGAGAIN                             197VIII. THIS SWARMING BUSINESS OF MANKIND           220  IX. THE SPIRITOF THE NEW WORLD                 246   X. MARY WRITES                                 280  XI. THE LASTMEETING                            318 XII. THE ARRAIGNMENT OF JEALOUSY                 358THE PASSIONATEFRIENDSCHAPTER THE FIRSTMR. STRATTON TO HIS SONÂ§ 1I want very much to set down my thoughtsand my experiences of life. Iwant to do so now that I have come to middle age and now that myattitudesare all defined and my personal drama worked out I feel thatthe toil of writing and reconsideration mayhelp to clear and fix manythings that remain a little uncertain in my thoughts because they haveneverbeen fully stated, and I want to discover any lurkinginconsistencies and unsuspected gaps. And I have astory. I have livedthrough things that have searched me. I want to tell that story as wellas I can while Iam still a clear-headed and active man, and while manydetails that may presently become blurred andaltered are still rawlyfresh in my mind. And to one person in particular do I wish to think Iam writing, andthat is to you, my only son. I want to write my storynot indeed to the child you are now, but to the manyou are going to be.You are half my blood and temperamentally altogether mine. A day willcome whenyou will realize this, and want to know how life has gone withme, and then it may be altogether too latefor me to answer yourenquiries. I may have become inaccessible as old people aresometimesinaccessible. And so I think of leaving this book for you--at any rate,I shall write it as if Imeant to leave it for you. Afterwards I canconsider whether I will indeed leave it....The idea of writingsuch a book as this came to me first as I sat by thedead body of your grandfather--my father. It wasbecause I wanted sogreatly such a book from him that I am now writing this. He died, youmust know,only a few months ago, and I went to his house to bury himand settle all his affairs.At one time he hadbeen my greatest friend. He had never indeed talkedto me about himself or his youth, but he had alwaysshowed anextraordinary sympathy and helpfulness for me in all the confusion andperplexities into which Ifell. This did not last to the end of hislife. I was the child of his middle years, and suddenly, in a yearorless, the curtains of age and infirmity fell between us. There came anillness, an operation, and he rosefrom it ailing, suffering, dwarfedand altogether changed. Of all the dark shadows upon life I thinkthatchange through illness and organic decay in the thoughts and spirits ofthose who are dear and closeto us is the most evil and distressing andinexplicable. Suddenly he was a changeling, a being querulousandpitiful, needing indulgence and sacrifices.In a little while a new state of affairs was established. Iceased toconsider him as a man to whom one told things, of whom one could expecthelp or advice. We allceased to consider him at all in that way. Wehumored him, put pleasant things before him, concealedwhatever wasdisagreeable. A poor old man he was indeed in those concluding years,weakly rebelliousagainst the firm kindliness of my cousin, hishousekeeper and nurse. He who had once been so alert wasnow at timesastonishingly apathetic. At times an impish malice I had never known inhim before gleamed


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