ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rilla of Ingleside, by Lucy Maud MontgomeryThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: Rilla of InglesideAuthor: Lucy Maud MontgomeryPosting Date: May 19, 2009 [EBook #3796]Release Date: February, 2003First Posted:September 12, 2001[Last updated: June 17, 2012]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RILLA OF INGLESIDE ***Produced bySheila Perkins.  HTML version by Al HainesRilla of InglesidebyLucy Maud MontgomeryCONTENTS       I  GLEN "NOTES" AND OTHER MATTERS      II  DEW OFMORNING     III  MOONLIT MIRTH      IV  THE PIPER PIPES       V  "THE SOUND OF A GOING"      VI  SUSAN, RILLA, AND DOG MONDAY MAKE ARESOLUTION     VII  A WAR-BABY AND A SOUP TUREEN    VIII  RILLA DECIDES      IX  DOC HAS A MISADVENTURE       X  THE TROUBLES OF RILLA      XI  DARKAND BRIGHT     XII  IN THE DAYS OF LANGEMARCK    XIII  A SLICE OF HUMBLE PIE     XIV  THE VALLEY OF DECISION      XV  UNTIL THE DAYBREAK     XVI  REALISM AND ROMANCE    XVII  THE WEEKS WEAR BY   XVIII  A WAR-WEDDING     XIX  "THEY SHALL NOT PASS"      XX  NORMAN DOUGLASSPEAKS OUT IN MEETING     XXI  "LOVE AFFAIRS ARE HORRIBLE"    XXII  LITTLE DOG MONDAY KNOWS   XXIII  "AND SO, GOODNIGHT"    XXIV  MARY IS JUSTIN TIME     XXV  SHIRLEY GOES    XXVI  SUSAN HAS A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE   XXVII  WAITING  XXVIII  BLACK SUNDAY    XXIX  "WOUNDED ANDMISSING"     XXX  THE TURNING OF THE TIDE    XXXI  MRS. MATILDA PITTMAN   XXXII  WORD FROM JEM  XXXIII  VICTORY!   XXXIV  MR. HYDE GOES TO HISOWN PLACE AND SUSAN TAKES A HONEYMOON    XXXV  "RILLA-MY-RILLA!"CHAPTER IGLEN "NOTES" AND OTHER MATTERSIt was a warm, golden-cloudy,lovable afternoon. In the big living-roomat Ingleside Susan Baker sat down with a certain grim satisfactionhovering about her like an aura; it was four o'clock andSusan, who hadbeen working incessantly since six that morning, felt that she hadfairly earned an hour of repose and gossip. Susan just then wasperfectly happy;everything had gone almost uncannily well in thekitchen that day. Dr. Jekyll had not been Mr. Hyde and so had notgrated on her nerves; from where she sat shecould see the pride of herheart--the bed of peonies of her own planting and culture, blooming asno other peony plot in Glen St. Mary ever did or could bloom,withpeonies crimson, peonies silvery pink, peonies white as drifts ofwinter snow.Susan had on a new black silk blouse, quite as elaborate as anythingMrs.Marshall Elliott ever wore, and a white starched apron, trimmedwith complicated crocheted lace fully five inches wide, not to mentioninsertion to match. ThereforeSusan had all the comfortableconsciousness of a well-dressed woman as she opened her copy of theDaily Enterprise and prepared to read the Glen "Notes" which,as MissCornelia had just informed her, filled half a column of it andmentioned almost everybody at Ingleside. There was a big, blackheadline on the front page ofthe Enterprise, stating that someArchduke Ferdinand or other had been assassinated at a place bearingthe weird name of Sarajevo, but Susan tarried not overuninteresting,immaterial stuff like that; she was in quest of something really vital.Oh, here it was--"Jottings from Glen St. Mary." Susan settled downkeenly,reading each one over aloud to extract all possiblegratification from it.Mrs. Blythe and her visitor, Miss Cornelia--alias Mrs. MarshallElliott--were chatting togethernear the open door that led to theveranda, through which a cool, delicious breeze was blowing, bringingwhiffs of phantom perfume from the garden, andcharming gay echoes fromthe vine-hung corner where Rilla and Miss Oliver and Walter werelaughing and talking. Wherever Rilla Blythe was, there waslaughter.There was another occupant of the living-room, curled up on a couch,who must not be overlooked, since he was a creature of markedindividuality, and,moreover, had the distinction of being the onlyliving thing whom Susan really hated.All cats are mysterious but Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde--"Doc" forshort--wastrebly so. He was a cat of double personality--or else, asSusan vowed, he was possessed by the devil. To begin with, there hadbeen something uncanny about thevery dawn of his existence. Four yearspreviously Rilla Blythe had had a treasured darling of a kitten, whiteas snow, with a saucy black tip to its tail, which shecalled JackFrost. Susan disliked Jack Frost, though she could not or would notgive any valid reason therefor."Take my word for it, Mrs. Dr. dear," she was wont tosay ominously,"that cat will come to no good.""But why do you think so?" Mrs. Blythe would ask."I do not think--I know," was all the answer Susan wouldvouchsafe.With the rest of the Ingleside folk Jack Frost was a favourite; he wasso very clean and well groomed, and never allowed a spot or stain to beseen on hisbeautiful white suit; he had endearing ways of purring andsnuggling; he was scrupulously honest.And then a domestic tragedy took place at Ingleside. Jack Frosthadkittens!It would be vain to try to picture Susan's triumph. Had she not alwaysinsisted that that cat would turn out to be a delusion and a snare? Nowtheycould see for themselves!Rilla kept one of the kittens, a very pretty one, with peculiarly sleekglossy fur of a dark yellow crossed by orange stripes, andlarge,satiny, golden ears. She called it Goldie and the name seemedappropriate enough to the little frolicsome creature which, during itskittenhood, gave noindication of the sinister nature it reallypossessed. Susan, of course, warned the family that no good could beexpected from any offspring of that diabolical JackFrost; but Susan'sCassandra-like croakings were unheeded.The Blythes had been so accustomed to regard Jack Frost as a member ofthe male sex that they couldnot get out of the habit. So theycontinually used the masculine pronoun, although the result wasludicrous. Visitors used to be quite electrified when Rillareferredcasually to "Jack and his kitten," or told Goldie sternly, "Go to yourmother and get him to wash your fur.""It is not decent, Mrs. Dr. dear," poor Susanwould say bitterly. Sheherself compromised by always referring to Jack as "it" or "the whitebeast," and one heart at least did not ache when "it" wasaccidentallypoisoned the following winter.In a year's time "Goldie" became so manifestly an inadequate name forthe orange kitten that Walter, who was just thenreading Stevenson'sstory, changed it to Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde. In his Dr. Jekyll moodthe cat was a drowsy, affectionate, domestic, cushion-loving puss,wholiked petting and gloried in being nursed and patted. Especially did helove to lie on his back and have his sleek, cream-coloured throatstroked gently while hepurred in somnolent satisfaction. He was anotable purrer; never had there been an Ingleside cat who purred soconstantly and so ecstatically."The only thing Ienvy a cat is its purr," remarked Dr. Blythe once,listening to Doc's resonant melody. "It is the most contented sound inthe world."Doc was very handsome; hisevery movement was grace; his posesmagnificent. When he folded his long, dusky-ringed tail about his feetand sat him down on the veranda to gaze steadily intospace for longintervals the Blythes felt that an Egyptian sphinx could not have madea more fitting Deity of the Portal.When the Mr. Hyde mood came uponhim--which it invariably did beforerain, or wind--he was a wild thing with changed eyes. Thetransformation always came suddenly. He would spring fiercely fromareverie with a savage snarl and bite at any restraining or caressinghand. His fur seemed to grow darker and his eyes gleamed with adiabolical light. There wasreally an unearthly beauty about him. Ifthe change happened in the twilight all the Ingleside folk felt acertain terror of him. At such times he was a fearsomebeast and onlyRilla defended him, asserting that he was "such a nice prowly cat."Certainly he prowled.Dr. Jekyll loved new milk; Mr. Hyde would not touch milkand growledover his meat. Dr. Jekyll came down the stairs so silently that no onecould hear him. Mr. Hyde made his tread as heavy as a man's. Severalevenings,when Susan was alone in the house, he "scared her stiff," asshe declared, by doing this. He would sit in the middle of the kitchenfloor, with his terrible eyes fixedunwinkingly upon hers for an hourat a time. This played havoc with her nerves, but poor Susan reallyheld him in too much awe to try to drive him out. Once shehad dared tothrow a stick at him and he had promptly made a savage leap towardsher. Susan rushed out of doors and never attempted to meddle with Mr.Hydeagain--though she visited his misdeeds upon the innocent Dr.Jekyll, chasing him ignominiously out of her domain whenever he daredto poke his nose in anddenying him certain savoury tidbits for whichhe yearned."'The many friends of Miss Faith Meredith, Gerald Meredith and JamesBlythe,'" read Susan, rolling thenames like sweet morsels under hertongue, "'were very much pleased to welcome them home a few weeks agofrom Redmond College. James Blythe, who wasgraduated in Arts in 1913,had just completed his first year in medicine.'""Faith Meredith has really got to be the most handsomest creature Iever saw,"commented Miss Cornelia above her filet crochet. "It'samazing how those children came on after Rosemary West went to themanse. People have almost forgottenwhat imps of mischief they wereonce. Anne, dearie, will you ever forget the way they used to carry on?It's really surprising how well Rosemary got on with them.She's morelike a chum than a step-mother. They all love her and Una adores her.As for that little Bruce, Una just makes a perfect slave of herself tohim. Ofcourse, he is a darling. But did you ever see any child look asmuch like an aunt as he looks like his Aunt Ellen? He's just as darkand just as emphatic. I can't see afeature of Rosemary in him. NormanDouglas always vows at the top of his voice that the stork meant Brucefor him and Ellen and took him to the manse bymistake.""Bruce adores Jem," said Mrs Blythe. "When he comes over here hefollows Jem about silently like a faithful little dog, looking up athim from under hisblack brows. He would do anything for Jem, I verilybelieve.""Are Jem and Faith going to make a match of it?"Mrs. Blythe smiled. It was well known that MissCornelia, who had beensuch a virulent man-hater at one time, had actually taken tomatch-making in her declining years."They are only good friends yet, MissCornelia.""Very good friends, believe me," said Miss Cornelia emphatically. "Ihear all about the doings of the young fry.""I have no doubt that Mary Vance seesthat you do, Mrs. MarshallElliott," said Susan significantly, "but I think it is a shame to talkabout children making matches.""Children! Jem is twenty-one and Faithis nineteen," retorted MissCornelia. "You must not forget, Susan, that we old folks are not theonly grown-up people in the world."Outraged Susan, who detestedany reference to her age--not from vanitybut from a haunting dread that people might come to think her too oldto work--returned to her "Notes.""'Carl Meredith


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the FamousMoll Flanders &c., by Daniel DefoeThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere atno cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith thiseBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders &c.Author: Daniel DefoeRelease Date: March 19, 2008[EBook #370]Last Updated: October 18, 2016Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOLL FLANDERS ***The Fortunes &Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders &c.Who was Born in Newgate, and during a Life of continu'd Variety forThreescore Years, besides her Childhood, wasTwelve Year a Whore, fivetimes a Wife (whereof once to her own Brother), Twelve Year a Thief,Eight Year a Transported Felon in Virginia, at last grew Rich,liv'dHonest, and dies a Penitent.  Written from her own Memorandums . . .by Daniel DefoeTHE AUTHOR'S PREFACEThe world is so taken up of late with novelsand romances, that it willbe hard for a private history to be taken for genuine, where the namesand other circumstances of the person are concealed, and onthisaccount we must be content to leave the reader to pass his own opinionupon the ensuing sheet, and take it just as he pleases.The author is here supposed tobe writing her own history, and in thevery beginning of her account she gives the reasons why she thinks fitto conceal her true name, after which there is nooccasion to say anymore about that.It is true that the original of this story is put into new words, andthe style of the famous lady we here speak of is a littlealtered;particularly she is made to tell her own tale in modester words thatshe told it at first, the copy which came first to hand having beenwritten in languagemore like one still in Newgate than one grownpenitent and humble, as she afterwards pretends to be.The pen employed in finishing her story, and making it whatyou now seeit to be, has had no little difficulty to put it into a dress fit to beseen, and to make it speak language fit to be read.  When a womandebauched fromher youth, nay, even being the offspring of debaucheryand vice, comes to give an account of all her vicious practices, andeven to descend to the particularoccasions and circumstances by whichshe ran through in threescore years, an author must be hard put to itwrap it up so clean as not to give room, especially forviciousreaders, to turn it to his disadvantage.All possible care, however, has been taken to give no lewd ideas, noimmodest turns in the new dressing up of thisstory; no, not to theworst parts of  her expressions.  To this purpose some of the viciouspart of her life, which could not be modestly told, is quite left out,andseveral other parts are very much shortened.  What is left 'tishoped will not offend the chastest reader or the modest hearer; and asthe best use is made even ofthe worst story, the moral 'tis hoped willkeep the reader serious, even where the story might incline him to beotherwise.  To give the history of a wicked liferepented of,necessarily requires that the wicked part should be make as wicked asthe real history of it will bear, to illustrate and give a beauty tothe penitentpart, which is certainly the best and brightest, ifrelated with equal spirit and life.It is suggested there cannot be the same life, the same brightness andbeauty, inrelating the penitent part as is in the criminal part.  Ifthere is any truth in that suggestion, I must be allowed to say 'tisbecause there is not the same taste andrelish in the reading, andindeed it is too true that the difference lies not in the real worth ofthe subject so much as in the gust and palate of the reader.But as thiswork is chiefly recommended to those who know how to readit, and how to make the good uses of it which the story all alongrecommends to them, so it is to behoped that such readers will be morepleased with the moral than the fable, with the application than withthe relation, and with the end of the writer than with thelife of theperson written of.There is in this story abundance of delightful incidents, and all ofthem usefully applied.  There is an agreeable turn artfully giventhemin the relating, that naturally instructs the reader, either one way orother.  The first part of her lewd life with the young gentleman atColchester has so manyhappy turns given it to expose the crime, andwarn all whose circumstances are adapted to it, of the ruinous end ofsuch things, and the foolish, thoughtless, andabhorred conduct of boththe parties, that it abundantly atones for all the lively descriptionshe gives of her folly and wickedness.The repentance of her lover at theBath, and how brought by the justalarm of his fit of sickness to abandon her; the just caution giventhere against even the lawful intimacies of the dearest friends,andhow unable they are to preserve the most solemn resolutions of virtuewithout divine assistance; these are parts which, to a justdiscernment, will appear tohave more real beauty in them all theamorous chain of story which introduces it.In a word, as the whole relation is carefully garbled of all the levityand loosenessthat was in it, so it all applied, and with the utmostcare, to virtuous and religious uses.  None can, without being guiltyof manifest injustice, cast any reproachupon it, or upon our design inpublishing it.The advocates for the stage have, in all ages, made this the greatargument to persuade people that their plays areuseful, and that theyought to be allowed in the most civilised and in the most religiousgovernment; namely, that they are applied to virtuous purposes, andthatby the most lively representations, they fail not to recommendvirtue and generous principles, and to discourage and expose all sortsof vice and corruption ofmanners; and were it true that they did so,and that they constantly adhered to that rule, as the test of theiracting on the theatre, much might be said in theirfavour.Throughout the infinite variety of this book, this fundamental is moststrictly adhered to; there is not a wicked action in any part of it,but is first and lastrendered unhappy and unfortunate; there is not asuperlative villain brought upon the stage, but either he is brought toan unhappy end, or brought to be apenitent; there is not an ill thingmentioned but it is condemned, even in the relation, nor a virtuous,just thing but it carries its praise along with it.  What canmoreexactly answer the rule laid down, to recommend even thoserepresentations of things which have so many other just objectionsleaving againstthem?  namely, of example, of bad company, obscenelanguage, and the like.Upon this foundation this book is recommended to the reader as a workfrom everypart of which something may be learned, and some just andreligious inference is drawn, by which the reader will have somethingof instruction, if he pleases tomake use of it.All the exploits of this lady of fame, in her depredations uponmankind, stand as so many warnings to honest people to beware of them,intimatingto them by what methods innocent people are drawn in,plundered and robbed, and by consequence how to avoid them.  Herrobbing a little innocent child,dressed fine by the vanity of themother, to go to the dancing-school, is a good memento to such peoplehereafter, as is likewise her picking the gold watch fromthe younglady's side in the Park.Her getting a parcel from a hare-brained wench at the coaches in St.John Street; her booty made at the fire, and again atHarwich, all giveus excellent warnings in such cases to be more present to ourselves insudden surprises of every sort.Her application to a sober life andindustrious management at last inVirginia, with her transported spouse, is a story fruitful ofinstruction to all the unfortunate creatures who are obliged toseektheir re-establishment abroad, whether by the misery of transportationor other disaster; letting them know that diligence and applicationhave their dueencouragement, even in the remotest parts of the world,and that no case can be so low, so despicable, or so empty of prospect,but that an unwearied industrywill go a great way to deliver us fromit, will in time raise the meanest creature to appear again in the world,and give him a new case for his life.There are a few ofthe serious inferences which we are led by the handto in this book, and these are fully sufficient to justify any man inrecommending it to the world, and muchmore to justify the publicationof it.There are two of the most beautiful parts still behind, which thisstory gives some idea of, and lets us into the parts of them, buttheyare either of them too long to be brought into the same volume, andindeed are, as I may call them, whole volumes of themselves, viz.: 1.The life of hergoverness, as she calls her, who had run through, itseems, in a few years, all the eminent degrees of a gentlewoman, awhore, and a bawd; a midwife and amidwife-keeper, as they are called;a pawnbroker, a childtaker, a receiver of thieves, and of thieves'purchase, that is to say, of stolen goods; and in a word,herself athief, a breeder up of thieves and the like, and yet at last a penitent.The second is the life of her transported husband, a highwayman, who itseems, liveda twelve years' life of successful villainy upon the road,and even at last came off so well as to be a volunteer transport, not aconvict; and in whose life there is anincredible variety.But, as I have said, these are things too long to bring in here, soneither can I make a promise of the coming out by themselves.We cannot say,indeed, that this history is carried on quite to the endof the life of this famous Moll Flanders, as she calls herself, fornobody can write their own life to the full endof it, unless they canwrite it after they are dead.  But her husband's life, being written bya third hand, gives a full account of them both, how long theylivedtogether in that country, and how they both came to England again,after about eight years, in which time they were grown very rich, andwhere she lived, itseems, to be very old, but was not so extraordinarya penitent as she was at first; it seems only that indeed she alwaysspoke with abhorrence of her former life,and of every part of it.In her last scene, at Maryland and Virginia, many pleasant thingshappened, which makes that part of her life very agreeable, but theyarenot told with the same elegancy as those accounted for by herself;so it is still to the more advantage that we break off here.MOLL FLANDERSMy true name is sowell known in the records or registers at Newgate,and in the Old Bailey, and there are some things of such consequencestill depending there, relating to myparticular conduct, that it isnot be expected I should set my name or the account of my family tothis work; perhaps, after my death, it may be better known; atpresentit would not be proper, nor not though a general pardon should beissued, even without exceptions and reserve of persons or crimes.It is enough to tellyou, that as some of my worst comrades, who areout of the way of doing me harm (having gone out of the world by thesteps and the string, as I often expectedto go), knew me by the nameof Moll Flanders, so you may give me leave to speak of myself underthat name till I dare own who I have been, as well as who Iam.I have been told that in one of neighbour nations, whether it be inFrance or where else I know not, they have an order from the king, thatwhen any criminal is


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<title>TwelveMonkeys</title>
 TWELVE MONKEYS                An original screenplay by David Peoples        & Janet Peoples Inspiredby      LA JETEE, a Chris Marker Film Production Draft June 27, 1994 FADE IN: INT.  CONCOURSE/AIRPORT TERMINAL - BAY CLOSEON A FACE.  A nine year old boy, YOUNG COLE, his eyes wide with wonder. watching something intently.  We HEAR the sounds of the P.A. SYSTEM droning FlightInformation mingled with the sounds of urgent SHOUTS, running FEET, EXCLAMATIONS. YOUNG COLE'S POV:  twenty yards away, a BLONDE MAN is sprawled onthe floor, blood oozing from his gaudy Hawaiian shirt. A BRUNETTE in a tight dress, her face obscured from YOUNG COLE'S view, rushes to the injured man,kneels beside him, ministering to his wound. ANGLE ON YOUNG COLE, flanked by his PARENTS, their faces out of view, as they steer him away. FATHER'S VOICE(o.s.) Come on, Son --this is no place for us. YOUNG COLE resists momentarily, mesmerized by the drama. YOUNG COLE'S POV:  intermittently visible through aconfusion of FIGURES rushing through the foreground, the BLONDE MAN reaching up and touching the cheek of the kneeling BRUNETTE in a gesture of enormoustenderness, a gesture of farewell, while the P.A. SYSTEM continues its monotonous monotone... P.A. SYSTEM Flight 784 for San Francisco is now readyfor boarding at inmate number 66578, Greely. INT.  PRISON DORMITORY/FUTURE - ETERNAL NIGHT PRISON P.A. SYSTEM --number 5429,


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                                                                      12 ANDHOLDING                                                   Written by                                     Anthony S Cipriano                                                                                04.06.04                                        FADE IN:                    EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD STREET - MORNING                    TWIN BOYS, RUDY AND JACOB CARGES (12),ride their bikes          through a suburban neighborhood.                    Rudy, the more athletic of the two, rides at a breakneck          pace. Jacob ridesslowly due to a HOCKEY MASK that he wears          over his face. It's making it difficult for him to see. The          boys turn down a DIRT PATH and ride deep intosome WOODS.                    INT. WOODS - CONTINUOUS                    Rudy and Jacob ride to the edge of a CLEARING andstop.          Across from the clearing is a large OAK TREE, which has a          TREE HOUSE perched high up in it's branches. The boys          cautiously look aroundand whisper.                                         JACOB                     You see`em?                                         RUDY                     No. But that doesn't mean they're                     not here.                    After abeat, Rudy gets off his bike and starts walking          towards the tree house.   Jacob stays behind, eyeing


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vampyre; A Tale, by John William PolidoriThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Vampyre; A TaleAuthor: John William PolidoriPosting Date: October 21, 2009 [EBook #6087]Release Date: July, 2004First Posted:November 3, 2002[Last updated: May 26, 2012]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VAMPYRE; A TALE ***Produced by ananonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.                                 THE                               VAMPYRE;                               A Tale.                       By John WilliamPolidori                               LONDON                 PRINTED FOR SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES                           PATERNOSTERROW                                1819              [Entered at Stationers' Hall, March 27, 1819]           Gillet, Printer, Crown Court, Fleet Street,London.                         EXTRACT OF A LETTER                             FROM GENEVA.                            ______________"I breathe freely in the neighbourhood ofthis lake; the ground uponwhich I tread has been subdued from the earliest ages; the principalobjects which immediately strike my eye, bring to myrecollectionscenes, in which man acted the hero and was the chief object ofinterest. Not to look back to earlier times of battles and sieges,here is the bust ofRousseau--here is a house with an inscriptiondenoting that the Genevan philosopher first drew breath under itsroof. A little out of the town is Ferney, theresidence of Voltaire;where that wonderful, though certainly in many respects contemptible,character, received, like the hermits of old, the visits of pilgrims,notonly from his own nation, but from the farthest boundaries ofEurope. Here too is Bonnet's abode, and, a few steps beyond, the houseof that astonishing womanMadame de Stael: perhaps the first of hersex, who has really proved its often claimed equality with, the noblerman. We have before had women who have writteninteresting novels andpoems, in which their tact at observing drawing-room characters hasavailed them; but never since the days of Heloise have thosefacultieswhich are peculiar to man, been developed as the possible inheritanceof woman. Though even here, as in the case of Heloise, our sex havenot beenbackward in alledging the existence of an Abeilard in theperson of M. Schlegel as the inspirer of her works. But to proceed:upon the same side of the lake,Gibbon, Bonnivard, Bradshaw, andothers mark, as it were, the stages for our progress; whilst upon theother side there is one house, built by Diodati, the friend ofMilton,which has contained within its walls, for several months, that poetwhom we have so often read together, and who--if human passions remainthe same, andhuman feelings, like chords, on being swept by nature'simpulses shall vibrate as before--will be placed by posterity in thefirst rank of our English Poets. You musthave heard, or the ThirdCanto of Childe Harold will have informed you, that Lord Byron residedmany months in this neighbourhood. I went with some friends afew daysago, after having seen Ferney, to view this mansion. I trod the floorswith the same feelings of awe and respect as we did, together, thoseofShakespeare's dwelling at Stratford. I sat down in a chair of thesaloon, and satisfied myself that I was resting on what he had madehis constant seat. I found aservant there who had lived with him;she, however, gave me but little information. She pointed out hisbed-chamber upon the same level as the saloon anddining-room, andinformed me that he retired to rest at three, got up at two, andemployed himself a long time over his toilette; that he never went tosleepwithout a pair of pistols and a dagger by his side, and that henever ate animal food. He apparently spent some part of every day uponthe lake in an English boat.There is a balcony from the saloon whichlooks upon the lake and the mountain Jura; and I imagine, that it musthave been hence, he contemplated the storm somagnificently describedin the Third Canto; for you have from here a most extensive view ofall the points he has therein depicted. I can fancy him like thescathedpine, whilst all around was sunk to repose, still waking toobserve, what gave but a weak image of the storms which had desolatedhis own breast.  The sky ischanged!--and such a change; Oh, night!  And storm and darkness, ye are wond'rous strong,  Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light  Of a dark eye in woman!Far along  From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,  Leaps the lire thunder! Not from one lone cloud,  But every mountain now hath found a tongue,  AndJura answers thro' her misty shroud,  Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud!  And this is in the night:--Most glorious night!  Thou wer't not sent forslumber! let me be  A sharer in thy far and fierce delight,--  A portion of the tempest and of me!  How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea,  And the big rain cometdancing to the earth!  And now again 'tis black,--and now the glee  Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth,  As if they did rejoice o'er a young;earthquake's birth,  Now where the swift Rhine cleaves his way between  Heights which appear, as lovers who have parted  In haste, whose mining depths sointervene,  That they can meet no more, tho' broken hearted;  Tho' in their souls which thus each other thwarted,  Love was the very root of the fond rage  Whichblighted their life's bloom, and then departed--  Itself expired, but leaving; them an age  Of years all winter--war within themselves to wage.I went down to thelittle port, if I may use the expression, whereinhis vessel used to lay, and conversed with the cottager, who had thecare of it. You may smile, but I have mypleasure in thus helping mypersonification of the individual I admire, by attaining to theknowledge of those circumstances which were daily around him. Ihavemade numerous enquiries in the town concerning him, but can learnnothing. He only went into society there once, when M. Pictet took himto the house of alady to spend the evening. They say he is a verysingular man, and seem to think him very uncivil. Amongst other thingsthey relate, that having invited M. Pictetand Bonstetten to dinner,he went on the lake to Chillon, leaving a gentleman who travelled withhim to receive them and make his apologies. Another evening,beinginvited to the house of Lady D---- H----, he promised to attend,but upon approaching the windows of her ladyship's villa, andperceiving the room to be fullof company, he set down his friend,desiring him to plead his excuse, and immediately returned home. Thiswill serve as a contradiction to the report which you tellme iscurrent in England, of his having been avoided by his countrymen onthe continent. The case happens to be directly the reverse, as he hasbeen generallysought by them, though on most occasions, apparentlywithout success. It is said, indeed, that upon paying his first visitat Coppet, following the servant who hadannounced his name, he wassurprised to meet a lady carried out fainting; but before he had beenseated many minutes, the same lady, who had been so affectedat thesound of his name, returned and conversed with him a considerabletime--such is female curiosity and affectation! He visited Coppetfrequently, and ofcourse associated there with several of hiscountrymen, who evinced no reluctance to meet him whom his enemiesalone would represent as an outcast.Though Ihave been so unsuccessful in this town, I have been morefortunate in my enquiries elsewhere. There is a society three or fourmiles from Geneva, the centre ofwhich is the Countess of Breuss, aRussian lady, well acquainted with the agrÃ©mens de la SociÃ©tÃ©, and whohas collected them round herself at her mansion.It was chiefly here,I find, that the gentleman who travelled with Lord Byron, asphysician, sought for society. He used almost every day to cross thelake byhimself, in one of their flat-bottomed boats, and return afterpassing the evening with his friends, about eleven or twelve at night,often whilst the storms wereraging in the circling summits of themountains around. As he became intimate, from long acquaintance, withseveral of the families in this neighbourhood, I havegathered fromtheir accounts some excellent traits of his lordship's character,which I will relate to you at some future opportunity. I must,however, free him fromone imputation attached to him--of having inhis house two sisters as the partakers of his revels. This is, likemany other charges which have been brought againsthis lordship,entirely destitute of truth. His only companion was the physician Ihave already mentioned. The report originated from the followingcircumstance: Mr.Percy Bysshe Shelly, a gentleman well known forextravagance of doctrine, and for his daring, in their profession,even to sign himself with the title of ATHeos inthe Album atChamouny, having taken a house below, in which he resided with Miss M.W. Godwin and Miss Clermont, (the daughters of the celebrated Mr.Godwin)they were frequently visitors at Diodati, and were often seenupon the lake with his Lordship, which gave rise to the report, thetruth of which is here positivelydenied.Among other things which the lady, from whom I procured theseanecdotes, related to me, she mentioned the outline of a ghost storyby Lord Byron. Itappears that one evening Lord B., Mr. P. B. Shelly,the two ladies and the gentleman before alluded to, after havingperused a German work, which was entitledPhantasmagoriana, beganrelating ghost stories; when his lordship having recited the beginningof Christabel, then unpublished, the whole took so strong a holdofMr. Shelly's mind, that he suddenly started up and ran out of theroom. The physician and Lord Byron followed, and discovered himleaning against amantle-piece, with cold drops of perspirationtrickling down his face. After having given him something to refreshhim, upon enquiring into the cause of his alarm,they found that hiswild imagination having pictured to him the bosom of one of the ladieswith eyes (which was reported of a lady in the neighbourhood wherehelived) he was obliged to leave the room in order to destroy theimpression. It was afterwards proposed, in the course of conversation,that each of the companypresent should write a tale depending uponsome supernatural agency, which was undertaken by Lord B., thephysician, and Miss M. W. Godwin.[1] My friend, thelady abovereferred to, had in her possession the outline of each of thesestories; I obtained them as a great favour, and herewith forward themto you, as I wasassured you would feel as much curiosity as myself,to peruse the ebauches of so great a genius, and those immediatelyunder his influence."[1] Since publishedunder the title of "Frankenstein; or, The ModernPrometheus."                             THE VAMPYRE.  ________________________________________________________________                            INTRODUCTION.                              __________THE superstition upon which this tale is founded is very general inthe East.Among the Arabians it appears to be common: it did not,however, extend itself to the Greeks until after the establishment ofChristianity; and it has only assumed


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Defenders, by Philip K. DickThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The DefendersAuthor: Philip K. DickIllustrator: Ed EmshwillerRelease Date: May 12, 2009 [EBook #28767]Language: English*** STARTOF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEFENDERS ***Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.netThe DefendersBy PHILIP K. DICKIllustrated by EMSH    _No weapon has ever been frightful enough to put a stop to    war--perhaps becausewe never before had any that thought for    themselves!_[Illustration]Taylor sat back in his chair reading the morning newspaper. The warmkitchen and the smellof coffee blended with the comfort of not havingto go to work. This was his Rest Period, the first for a long time, andhe was glad of it. He folded the secondsection back, sighing withcontentment."What is it?" Mary said, from the stove."They pasted Moscow again last night." Taylor nodded his head inapproval. "Gave ita real pounding. One of those R-H bombs. It's abouttime."He nodded again, feeling the full comfort of the kitchen, the presenceof his plump, attractive wife, thebreakfast dishes and coffee. This wasrelaxation. And the war news was good, good and satisfying. He couldfeel a justifiable glow at the news, a sense of pride andpersonalaccomplishment. After all, he was an integral part of the war program,not just another factory worker lugging a cart of scrap, but atechnician, one ofthose who designed and planned the nerve-trunk of thewar."It says they have the new subs almost perfected. Wait until they get_those_ going." He smacked hislips with anticipation. "When they startshelling from underwater, the Soviets are sure going to be surprised.""They're doing a wonderful job," Mary agreedvaguely. "Do you know whatwe saw today? Our team is getting a leady to show to the schoolchildren. I saw the leady, but only for a moment. It's good forthechildren to see what their contributions are going for, don't youthink?"She looked around at him."A leady," Taylor murmured. He put the newspaper slowlydown. "Well,make sure it's decontaminated properly. We don't want to take anychances.""Oh, they always bathe them when they're brought down from thesurface,"Mary said. "They wouldn't think of letting them down without the bath.Would they?" She hesitated, thinking back. "Don, you know, it makesmeremember--"He nodded. "I know."       *       *       *       *       *He knew what she was thinking. Once in the very first weeks of the war,before everyone hadbeen evacuated from the surface, they had seen ahospital train discharging the wounded, people who had been showeredwith sleet. He remembered the waythey had looked, the expression ontheir faces, or as much of their faces as was left. It had not been apleasant sight.There had been a lot of that at first, in theearly days before thetransfer to undersurface was complete. There had been a lot, and ithadn't been very difficult to come across it.Taylor looked up at his wife.She was thinking too much about it, thelast few months. They all were."Forget it," he said. "It's all in the past. There isn't anybody upthere now but the leadys,and they don't mind.""But just the same, I hope they're careful when they let one of themdown here. If one were still hot--"He laughed, pushing himself awayfrom the table. "Forget it. This is awonderful moment; I'll be home for the next two shifts. Nothing to dobut sit around and take things easy. Maybe we can take ina show. Okay?""A show? Do we have to? I don't like to look at all the destruction, theruins. Sometimes I see some place I remember, like San Francisco.Theyshowed a shot of San Francisco, the bridge broken and fallen in thewater, and I got upset. I don't like to watch.""But don't you want to know what's goingon? No human beings are gettinghurt, you know.""But it's so awful!" Her face was set and strained. "Please, no, Don."Don Taylor picked up his newspapersullenly. "All right, but thereisn't a hell of a lot else to do. And don't forget, _their_ cities aregetting it even worse."She nodded. Taylor turned the rough, thinsheets of newspaper. His goodmood had soured on him. Why did she have to fret all the time? They werepretty well off, as things went. You couldn't expect tohave everythingperfect, living undersurface, with an artificial sun and artificialfood. Naturally it was a strain, not seeing the sky or being able to goany place orsee anything other than metal walls, great roaringfactories, the plant-yards, barracks. But it was better than being onsurface. And some day it would end andthey could return. Nobody_wanted_ to live this way, but it was necessary.He turned the page angrily and the poor paper ripped. Damn it, the paperwas gettingworse quality all the time, bad print, yellow tint--Well, they needed everything for the war program. He ought to know that.Wasn't he one of the planners?Heexcused himself and went into the other room. The bed was stillunmade. They had better get it in shape before the seventh hourinspection. There was a one unitfine--The vidphone rang. He halted. Who would it be? He went over and clickedit on."Taylor?" the face said, forming into place. It was an old face, grayand grim."This is Moss. I'm sorry to bother you during Rest Period, butthis thing has come up." He rattled papers. "I want you to hurry overhere."Taylor stiffened. "What isit? There's no chance it could wait?" Thecalm gray eyes were studying him, expressionless, unjudging. "If youwant me to come down to the lab," Taylorgrumbled, "I suppose I can.I'll get my uniform--""No. Come as you are. And not to the lab. Meet me at second stage assoon as possible. It'll take you about a halfhour, using the fast carup. I'll see you there."The picture broke and Moss disappeared.       *       *       *       *       *"What was it?" Mary said, at the door."Moss.He wants me for something.""I knew this would happen.""Well, you didn't want to do anything, anyhow. What does it matter?" Hisvoice was bitter. "It's all thesame, every day. I'll bring you backsomething. I'm going up to second stage. Maybe I'll be close enough tothe surface to--""Don't! Don't bring me anything! Notfrom the surface!""All right, I won't. But of all the irrational nonsense--"She watched him put on his boots without answering.       *       *       *       *       *Mossnodded and Taylor fell in step with him, as the older man strodealong. A series of loads were going up to the surface, blind carsclanking like ore-trucks up theramp, disappearing through the stagetrap above them. Taylor watched the cars, heavy with tubular machineryof some sort, weapons new to him. Workers wereeverywhere, in the darkgray uniforms of the labor corps, loading, lifting, shouting back andforth. The stage was deafening with noise."We'll go up a way," Mosssaid, "where we can talk. This is no place togive you details."They took an escalator up. The commercial lift fell behind them, andwith it most of the crashing andbooming. Soon they emerged on anobservation platform, suspended on the side of the Tube, the vast tunnelleading to the surface, not more than half a mileabove them now."My God!" Taylor said, looking down the Tube involuntarily. "It's a longway down."Moss laughed. "Don't look."They opened a door and enteredan office. Behind the desk, an officerwas sitting, an officer of Internal Security. He looked up."I'll be right with you, Moss." He gazed at Taylor studying him."You'rea little ahead of time.""This is Commander Franks," Moss said to Taylor. "He was the first tomake the discovery. I was notified last night." He tapped aparcel hecarried. "I was let in because of this."Franks frowned at him and stood up. "We're going up to first stage. Wecan discuss it there.""First stage?" Taylorrepeated nervously. The three of them went down aside passage to a small lift. "I've never been up there. Is it allright? It's not radioactive, is it?""You're likeeveryone else," Franks said. "Old women afraid of burglars.No radiation leaks down to first stage. There's lead and rock, and whatcomes down the Tube isbathed.""What's the nature of the problem?" Taylor asked. "I'd like to knowsomething about it.""In a moment."They entered the lift and ascended. When theystepped out, they were ina hall of soldiers, weapons and uniforms everywhere. Taylor blinked insurprise. So this was first stage, the closest undersurface level tothetop! After this stage there was only rock, lead and rock, and the greattubes leading up like the burrows of earthworms. Lead and rock, andabove that, wherethe tubes opened, the great expanse that no livingbeing had seen for eight years, the vast, endless ruin that had oncebeen Man's home, the place where he hadlived, eight years ago.Now the surface was a lethal desert of slag and rolling clouds. Endlessclouds drifted back and forth, blotting out the red Sun.Occasionallysomething metallic stirred, moving through the remains of a city,threading its way across the tortured terrain of the countryside. Aleady, a surfacerobot, immune to radiation, constructed with feverishhaste in the last months before the cold war became literally hot.Leadys, crawling along the ground, movingover the oceans or through theskies in slender, blackened craft, creatures that could exist where no_life_ could remain, metal and plastic figures that waged awar Man hadconceived, but which he could not fight himself. Human beings hadinvented war, invented and manufactured the weapons, even invented theplayers,the fighters, the actors of the war. But they themselves couldnot venture forth, could not wage it themselves. In all the world--inRussia, in Europe, America,Africa--no living human being remained. Theywere under the surface, in the deep shelters that had been carefullyplanned and built, even as the first bombsbegan to fall.It was a brilliant idea and the only idea that could have worked. Upabove, on the ruined, blasted surface of what had once been a livingplanet, theleady crawled and scurried, and fought Man's war. Andundersurface, in the depths of the planet, human beings toiled endlesslyto produce the weapons tocontinue the fight, month by month, year byyear.       *       *       *       *       *"First stage," Taylor said. A strange ache went through him. "Almost tothesurface.""But not quite," Moss said.Franks led them through the soldiers, over to one side, near the lip ofthe Tube."In a few minutes, a lift will bring somethingdown to us from thesurface," he explained. "You see, Taylor, every once in a while Securityexamines and interrogates a surface leady, one that has been abovefor atime, to find out certain things. A vidcall is sent up and contact ismade with a field headquarters. We need this direct interview; we can'tdepend on vidscreencontact alone. The leadys are doing a good job, butwe want to make certain that everything is going the way we want it."Franks faced Taylor and Moss andcontinued: "The lift will bring down aleady from the surface, one of the A-class leadys. There's anexamination chamber in the next room, with a lead wall in thecenter, sothe interviewing officers won't be exposed to radiation. We find thiseasier than bathing the leady. It is going right back up; it has a jobto get back