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From: Lowney J. <gi...@lo...> - 2010-04-23 08:04:36
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W he had been tracked through the streets, he put his head to the side to think. It was a remarkable compliment to his abstraction that Andrew paused involuntarily in his story and waited. He felt that his future was in the balance. Those sons of peers may faintly realise his position whose parents have hesitated whether to make statesmen or cattle-dealers of them. "I don't mind telling you," the stranger said at last, "that your case has been under consideration. When we left the Embankment my intention was to dispose of you in a doorway. But your story moves me strangely. Could I be certain that you felt the sacredness of human life--as I fear no boy can feel it--I should be tempted to ask you instead to become one of us." There was something in this remark about the sacredness of human life that was not what Andrew expected, and his answer died unspoken. "Youth," continued the stranger, "is enthusiasm, but not enthusiasm in a straight line. We are impotent in directing it, like a boy with a toy engine. How carefully the child sets it off, how soon it goes off the rails! So youth is wrecked. The slightest obstacle sends it off at a tangent. The vital force expended in a wrong direction does evil instead of good. You know the story of Atalanta. It has always been misread. She was the type not of woman but of youth, and Hippomenes personated age. He was the slower runner, but he won the race; and yet how beautiful, even where it run to riot, must enthusiasm be in such a cause as ours!" "If Atalanta had been Scotch," said Andrew "she would not have lost that race for a pound of apples." The stranger regarded him longingly, like a father only prevented by state reasons from embracing his son. He murmured something that Andrew hardly caught. It sounded like: "Atalanta would have been better dead." "Your nationality is in your favour," he said, "and you have served your apprenticeship to our calling. You have been tending towards us ever since you came to London. You are an apple ripe for plucking, and if you are not plucked now you will fall. I would fain take you by |
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From: Kagy S. <lic...@kr...> - 2010-04-11 11:09:35
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Away. It's a regular flood down in the meadow. Everything is spoiled!" "I wonder--I wonder if he means the circus?" thought Bunny, but he was too sleepy to do anything more, just then, than wonder. In the morning, however, when the storm had passed, Bunny Brown and his sister Sue heard some bad news. After breakfast Bunker and Ben came in and Bunker said: "Well, little folks, I guess we can't have any circus!" "No circus!" cried Bunny, and he was so surprised that he dropped his fork with a clatter on his plate, waking up Splash, the big dog, who was asleep in one corner of the room. "Why can't we have a circus?" asked Sue. She and Bunny had almost forgotten about the storm the night before. "We can't have a circus," explained Bunker, "because both our tents were washed away during the night. The brook, that is generally so small that you can wade across it, was so filled with rain water that it was almost turned into a river. It flooded the meadow, the water washed out the tent poles and pegs, and down the tents fell, flat. Then the water rose higher and washed them away." "Where did it wash them?" asked Bunny. "Oh, away down toward the river, I guess. I'm afraid we'll never get 'em back." "It's too bad," said Ben. "Just when we were all ready for the nice circus. But, Bunker, we won't give up yet. We'll look for those tents, and maybe we can put them up again." "Well, maybe we can do it," said the red-haired boy. "But I'm afraid everything is spoiled." "We'll help you look for the tents," said Bunny. "Won't we, Sue?" "If--if the water isn't too deep," said Sue. She was always afraid of deep water, |
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From: Tenant <cat...@ar...> - 2009-12-24 08:32:59
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E most favored spot of the earth as long as it could be seen. Houses flew by, stations were passed; the placid lake, flecked with many boats, lapped the shore as with some friendly greeting. The great buildings of Chicago's business center appeared in view, and the end of their journey was near at hand. "Chicago, all out!" "Listen at 'em," said Uncle, "they've got our money and now they're goin' to put us off. But I guess we must be there." [Illustration: "UNCLE WAS BEING ROUGHLY HANDLED BY THE TWO MEN."] All the people were standing as the magic words were yelled in at the front door by the brakeman. Uncle Jeremiah had not been as excited since he heard of the fall of Richmond. With a valise, packed almost to bursting, in each hand, Uncle was preparing to do whatever he saw others do. The two young men from across the aisle had also arisen and pressed into the cr |
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From: Finello E. <sub...@he...> - 2009-12-06 21:04:08
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F Gruyere_ Before his high manor, the Count of Gruyere, One morning in Maytime looked over the land. Rocky peaks, rose and gold, with the dawning were fair, In the valleys night still held command. "Oh! Mountains! you call to your pastures so green, Where the shepherds and maids wander free, And while often, unmoved, your smiles I have seen, Ah! to-day 'tis with you I would be." Then afloat on the breeze, there came to his ear, Sweet pipes faintly blowing--still distant the sounds---- As across the deep valley, each with his dear, Came the shepherds, dancing their rounds. And now on the green sward they danced and they sang, In their holiday gowns, a pretty parterre, With oft sounding echoes the castle walls rang, To the joy of the Count of Gruyere. Then slim as a lily, a beauteous maid, Took the Count by the hand to join the gay throng. "And now you're our captive, sweet master," she said, "And our leader in dancing and song." Then, the Count at the head, away they all went, A-singing and dancing, through forest and dell. O'er valleys and hillsides, with force all unspent, Till the sun set and starry night fell. The first day fled fast, and the second dawned fair, The third was declining, when over the hills Quick lightning flashed whitely--the Count was not there! "Has he vanished?" they asked of the rills. The black storm clouds have burst, the streams are like blood By the red lightning's glare, and dark night is rent, Oh, look! where our lost one fights hard with the flood, Until a branch saves him, pale and spent. "The mountains which drew me with smiles to their heights, With thunders have kept me, their lover, at bay. Their streams have engulfed me, not these the delights I dreamed of, dancing the hours away. "Farewell, ye green Alps! youths and maidens so gay, Farewell! happy days when a shepherd was I, Stern fates I have questioned have answered me nay, So I leave ye, with smiles and a sigh. "My poor |
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From: Quayle <dic...@xt...> - 2009-12-06 09:19:52
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Ng got out an old ratty deck of cards after breakfast, and him and the duke played seven-up a while, five cents a game. Then they got tired of it, and allowed they would "lay out a campaign," as they called it. The duke went down into his carpet-bag, and fetched up a lot of little printed bills and read them out loud. One bill said, "The celebrated Dr. Armand de Montalban, of Paris," would "lecture on the Science of Phrenology" at such and such a place, on the blank day of blank, at ten cents admission, and "furnish charts of character at twenty-five cents apiece." The duke said that was HIM. In another bill he was the "world-renowned Shakespearian tragedian, Garrick the Younger, of Drury Lane, London." In other bills he had a lot of other names and done other wonderful things, like finding water and gold with a "divining-rod," "dissipating witch spells," and so on. By and by he says: "But the histrionic muse is the darling. Have you ever trod the boards, Royalty?" "No," says the king. "You shall, then, before you're three days older, Fallen Grandeur," says the duke. "The first good town we come to we'll hire a hall and do the sword fight in Richard III. and the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet. How does that strike you?" "I'm in, up to the hub, for anything that will pay, Bilgewater; but, you see, I don't know nothing about play-actin', and hain't ever seen much |
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From: Grando <se...@ge...> - 2009-09-03 02:25:23
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various, and so peculiar were their utterances; likewise thankful that I knew the row made by the jay on the bank above was not a sign of dire distress, but simply the tragic manner of the family. Again, when the wind blew, it was impossible to see the little folk that chattered and whispered and "dee-dee'd" overhead, and though we were absolutely certain a party of tufted tits and chickadees and black and white creepers, who always seemed to travel in company, were frolicking about, we could not distinguish them from the dancing and fluttering leaves. When the day was favorable, and the wren had gone his way, foraging in silence over the low ground at our back, and an old stump that stood there, and the sitter had settled herself in her nest for another half hour, we could look about at whoever happened to be there. Thus I made further acquaintance with the great-crested flycatcher. Hitherto I had known these birds only as they travel through a neighborhood not their own, appearing on the tops of trees, and crying out in martial tones for the inhabitants to bring on their fighters, a challenge to all whom it may concern. It was a revelation, then, to see them quietly at home like other birds, setting up claims to a tree, driving strangers away from it, and spending their time about its foot, seeking food near the ground, and indulging in frolics or fights, whichever they might be, with squealing cries and a rushing flight around their tree. In the latter part of our study, the great-crest babies were out, noisy little fellows, who insisted on being fed as peremptorily as their elders demand their rights and privileges. To make the place still more maddening for study, the birds seemed to sweep through the woods in waves. For a long time not a peep would be heard, not a feather would stir; then all at once "The air would throb with wings," and birds would pour in from all sides, half a dozen at a time, making us want to look six ways at once, and r |
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From: Bowthorpe <fri...@vb...> - 2009-09-02 06:51:46
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From: Berti <ste...@wo...> - 2009-08-18 15:00:30
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