{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3236", "width": "2353", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "a\\\\ n c -^j^^\\nc 0^\\n\\\\0o^\\no^\\\\lO\\nc\\nV^^\\nn^\\n.vN^", "height": "3088", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": ",0", "height": "3088", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3088", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3088", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3088", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS\\nFROM AMERICAN LITERATURE", "height": "3088", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3088", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3084", "width": "2121", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "^/vv\\nfn-^l i^g^jcGyJiSJlBJV N^", "height": "3088", "width": "2184", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS\\nFROM\\nMVERICAN\\nLITERATURE\\nEdited by IRVING BACHELLER\\nWith numerous unique and original Illustrations,\\nincluding fac-simile Reproductions of Authors^ MSS.\\nNEW YORK\\nTHE CHRISTIAN HERALD\\nLOUIS KLOPSCH, Proprietor\\nJ 899", "height": "3084", "width": "2165", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "TVSTO COPIES RECEIVED.\\nLibrary of Congress^\\nOffice of the\\nDtu4~1B99\\nRegister of Copyrights^\\n50948\\nCopyright 1899 by Louis Klopsch\\nSECOND COPY,", "height": "3088", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "PREFACE\\n^HE Editor of this volume has aimed to set forth in it the literary\\nimpulse of our own time, avoiding largely things that have gone stale\\nin familiar anthologies. There are poems, there are speeches, there are\\nchapters of fiction and of history that have a vital quality as infinite as\\nGod s truth, and are ever new, therefore, for all save the fool to whom\\nthere is nothing new. Many of these immortal things have succeeded from\\nanthologer to anthologer by a sort of divine right, and some of them may be\\nfound herein. But this book also and largely reproduces the work of new\\nwriters men and women who have not yet won the fame they merit. Inglorious\\nobscurity now covers many a genius who shall write nay, who may already\\nhave written the novel or the poem that shall shortly go traveling from hand\\nto hand around the earth and whose fame shall be everywhere. After all, they\\nare the people of most importance always they of the present who are making\\nthe things of the future. To them, and to many of greater fame whose courtesy\\nhas made this book possible, and to their publishers, the Editor makes grateful\\nacknowledgment.\\nSpecial acknowledgment is due to Robert H. Russell; The Robert Clarke\\nCompany; Harper Brothers; Houghton, MifHin Co.; Mark Twain;\\nBacheller, Johnson Bacheller; Little, Brown Co.; The Century Co.;\\nFrederick A. Stokes Company; Bacheller Syndicate; Bowen-Merrill Co.; and\\nD. Appleton Co.", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3088", "width": "2170", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "INDEX TO THE SELECTIONS\\nAcross the Jumping Sand Hills\\nAdmiral, The Old\\nAnswer of the Sea, The\\nAutocrat of the Breakfast Table,\\nWit and Wisdom from The\\nBattle Hymn of the Republic\\nBloom Was on the Alder and the\\nTassel on the Corn, The\\nBoard Fence Toses a Plank, A\\nBourget, Le\\nBud Zunts s Mail\\nCamp, Song of the\\nCaptain Mallinger\\nCarpenter and His Son, The\\nChance, A Tale of Mere\\nConspiracy, The\\nDaughter s Love, A\\nDeacon s Daughter, The\\nDeath of Rodriguez, The\\nDecoy Despatch, The\\nDescent Into the Maelstrom, A\\nDetail, A\\nDog on the Roof, The\\nGilbert Parker\\nEdmund Clarence Stedman\\nJohn Langdon Heaton\\nOliver Wendell Holmes\\nJulia Ward Howe\\nDonn Piatt\\nF. Hopkinson Smith\\nRobert W. Chambers\\nRuth McEnery Stuart\\nBayard Taylor\\nHarriet Prescott Spofiford\\nGeneral Lew Wallace\\nStephen Crane\\nJohn Kendrick Bangs\\nFitz James O Brien\\nMarietta Holley Josiah Allen\\nWife\\nRichard Harding Davis\\nClinton Ross\\nEdgar Allan Poe\\nStephen Crane\\nEdward W. Townsend\\nPAGE\\n1 06\\n141\\n362\\n73\\n37\\n267\\n17s\\n81\\n93\\n75\\n43\\n69\\ni8S\\n301\\n319\\n17\\n169\\n241\\n415\\n229", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROAI AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nDouble Head and Single Heart\\nEunice and the Doll\\nFather Damon s Temptation\\nFlying March, The\\nGates Ajar, A GHmpse from The\\nGather Ye Rosebuds While Ye\\nMay\\nGettysburg, Speech at\\nGolden Ingot, The\\nHayne, Reply to\\nHeart of New England, The\\nIn Evidence\\nInstinct, A Matter of\\nIn the Mouth of the Sea\\nInvalid s Story, The\\nIt Is Not Death to Die\\nIvory Miniature, An\\nJinin Farms, The\\nJohn s Trial\\nJudges\\nLanguage That Needs a Rest\\nLaphams Dilemma, The\\nLe Bourget\\nLife Lesson, A.\\nLincoln, Abraham\\nLegend of Sonora, A\\nMatter of Instinct, A\\nMother s Intuition, A\\nMovement Cure for Rheumatism, The,\\nMr. Rabbit, Mr. Fox, and Mr. Buzzard,\\nNature\\nNew England, The Heart of\\nNew England Sunday, A\\nElisabeth Pullen\\nMary E. Wilkins\\nCharles Dudley Warner\\nW. L. Alden\\nElizabeth Stuart Phelps\\nPaul Leicester Ford\\nAbraham Lincoln\\nFitz James O Brien\\nDaniel Webster\\nEdmund Clarence Stedman\\nCharles Kelsey Gaines\\nHoward Fielding\\nEdgar Allan Poe\\nMark Twain\\nGeorge Washington Bethune\\nArthur Grissom\\nEugene Field\\nPhilander Deming\\nCharles Sumner\\nWillis Brooks Hawkins\\nWilliam Dean Howells\\nRobert W. Chambers\\nJames Whitcomb Riley\\nSpeech at Gettysburg\\nHildegarde Hawthorne\\nHoward Fielding\\nLouisa M. Alcott\\nRobert J. Burdette\\nJoel Chandler Harris\\nRalph Waldo Emerson\\nEdmund Clarence Stedman\\nHenry Ward Beecher", "height": "3069", "width": "2194", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "INDEX TO THE SELECTIONS 9\\nPAGE\\nNight Battle of the Revolution, A S. Weir ^^litchell 153\\nNight Before Thanksgiving, The Sarah Orne Jevvett 127\\nNight EleVator Man s Story, The E. W. Townsend 232\\nNight of Defeat, A Joseph A. Altsheler 387\\nOde Richard Watson Gilder 353\\nOdin Moore s Confession Julian Hawthorne 399\\nOld Admiral, The Edmund Clarence Stedman 141\\nOld Jones Is Dead Louise Chandler Moulton .291\\nRainy Day, The Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 167\\nRepublic, Battle Hymn of the Julia Ward Howe j-ii\\nRevelation, The, from The Scarlet\\nLetter Nathaniel Hawthorne 255\\nRip Van Winkle Washington Irving 331\\nRomance of the City Room, A Elizabeth G. Jordan 347\\nRudgis and Grim jMaurice Thompson 219\\nScarlet Letter, The Revelation\\nfrom The Nathaniel Hawthorne 255\\nSickle of Fire, The Charles Kelsey Gaines 26\\nSky, The Richard Henry Stoddard 253\\nSmoke Signifying Doubt Donald G. Mitchell 213\\nSober, Industrious Poet, and How He\\nFared at Easter-time, The James L. Ford 33\\nSong of the Camp, The Bayard Taylor 93\\nSpeech in the Court House, Charles-\\ntown, Va John Brown 237\\nSpelling Down the Master Edward Eggleston 120\\nStory for a Child, A Bayard Taylor 118\\nTale of Mere Chance, A Stephen Crane 69\\nTell-tale Heart, The Edgar Allan Poe 248\\nThanatopsis William Cullen Bryant 343\\nUnder the Lion s Paw Hamlin Garland 157\\nWauna, the Witch-maiden General Charles King 283\\nWreck of The Ariel, The James Fenimore Cooper 277", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "INDEX TO THE AUTHORS\\nAlcott, Louisa M.\\nAlden, W. L.\\nAltsheler, Joseph A.\\nBangs, John Kendrick\\nBeecher, Henry Ward\\nBethune, George Washington\\nBurdette, Robert J.\\nBrown, John, of Ossawatomie\\nBr}^ant, WilHam Cullen\\nChambers, Robert W.\\nCooper, James Fenimore\\nCrane, Stephen\\nDavis, Richard Harding\\nDeming, Philander\\nEggleston, Edward\\nEmerson, Ralph Waldo\\nField, Eugene\\nFielding, Howard\\nA Mother s Intuition 293\\nThe Flying March 112\\nA Night of Defeat, from A Her-\\nald of the West 387\\nThe Conspiracy 185\\nA New England Sunday 203\\nIt Is Not Death to Die 235\\nThe Movement Cure for Rheum-\\natism 190\\nHis Last Speech in the Court\\nHouse of Charlestown, Va. 237\\nThanatopsis 343\\nLe Bourget 175\\nThe Wreck of The Ariel 277\\nA Detail 415\\nA Tale of Mere Chance 69\\nThe Death of Rodriguez 17\\nJohn s Trial 97\\nSpelling Down the Master\\nNature\\nThe Ji i Farms\\nA Matter of Instinct\\nFord, James L The Sober, Industrious Poet, and\\nHow He Fared at Easter\\nFord, Paul Leicester Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye\\nMav\\n120\\n311\\n63\\n195\\n33\\n145", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "INDEX TO THE AUTHORS\\nGaines, Charles Kelsey\\nGarland, Hamlin\\nGilder, Richard Watson\\nGrissom, Arthur\\nHarris, Joel Chandler\\nHawkins, Willis Brooks\\nHawthorne, Hildegarde\\nHawthorne, Julian\\nHawthorne, Nathaniel\\nHeaton, John Langdon\\nHolley, Marietta Josiah Allen s\\nWife\\nHolmes, Oliver Wendell\\nHowe, Julia Ward\\nHowells, William Dean\\nIrving, Washington\\nJewett, Sarah Orne\\nJordan, Elizabeth G\\nKing, General Charles\\nLongfellow, Henry Wadsworth\\nMitchell, Donald G\\nMitchell, S. Weir\\nMoulton, Louise Chandler\\nO Brien, Fitz James\\nParker, Gilbert\\nPhelps, Elizabeth Stuart\\nPiatt, Donn\\nIn Evidence\\nThe Sickle of Fire\\nUnder the Lion s Paw\\nOde\\nAn Ivory Miniature\\nMr. Rabbit, Mr. Fox, and Mr\\nBuzzard\\nLanguage That Needs a Rest\\nA Legend of Sonora\\nOdin Moore s Confession\\nThe Revelation from The Scarlet\\nLetter\\nThe Answer of the Sea\\nThe Deacon s Daughter\\nWit and Wisdom from The Auto\\ncrat of the Breakfast Table\\nBattle Hymn of the Republic\\nThe Laphams Dilemma\\nRip Van Winkle\\nThe Night Before Thanksgiving\\nA Romance of the City Room\\nWauna, the Witch-maiden\\nThe Rainy Day\\nSmoke Signifying Doubt\\nA Night Battle of the Revolution\\nOld Jones is Dead\\nA Daughter s Love (From The\\nGolden Ingot\\nAcross the Jumping Sand Hills\\nA Glimpse From The Gates Ajar\\nThe Bloom Was on the Alder and\\nthe Tassel on the Corn\\n357\\nZ7", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "12 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nPAGE\\nPoe, Edgar Allan The Tell-tale Heart 248\\nPullen, Elisabeth DTDuble Head and Single Heart 273\\nRiley, James Whitcomb A Life Lesson 385\\nRoss, Clinton The Decoy Despatch 169\\nSmith, F. Hopkinson A Board Fence Loses a Plank 267\\nSpofford, Harriet Prescott Captain Mallinger 75\\nStedman, Edmtind Clarence The Heart of New England 200\\nThe Old Admiral 141\\nStoddard, Richard Henry The Sky 253\\nStuart, Ruth McEneiy Bud Zunts s Mail 81\\nSumner, Charles Judges 363\\nTaylor, Bayard The Song of the Camp 93\\nA Story for a Child 118\\nThompson, Maurice Rudgis and Grim 219\\nTownsend, Edward W The Dog on the Roof 229\\nThe Night Elevator Man s Story 232\\nTwain, Mark The Invalid s Story 57\\nWallace, General Lew The Carpenter and His Son 43\\nWarner, Charles Dudley Father Damon s Temptation 39\\nWebster, Daniel Reply to Hayne 315\\nWilkins, Mar}^ E Eunice and the Doll 369", "height": "3092", "width": "2156", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "INDEX TO THE ILLUSTRATIONS\\nPAGE\\nAlcott, Louisa M. 294\\nAltsheler, Joseph A. 386,\\nBacheller, Irving Frontispiece\\nBarr, Amelia E. 396\\nBeecher, Henry Ward 204^\\nBethtine, George Washington 236\\nBrown, John 238\\nBryant, William Cullen 344\\nChambers, Robert W. .174\\nCooper, James Fenimore 278\\nCrane, Stephen 68\\nDavis, Richard Harding 16\\nDeath of Rodriguez, The 21\\nDeming, Philander 96\\nEmerson, Ralph Waldo .312\\nFielding, Howard (Charles W. Hooke) 194\\nFord, James L. 32\\nFord, Paul Leicester 144\\nGaines, Charles Kelsey 24\\nGilder, Richard Watson 352\\nHarris, Joel Chandler, Home of 89\\nHawkins, Willis Brooks 162\\nHawthorne, Hildegarde 366\\nHawthorne, Julian 400\\nHawthorne, Nathaniel 254\\nHawthorne s Birthplace, Nathaniel 257", "height": "3092", "width": "2156", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "4 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nPAl,\\nHeaton, John Langdon 362\\nHolley, Marietta Josiah Allen s Wife 320\\nHolmes, Oliver Wendell 322\\nHome of Joel Chandler Harris .89\\nHooke, Charles W. (Howard Fielding) 194\\nHowe, Julia Ward\\nHowells, William Dean 48\\nIrving, Washington 330\\nJewett, Sarah Orne 128\\nKing, General Charles 282\\nLincoln, Abraham 350\\nLongfellow, Henry Wadsworth 166\\nManse, The (Nathaniel Hawthorne s Home) 261\\nMitchell, Donald G 214\\nMitchell, Dr. S. Weir 152\\nMoulton, Louise Chandler 290\\nPiatt, Donn 36\\nPhelps, Elizabeth Stuart 356\\nPoe, Edgar Allan 240\\nPoe, Edgar Allan, Bust of 247\\nRiley, James Whitcomb 384\\nRoss, Clinton 168\\nSmith, F. Hopkinson 266\\nSpofford, Harriet Prescott 74\\nStedman, Edmund Clarence 140\\nStoddard, Richard Henry 252\\nStuart, Ruth McEnery 82\\nSumner, Charles 364\\nTaylor, Bayard 94\\nThompson, Maurice 22Q\\nTownsend, Edward W. 228\\nTwain, Mark 56\\nWallace, General Lew 44", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "INDEX TO THE ILLUSTRATIONS\\nT5\\nI AGE\\nWarner, Charles Dudley .38\\nWebster, Daniel 314\\nWilkins, Mar}^ E. 368\\nWhittier, John Greenleaf 412\\nFAC-SIMILES OF AUTHORS MSS.\\nBarr, Amelia E., Pages from The Bow of Orange Ribbon 395\\nJewett, Sarah Orne, The Night Before Thanksgiving 127\\nWallace, General Lew, A page from Ben Hur 47\\nWhittier, John Greenleaf, In School-days 411\\nWilkins, Mary- E., A page from one of her stories 383", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "RICHARD HARDING DAVlb", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "THE DEATH OF RODRIGUEZ\\nFROM CUBA IN WAR TIME\\nBY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS\\n(Born at Philadelphia, Pa., April i8th, 1864)\\nDOLFO RODRIGUEZ was the only son of a Cuban farmer, who lives\\nnine miles outside of Santa Clara, beyond the hills that surround that\\ncity to the ngrth.\\nWhen the revolution broke out young Rodriguez joined the\\ninsurgents, leaving his father and mother and two sisters at the farm.\\nHe was taken in December of 1896 by a force of the Guardia Civile, the\\ncorps d elite of the Spanish army, and defended himself when they tried to cap-\\nture him, wounding three of them with his machete.\\nHe was tried by a military court for bearing arms against the government\\nand sentenced to be shot by a fusillade some morning before sunrise.\\nPrevious to execution he was confined in the military prison of Santa Clara\\nwith thirty other insurgents, all of whom were sentenced to be shot, one after the\\nother, on mornings following the execution of Rodriguez.\\nHis execution took place the morning of the nineteenth of January at a place\\na half-mile distant from the city, on the great plain that stretches from the forts\\nout to the hills, beyond which Rodriguez had lived for nineteen years. At the\\ntime of his death he was twenty years old.\\nI witnessed his execution and what follows is an account of the way he went\\nto death. The young man s friends could not be present, for it was impossible for\\nthem to show themselves in that crowd and that place with wisdom or without\\ndistress, and I like to think that, although Rodriguez could not know it, there\\nwas one person present when he died who felt keenly for him, and who was a\\nsympathetic though unwilling spectator.\\nThere had been a full moon the night preceding the execution, and when\\nthe squad of soldiers marched out from town it was still shining brightly through\\nCopyright, 1898, by Robert H. Russell.\\n17", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "i8 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nthe mists, although it was past five o clock. It lighted a plain two miles in extent\\nbroken by ridges and gullies and covered with thick, high grass and with bunches\\nof cactus and palmetto. In the hollow of the ridges the mist lay like broad lakes\\nof water, and on one side of the plain stood the walls of the old town. On the\\nother rose hills covered with royal palms that showed white in the moonlight, like\\nhundreds of marble columns. A line of tiny camp fires that the sentries had\\nbuilt during the night stretched between the forts at regular intervals and burned\\nbrightly.\\nBut as the light grew stronger and the moonlight faded these were stamped\\nout, and when the soldiers came in force the moon was a white ball in the sky,\\nwithout radiance, the fires had sunk to ashes, and the sun had not yet risen.\\nSo, even when the men were formed into three sides of a hollow square,\\nthey were scarcely able to distinguish one another in -the uncertain light of the\\nmorning.\\nThere were about three hundred soldiers in the formation. They belonged\\nto the Volunteers, and they deployed upon the plain with their band in front,\\nplaying a jaunty quickstep, while their officers galloped from one side to the\\nother through the grass, seeking out a suitable place for the execution, while\\nthe band outside the line still played merrily.\\nA few men and boys, who had been dragged out of their beds by the music,\\nmoved about the ridges, behind the soldiers, half-clothed, unshaven, sleepy-eyed,\\nyawning and stretching themselves nervously and shivering in the cool, damp air\\nof the morning.\\nEither owing to discipline or on account of the nature of their errand, or\\nbecause the men were still but half awake, there was no talking in the ranks, and\\nthe soldiers stood motionless, leaning on their rifles, with their backs turned\\nto the town, looking out across the plain to the hills.\\nThe men in the crowd behind them were also grimly silent. They knew\\nthat whatever they might say would be twisted into a word of sympathy for the\\ncondemned man or a protest against the government. So no one spoke even\\nthe oiBcers gave their orders in gruff whispers, and the men in the crowd did not\\nmix together, but looked suspiciously at one another and kept apart.\\nAs the light increased a mass of people came hurrying from the town with\\ntwo black figures leading them, and the soldiers drew up at attention, and part\\nof the double line fell back and left an opening in the square.\\nWith us a condemned man walks only the short distance from his cell to the\\nscafifold or the electric chair, shielded from sight by the prison walls and it often\\noccurs even then that the short journey is too much for his strength and courage.\\nBut the merciful Spaniards on this morning made the prisoner walk for\\nover a half-mile across the broken surface of the fields. I expected to find the", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "RICHARD HARDING DAVIS 19\\nman, no matter what his strength at other times might be, stumbHng and fakering\\non this cruel journey but as he came nearer I saw that he led all the others, that\\nthe priests on either side of him were taking two steps to his one, and that they\\nwere tripping on their gowns and stumbling over the hollows, in their efforts\\nto keep pace with him as he walked, erect and soldierly, at a quickstep in ad-\\nvance of them.\\nHe had a handsome, gentle face of the peasant type a light, pointed beard\\ngreat wistful eyes, and a mass of curly black hair. He was shockingly young\\nfor such a sacrifice, and looked more like a Neapolitan than a Cuban. You\\ncould imagine him sitting on the quay at Naples or Genoa, lolling in the sun\\nand showing his white teeth when he laughed. He wore a new scapula around\\nhis neck, hanging outside his linen blouse.\\nIt seems a petty thing to have been pleased with at such a time, but I\\nconfess to have felt a thrill of satisfaction when I saw, as the Cuban passed me,\\nthat he held a cigarette between his lips, not arrogantly nor with bravado, but\\nwith the nonchalance of a man who meets his punishment fearlessly, and who\\nwill let his enemies see that they can kill but cannot frighten him.\\nIt was very quickly finished, with rough and, but for one frightful blunder,\\nwith merciful swiftness. The crowd fell back when it came to the square, and\\nthe condemned man, the priests and the firing squad of six young Volunteers\\npassed in and the line closed behind them.\\nThe ofBcer who had held the cord that bound the Cuban s arms behind him\\nand passed across his breast, let it fall On the grass and drew his sword, and\\nRodriguez dropped his cigarette from his lips and bent and kissed the cross\\nwhich the priest held up before him.\\nThe elder of the priests moved to one side and prayed rapidly in a loud\\nwhisper, while the other, a younger man, walked away behind the firing squad\\nand covered his face with his hands and turned his back. They had both spent\\nthe last twelve hours with Rodriguez in the chapel of the prison.\\nThe Cuban walked to where the officer directed him to stand, and turned his\\nback to the square and faced the hills and the road across them which led to his\\nfather s farm.\\nAs the officer gave the first command he straightened himself as far as the\\ncords would allow, and held up his head and fixed his eyes immovably on the\\nmorning light which had just begun to show above the hills.\\nHe made a picture of such pathetic helplessness, but of such courage and\\ndignity, that he reminded me on the instant of that statue of Nathan Hale which\\nstands in the City Hall Park, above the roar of Broadway, and teaches a lesson\\ndaiiY to the hurrying crowds of money-makers who pass beneath.\\nThe Cuban s arms were bound, as are those of the statue, and he stood", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "20 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nfirmly, with his weight resting on his heels like a soldier on parade, and with\\nhis face held up fearlessly, as is that of the statue. But there was this difference,\\nthat Rodriguez, while probably as willing to give six lives for his country as was\\nthe American rebel, being only a peasant, did not think to say so, and he will\\nnot, in consequence, live in bronze during the lives of many men, but will be\\nremembered only as one of thirty Cubans, one of whom was shot at Santa Clara\\non each succeeding day at sunrise.\\nThe officer had given the order, the men had raised their pieces, and the\\ncondemned man had heard the click of the triggers as they were pulled back,\\nand he had not moved. And then happened one of the most cruelly refined,\\nthough unintentional, acts of torture that one can very well imaging. As the\\nofficer slowly raised his sword, preparatory to giving the signal, one of the\\nmounted officers rode up to him and pointed out silently what I had already\\nobserved with some satisfaction, that the firing squad were so placed that when\\nthey fired they would shoot several of the soldiers stationed on the extreme end\\nof the square.\\nTheir captain motioned his men to lower their pieces, and then walked\\nacross the grass and laid his hand on the shoulder of the waiting prisoner.\\nIt is not pleasant to think what that shock must have been. The man had\\nsteeled himself to receive a volley of bullets in his back. He believed that in the\\nnext instant he would be in another world he had heard the command given,\\nhad heard the click of the Mausers as the locks caught, and then, at that supreme\\nmoment, a human hand had been laid upon his shoulder and a voice spoke in\\nhis ear.\\nYou would expect that any man who had been snatched back to life in such\\na fashion would start and tremble at the reprieve, or would break down altogether,\\nbut this boy turned his head steadily and followed with his eyes the direction of\\nthe officer s sword, then nodded his head gravely, and, with his shoulders squared,\\ntook up a new position, straightened his back again, and once more held himself\\nerect.\\nAs an exhibition of self-control this should surely rank above feats of\\nheroism performed in battle, where there are thousands of comrades to give in-\\nspiration. This man was alone, in the sight of the hills he knew, with only\\nenemies about him, with no source to draw on for strength but that which lay\\nwithin himself.\\nThe officer of the firing squad, mortified by his blunder, hastily whipped up\\nhis sw^ord, the men once more leveled their rifles, the sword rose, dropped, and\\nthe men fired. At the report the Cuban s head snapped back almost between his\\nshoulders, but his body fell slowly, as though some one had pushed him gently\\nforward from behind and he had stumbled.", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "RICHARD HARDING DAVIS 21\\nHe sank on his side in the wet grass without a struggle or sound, and did\\nnot move again.\\nIt was difficult to beheve that he meant to he there, that it could be ended\\nso without a word, that the man in the linen suit would not get up on his feet\\nTHK DEATH OF RODRIGUEZ\\nFrom Cuba in War Time, by Richard Harding Davis. Copyright, iS\\nby Robert Howard Russell\\nand continue to walk on over the hills, as he apparently had started to do, to his\\nhome that there was not a mistake somewhere, or that at least some one would\\nbe sorry or say something or run to pick him up.\\nBut, fortunately, he did not need help, and the priests returned the\\nyounger one with the tears running down his face and donned their vestments", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "22 BEST THINGS FRO^I A^IERICAX LITERATURE\\nand read a brief requiem for his soul, while the squad stood uncovered, and the\\nmen in hollow square shook their accoutrements into place, and. shifted their\\npieces, and got ready for the order to march, and the band began again with the\\nsame quickstep which the fusillade had interrupted.\\nThe figure lay still on the grass untouched, and no one seemed to remem-\\nber that it had walked there itself, or noticed that the cigarette still burned,\\na tiny ring of living fire, at the place where the figure had first stood.\\nThe figure was a thing of the past, and the squad shook itself like a great\\nsnake, and then broke into little pieces and started off jauntily, stumbling in the\\nhigh grass and striving to keep step to the music.\\nThe officers led it past the figure in the linen suit, and so close to it that the\\nfile closers had to part with the column to avoid treading on it. Each soldier as\\nhe passed turned and^looked down on it, some craning their necks curiously,\\nothers giving a careless glance, and some without any interest at all, as they\\nwould have looked at a house by the roadside or a passing cart or a hole in the\\nroad.\\nOne young soldier caught his foot in a trailing vine, and fell forward just op-\\nposite to it. He grew very red when his comrades giggled at him for his awk-\\nwardness. The crowd of sleepy spectators fell in on either side of the band.\\nThey had forgotten it, too, and the priests put their vestments back in the bag\\nand wrapped their heavy cloaks about them, and hurried off after the others.\\nEvery one seemed to have forgotten it except two men, who came slowly\\ntoward it from the town, driving a bullock cart that bore an unplaned colBn, each\\nwith a cigarette between his lips, and with his throat wrapped in a shawl to keep\\nout the morning mists.\\nAt that moment the sun, which had shown some promise of its coming in the\\nglow above the hills, shot up suddenly from behind them in all the splendor of\\nthe tropics, a fierce, red disc of heat, and filled the air with warmth and light.\\nThe bayonets of the retreating column flashed in it, and at the sight of it a\\nrooster in a farmyard near by crowed vigorously and a dozen bugles answered\\nthe challenge with the brisk, cheery notes of the reveille, and from all parts of the\\ncity the church bells jangled out the call for early mass, and the whole world of\\nSanta Clara seemed to stir and stretch itself and to wake to welcome the day\\njust begun.\\nBut as I fell in at the rear of the procession and looked back, the figure of\\nthe young Cuban, who was no longer a part of the world of Santa Clara, was\\nasleep in the wet grass, with his motionless arms still tightly bound behind him,\\nwith the scapula twisted awry across his face and the blood from his breast sink-\\ning into the soil he had tried to free.", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 23\\nIN EVIDENCE\\nBY CHARLES KELSEY GAINES\\n(Born at Royal ton, N. Y., October 21, 1854)\\nYes, Jedge, I ll try\\nI ll tell ye God s own truth but tain t no use.\\nI hain t got no defense, I can t make no excuse.\\nI m mighty nigh\\nTo breakin down right here. O Jedge, it s hell,\\nHell that I m goin through. I know I ve got ter tell\\nAn Jedge, I ll try.\\nThat ain t the wust\\nThe sentence an the hangin an the rest.\\nEf dyin means fergittin dyin Jedge, is best.\\nAn sence I must,\\nI ll tell it straight. But, oh, my God my eyes\\nSees bloody, night an day, n my ears is deaved with cries\\nAn that s the wust.\\nAn Jedge, twa n t drink\\nI m desput rough, I know, but that ain t me\\nI don t drink tendin switch, an never takes a spree.\\nJedge, ye sha n t think\\nI d wreck a hundred souls fer a pot o beer;\\nTain t no excuse fer sleepin but, fore God, I sweer\\nI wa n t in drink.\\nShe were so sick\\nMy little gal an Vic were clean wore out\\nVic, she s my wife, an she ain t noway stout.\\nI says to Vic,\\nYou jest lay down, an I ll set up ter-night.\\nTwa n t right ter take the resk, but Vic were wild an white,\\nAn Sis so sick.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "CHARLES KELSEY GAINES\\n24", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "CHARLES KELSEY GAINES 25\\nNex night twere wuss.\\nThe neighbors said they d help, but none come nigh\\nAn Sis were faihn fast, an ic did naught but cry\\nI had ter nuss.\\nCome day, I source could stan an axed the boss\\nTer let me off jest onct but he were jalous cross,\\nAn gi me a cuss.\\nMy eyes would shet\\nI stomped an tried ter count, but scurce could think\\nI d glower an stare an start, an still they d daze an blink.\\nI dassent set:\\nI danced an prayed an sweated in the cold.\\nAn cussed an groun my teeth Jedge, I did wark ter hold,\\nBut they would shet.\\nTwere growin dark\\nThat s arly long o Chrismus, as ye know\\nI thought I heered my pardner wadin through the snow,\\nAn stopped ter hark.\\nThinks I, O God in Heaven! at larst he s come;\\nThis orful day is ended I kin steer fer hum.\\nLord ain t it dark\\nThen, fer a spell,\\nI kind o los myself yit heered the train\\nThe whistle went a-screechin through my whirlin brain\\nI heered the bell.\\nJedge, I jumped like mad an set the switch\\n1 seen I set it wrong the train were in the ditch.\\nAn I in hell.\\nTher ain t no more\\nCept Sis, she s dead, an Vic s gone ravin mad\\nEf I were one or t other twouldn t seem so bad\\nP r aps that s in store.\\nManslaughter, did ye say, Jedge? Well, that s right:\\nThe verdick s jest. But. Jedge, God s verdick ain t so light\\nMy sleepin s o er.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "26 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nTHE SICKLE OF FIRE\\nBY CHARLES KELSEY GAINES\\nT is a fact not generally known, outside strictly scientific circles at least,\\nthat there exists an element (technically called Hydropyrogen, symbol\\nHp) possessing qualities of such a nature that its more abundant pro-\\nduction, or any recklessness in use, might imperil the human race.\\nHappily, in its pure state, in which alone it is dangerous, this substance\\nis very rare indeed, only one specimen is now known to exist, and\\nthat is kept hermetically sealed in thick glass. Its name never appears in the\\nordinary text-books for prudential reasons.\\nThere are more of these formidable secrets in the laboratories of our biol-\\nogists and chemists than most people suspect. Few, until very recently, were\\naware that in a frail glass tube, not too scrupulously guarded, in the very heart\\nof the great American metropolis, there are living, malignant germs of Asiatic\\ncholera wliich, if set free, might cause an epidemic that would cost millions of\\nlives. And there are other things in that lockless cabinet quite as bad. There\\nexist, also, poisons, the formulae for which are never published, and explosives\\nthat no chemist dare compound save in the minutest quantities. Many of these\\nare altogether unknown to the ordinary student only the well-tried specialist\\nhas knowledge of them.\\nBut return to hydropyrogen. It is obtained, but only with the greatest\\ndifficulty, from the smoke products of a certain kind of sea-weed. Even in this\\nthe element is not always present. Out of a hundred specimens incinerated and\\nanalyzed, ninety-nine would probably show no trace of it and when it does occur,\\nfew are the chemists able to detect, much less separate, it a most fortunate cir-\\ncumstance.\\nHydropyrogen, as developed from this sea-weed when burned under the ac-\\ntion of an electric current (Tesla s) of the highest tension, is an almost impalpa-\\nble gas, the lightest yet discovered. It diffuses rapidly, and easily permeates\\nevery known substance except indurated glass. When subjected to a process\\nsimilar to that by which other gases are liquefied a combination of tremendous\\npressure with extreme cold it suddenly solidifies, falling in a heap of slender,\\nneedle-like crystals of a vivid ruby color. This experiment has been successfully\\ncarried through only three times. The crystals thus obtained may be preserved\\nfor almost any length of time, provided they are kept absolutely free from moist-\\nure hence they are sealed in heavy tubes of indurated glass. In the darkness", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "CHARLES KELSEY GAINES 27\\nthese crystals gleam with a fiery, quivering phosphorescence, comparable only\\nto. the shifting colors sometimes seen in the aurora borealis. Indeed, it is prob-\\nably of the same essential nature, being caused by induced currents streaming\\nthrough the vacuum tubes in which this unstable and intensely energetic agent\\nis encased.\\nI have said that hydropyrogen is dangerous to the safety of the world. This\\nis due to its extraordinary effect in decomposing and inflaming water. Not that\\nit is difficult to decompose water that is done every day by familiar processes\\nbut there is no other agent which exhibits so terrible a potency no other which\\nso defies control.\\nIts action may be explained by a familiar illustration. A child sets on end\\na line of dominoes, separated by spaces of about an inch. He pushes over the\\nnearest, and the whole line goes down with a swift crash, each unbalancing the\\nnext till all are fallen. Just so with a series of molecules the dissolution of one\\nbreaks up those next adjacent, when once the action is started. Such is the oper-\\nation of all explosives, and of many poisons, e. g., snake venom. There seems\\nto be scarcely any limit to the effect which may be produced by an infinitesimal\\nportion of the disturbing agent, provided it has a continuous field of suitable ma-\\nterial on which to act.\\nHow fearful may be the efifect of hydropyrogen if indiscreetly used, no living\\nman can testify as I can. Why do I tell the story? Because some vague hints\\nhave already reached the public through certain Canadian papers and if the\\nmatter is to be agitated at all, the warning lesson should be read in full.\\nIt occurred only a few months ago. I had been studying for several years\\nunder Professor O. D. McKazy, the discoverer of hydropyrogen and the only man\\nwho has ever succeeded in producing the crystals. I had assisted him in his ex-\\nperiments often a trying ordeal and was deep in his confidence. We had\\nalready used the crystals on the contents of a large tank in an enclosed court,\\nwith startling results. The professor now wished to experiment on a much larger\\nscale, which could be done with safety only in an uninhabited region. He had\\nheard of a small lake suitable for the purpose, in British America, among the\\nmountains near the Pacific Coast, and thither we proceeded.\\nOur journey, though not without hardship, was accomplished without mis-\\nchance. We encamped, with our Indian guides, about two miles from the lake,\\nwhich we first visited by day to make sure of the trail. Then at night, leaving\\nour Indians whom we never saw afterward we stole with feverish eagerness\\nthrough the black darkness of the evergreens, and at last emerged on the ledges\\nthat overhung the lake.\\nIt lay at some depth below, banked with clifTs on every side, reflecting the\\nblack sky and the sparkling stars. Nearly opposite, a little white cascade drew a", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "28 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nbroad chalk-mark down the dusky wall, and we could faintly hear its chilly\\ndashings. The place was like a well, and it was said to have no outlet.\\nDropping upon our hands and knees we crept out on a jutting bluff, and the\\nprofessor tossed down a pebble. The splash shattered the reflected sky then its\\nstars returned, but waved and blinked as the ripples circled outward.\\nWith great precaution the professor now broke the tube containing the\\ncrystals, and hastily cast it down after the pebble. As it reached the surface,\\nalong with the splash a faint hiss was audible. For an instant fiery worms\\nwriggled and darted about. Then a little ruby cloud appeared in the water. It\\ngrew till it glowed like the sunset. A seething sound was heard, and we per-\\nceived that the hue was caused by an infinitude of little fiery bubbles and as they\\nrose and burst, a pale blue flame began to play above the water. Pale, but hot\\nhorribly hot. We could feel its withering blast even where wq stood. It\\nmounted higher it towered above us.\\nRun! run! screamed the professor. And we ran as if hell had opened at\\nour feet.\\nEven so, our delay had wellnigh cost our lives. Breathless, scorched, shud-\\ndering, we reached the brow of the mountain. Here we lay flat, and shielding\\nour faces peered back over the edge.\\nAll the water was now red as sun-shot wine the whole lake was seething\\nlike a caldron. The rocky walls shone ruddy with the reflection or, was it pos-\\nsible that they were growing red with the heat? The blue flames united from\\nall parts of the surface, and rose to the sky in a tall, faint, wavering column, much\\nlike the flame of an alcohol lamp, but half a mile high.\\nAnd the heat oh the heat was blinding. Our flesh was blistered the\\nvery hair upon our heads was crinkling, burning. Crazy with pain and terror\\nwe rolled down the slope, leaped, ran, plunged, fell, and at last brought up in a\\ndeep ravine near the foot of the mountain, where a considerable stream gushed\\nfrom a cavern. How cool and comforting its plashing seemed\\nWe now lay in the shadow of the hill but just over our heads streamed the\\nblue light and consuming ardor of that fiery column from which we had fled,\\nglinting upon the rocks and withering the scanty vegetation for miles around.\\nWe saw acres of stunted evergreens below us. shrinking, crisping to tinder, in\\nthat inordinate glow; then the dry needles sparkled, and here and there a tree\\nsprouted up a fountain of red flame. Soon the whole forest was ablaze beyond\\nus, and our ravine was in shadow no longer.\\nThen we crept back into the cavern of the roaring stream, far under the\\nmountain, finding precarious foothold by the margin of the water, till at last only\\na faint glow showed the opening by which we had entered. Here the rugged\\nroof vaulted higher, and was lost in darkness. We sunk prone on a shelf of rock", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "CHARLES KELSEY GAINES 29\\nbeside the gurgling torrent the spray dashed over our aching Hmbs, and wc\\nfound reHef.\\nBut the place was full of noises. Not merely the voice of the pouring waters\\nthat moaned and echoed everywhere. More and more frequent came rumblings,\\nfollowed by a sound like heavy thunder, and a tremor as if the mountain shud-\\ndered to its roots. Doubtless, the raging furnace above was cracking the clifYs\\nthat walled the lake the overheated ledges were bursting.\\nI perspired under the raining spray it seemed to me that the floor on which\\nI lay was growing warmer. I laved my hand in the running water, but jerked it\\nback with a cry the stream was scalding hot A ruddy sparkle seethed in its\\ncurrent the vault above me was becoming faintly visible as I gazed, the fan-\\ntastic cavern dome grew rosy as the morning sky.\\nWith a scream of terror I sprang toward the entrance a great light flamed\\nbehind me a strong gust of fire and wind swept me onward, till I found myself\\nfallen on the bank of the ravine outside. A pale blue blow-pipe flame went hiss-\\ning past me. With it came shrieks of agony more terrible than all the groanings\\nof the tormented hill shrieks of human anguish and a strange ape-like figure\\nwas flung beside me and lay writhing. It was the professor, my friend, but\\nseared and branded almost beyond recognition. His clothing was burned away\\nof his straggling locks and black silky beard not a hair remained. His long arms\\ntwitched, and his slender fingers clutched the parched, crumbling moss as he lay\\nin pain inexpressible. Thus Science had rewarded her most gifted votary.\\nYet even in that supreme moment he was not forgetful. Twas the out-\\nlet he gasped. The ferment has worked through. Oh, my God Run\\nCut off the stream or the world is lost.\\nThe situation was so tremendous that for an instant I could not grasp it. T\\nstood motionless as if I had not heard.\\nHe sprang up and pushed me. In the anguish of his soul the torment of\\nhis body was forgotten.\\nThe sea he wailed. O God O God Cut it off from the sea\\nHe was an atheist, but he called upon God. Many times in that awful hour\\nhe called upon God. It was not profanity it was the elemental cry of the human\\nsoul in its despair. It is the cry that will be heard on the Day of Judgment It\\nis the cry of the damned.\\nThe Day of Judgment It was upon us. The last trump had sounded the\\nearth was to be consumed, and its oceans would be as oil in that mighty con-\\nflagration.\\nI leaped down the ravine. Already the upper waters of the stream were\\nburned away, and its bed was dry and hot. Yet such speed did I make in that\\nmad, desperate race that I almost overtook the fleeing torrent which flowed and", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "30 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nflamed before me. Then suddenly my strength gave way, my hmbs sunk under\\nme, and I fell like a stricken animal For some moments I lay shrouded in\\ndeadly faintness, incapable of thought.\\nThen, with a wrench of effort, I sat up, giddy and weak. I found myself on\\nthe brink of a vast precipice three steps more would have ended all where the\\ntorrent had dropped its foaming waters through a sheer descent of more than a\\nhundred feet.\\nBut the torrent was gone. Only a little fire still dripped from the verge, and\\nsplashed in liquid flashes upon the rocks below. And the pale light and searing\\nheat no longer streamed down from the mountain, though the red crater that an\\nhour before had held the glimmering lake cast up a lurid, volcanic glow against\\nthe sky.\\nBefore me lay a broad, dusky landscape, sloping toward the sea, buried in\\nmist and shadow. But through it ran a flicker of light, as the envenomed stream\\nsped on its deadly mission toward the deep, breaking at intervals into cascades\\nof incandescent brightness, and sending far down its current the ruddy, sparkling\\nspume that marked the first decomposition of the waters. Nearer and nearer\\nto the sea the fiery line was creeping, stretching itself along like a glowing earth-\\nworm.\\nAnd I, too, cried upon God in my extremity, for man was impotent and\\nscience vain. Science Was it not the very life-blood of that red devil yonder,\\ncrawling on with unquenchable torch to make a molten ruin of the world? And\\nI, that believed not in God, also prayed to God, and wept and prayed again.\\nIn the midst of my crying I felt a touch, and clasped in my arms the limp\\nbody of my almost dying friend. Dying he surely was yet, even then, his iron\\nwill hardened by scientific training and ordeals such as ordinary men never\\ndream of so triumphed that, despite the intolerable suffering that dazed and\\nblinded him, he had dragged himself down the rough gorge to see the end.\\nAnd the end was near. Already that distant tongue of vibrant flame was\\nflickering at the margin of the sea. It was more than human nerves could bear.\\nWe shrieked out like men in nightmare terror. We shrieked, and shrieked\\nagain, and could not cease, for the end of the world was NOW.\\nThe yeasty spume darted out against the surf. Then a long white-crested\\nwave rolled in and buried it from view. A tall column of steam shot up, so ruddy\\nthat at first it seemed a jet of fire and a sound began to fill the air, as when white-\\nhot steel is quenched in the ice-bath.\\nThe professor sprang to his feet. He stood lifted upon his toes, every muscle\\ntense his breath came and went in shrill sighs. Disfigured, naked, in that weird\\nlight, he was like a devil-hunted soul fleeing from its place of torment on his face\\na wild agony of hope, as if one might indeed escape from hell. He strove to", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "CHARLES KELSEY GAINES 31\\nspeak, but the words gurgled like an obstructed brook. Then with supreme en-\\ndeavor he trumpeted a cry: The salt! if I heard aright, for indeed it was\\nhardly articulate, and he fell like a figure of stone.\\nMeanwhile, as the wave receded on the beach a change was visible. The red\\nhad vanished a wash of luminous green flowed down the sand the surf was shot\\nwith sparkles and flashes of still more vivid hue. Then the red waters of the\\nstream again prevailed, and pressed far out in the brine. Gushes of colored light\\nbubbled up from depths, and all over the tossing surface fluttered flames of blue\\nand green. It seemed as if the briny waters and the fresh were struggling for\\nthe mastery. Was it possible that the salt of the sea had power? I dared not\\nthink it.\\nThe waters were now boiling with volcanic violence the air above was thick\\nwith rolling clouds of tinted vapor the many-hued gleams and flashes playing\\nunder the waves lit up the bottom of the ocean far and near. So intense was the\\nillumination that I could see the scaly glitter of the frightened fishes as they sped\\naway on every side, and the black slimy shapes of nameless monsters struggling\\nin the scalding liquid.\\nI lifted my eyes to the black, unanswering heavens, and cried to the void\\nabove\\nO God if thou art God oh cast me down for my sins, with this raging\\nfire, into the abyss of hell but save the fair world created by thy hand, its teem-\\ning cities, and the millions that are sleeping, thy children.\\nAnd at that moment I seemed to see all the peoples of the earth buried in\\nslumber, the bride in the arms of her loved one, the mother beside her babe.\\nAnd I saw, as in a vision, a conflagration mounting above the clouds, streaming\\nfar into airless space, sweeping on to the destruction of mankind.\\nThe channel of the stream was now empty the last crimson drops of fer-\\nment were drained into the deep. For an instant the surface darkened, and the\\nebullition almost ceased. Then, with an earthquake shudder, a blinding\\navalanche of liquid incandescence, the waters were lifted in a thousand fountains.\\nI lay staring at the sky raindrops were falling on my face it was very dark.\\nWhether I had been stunned by the shock of the explosion, or whether human\\nconsciousness could no longer endure the strain, I do not know. Evidently some\\ntime had elapsed. My head was resting upon something cold and dead. I knew\\ntoo well what it was but at first I could not rise my will was helpless, my body\\ncorpse-like. I tried to think, but sensation lapsed again.\\nAt last I roused, and was able to turn a little. Slowly the power of sight\\ncame back to my glazed eyeballs. All the land was in shadow the sea was dark\\nand smooth. The virus of fire was quite burned out, the last spark extinguished\\nin the quenching brine. The world was saved", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "JAMES L. FORD\\n32", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 33\\nTHE SOBER, INDUSTRIOUS POET, AND HOW\\nHE FARED AT EASTER-TIME\\nBY JAMES L FORD\\n(Born at St. Louis, Mo., July 25, 1S54)\\nLAS, Mary exclaimed William Sonnet, as he entered his neat but\\nhumble tenement apartment a few days before the close of Lent, I fear\\nthat our Pfingst holiday this year will be anything but a merry one.\\nMy employers have notified me that if they receive any more com-\\nplaints of the goods from my department they will give me the sack.\\nWilliam Sonnet was certainly playing in hard luck, although it\\nwould be difficult to find in the whole of Jersey City a more industrious, sober\\nyoung poet, or a more devoted husband and father. For nine years he had been\\nemployed in the Empire Prose and Verse Foundry, the largest literary establish-\\nment on the banks of the Hackensack, where by sheer force of sobriety and indus-\\ntry he had risen from the humble position of cash-boy at the hexameter counter to\\nthat of foreman of the dialect floor, where forty-five hands were kept constantly\\nemployed on prose and verse. During these years his relations with his employ-\\ners, Messrs. Rime Reeson, had been of the pleasantest nature until about six\\nweeks previous to the opening of this story, when they began unjustly, as it\\nseemed to him to find fault with the goods turned out by his department. There\\nwere complaints received at the office every day, they said, of both the dialect\\nstories and verses that bore the Empire brand.\\nThe Century Magazine had returned a large invoice of hand-sewed negro\\ndialect verses of the Befoli de Wah variety, and a syndicate which supplied the\\nWestern market had canceled all its Spring orders on the ground that the dialect\\ngoods had for some reason or other fallen far below the standard maintained by\\nthe other departments of the Empire Foundry. William was utterly unable to\\naccount for this change in the quality of the manuscript prepared on his floor, and\\nas he sat with his bowed head resting on his toil-hardened hand, and the sweat\\nand grime of honest labor on his brow, he looked, indeed, the very picture of de-\\njection.\\nWilliam, said his wife, as she placed a caressing hand on his forehead,\\nyou have enemies in the Foundry whom you do not suspect. You must know\\nthat when you wooed and won me a year ago I had been courted by no less than\\nfour dififerent poets who at that time were employed at the Eagle Verse Works", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "34 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nin Newark, but have since found positions with Messrs. Rime Reeson. I\\nwill not deny, William, that I toyed with the affections of those poets, but it was\\nbecause I deemed them as frivolous as myself, and when they went from my\\npresence with angry threats on their lips I laughed in merry glee. But when I\\nsaw them standing on street corners, with their heads together in earnest con-\\nversation, I grew sick at heart, for I knew it boded us no good. Be warned,\\nWilliam, by my words.\\nThe next day, when the whistle blew at noon, William Sonnet ate his dinner\\nfrom his tin pail as usual but then, instead of going out into the street to play\\nbaseball with the poets from the adjacent factories, as the Empire Foundry em-\\nployees generally did, he took a quiet stroll through the whole establishment, un-\\nder the pretense of looking for an envoy that had been knocked off the end of a\\nballade.\\nIn the packing department was a large consignment of goods from his floor\\nready for shipment, and he stopped to examine the burr of a Scotch magazine\\nstory to make sure that it had not been rubbed off by carelessness. What was\\nhis surprise to find that the dialect, which he himself had gone over with a cross-\\ncut file that very morning, was now worn completely smooth by contact with an\\nemery wheel. He replaced the story carefully in the fine sawdust in which it was\\npacked, and then examined the other goods. They had not yet been touched,\\nbut it was evident to him that the miscreants fully intended to finish the de-\\nstructive work which they had only had time to begin. Returning to his own\\nbench, he passed two or three poets who were talking earnestly together, and by\\nstraining his ears he heard one of them whisper\\nWe ll finish the job to-night. Meet me at ten.\\nThat was enough for William Sonnet. He determined, without delay, what\\ncourse to pursue.\\nAt half-past nine that evening three mysterious figures, draped in black\\ncloaks, entered the Empire Prose and Verse Foundry by a side door. William\\nSonnet was one of ihe three, and the others were his employers, Messrs. Rime\\nReeson. He led them to a place of concealment which commanded a full view\\nof the packing-room. Before long stealthy footsteps were heard, and the four\\nconspirators entered.\\nListen, said the eldest of the quartet, as he threw the light from his dark\\nlantern on the sullen faces of his companions you all know why we are here.\\nThis night will complete William Sonnet s ruin, and Easter Monday will find him\\nhunting for work in Paterson and Newark, and hunting in vain. Why is he\\nforeman of the dialect department, while we toil at the bench for a mere crust?\\nMary Birdseye is now his bride, but when we wooed her we were rejected, like\\nour own poems.", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "TAMES L. FORD\\n35\\nAnd that, too, although we enclosed no postage, retorted the second poet,\\nbitterly.\\nNow to work, continued the first speaker, as he stooped to examine some\\ngoods on the floor. What have we here? A serial for the Atlantic Monthly?\\nWell we ll soon fix that, and in another moment he had injected a quantity of\\nginger into the story, ruining it completely. Then the work of destruction went\\non, while Messrs. Rime Reeson watched the vandals with horror depicted on\\ntlieir faces. A pan of sweepings from the humorous department, designed for\\nHarper s Editor s Drawer and the Bazar, was thrown away, and real funny\\njokes substituted for them.\\nA page article for the Sunday supplement of a New York daily, entitled\\nMillionaires Who Have Gold Filling in Their Teeth, embellished with cuts of\\ntwenty different jaws, was thrown out, and an article on Jerusalem the Golden,\\nordered by the White Sepulchre, substituted.\\nMessrs. Rime Reeson could control themselves no longer. Stacked\\nagainst the wall like a woodpile were the twelve instalments of a Century serial,\\nwhich had been sawed into the proper lengths that afternoon. Seizing one of\\nthese apiece, the three men made a sudden onslaught on the miscreants and beat\\nthem into insensibility. Then they bound them securely and delivered them over\\nto the tormentors.\\nAs for honest William Sonnet, he was made foreman of the whole Foundry\\nand his wife, who was a fashion writer, and therefore never fit to be seen, received\\na present of two beautiful new tailor-made dresses, which fitted her so well that\\nno one recognized her, and she opened a new line of credit at all the stores in the\\nneighborhood.\\nIt was a happy family that sat down to the Easter dinner in William Sonnet s\\nmodest home and to make their joy complete, before the repast was ended an\\nenvelope arrived from William s grateful employers containing an appointment\\nfor his bedridden mother-in-law as reader for a large publishing house.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "DONN PIATT\\n36", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "BEST THIXGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nTHE BLOOM WAS ON THE ALDER AND THE\\nTASSEL ON THE CORN\\nBY DONN PIATT\\n(Born at Cincinnati, O., June 29, 1819; died at Cleveland, O., November 12, 1S91)\\nI heard the bob-white whistle in the dewy breath of morn\\nThe bloom was on the alder and the tassel on the corn.\\nI stood with beating heart beside the babbling Mac-o-chee,\\nTo see my love come down the glen to keep her tryst with me.\\nI saw her pace, with quiet grace, the shaded path along,\\nAnd pause to pluck a flower or to hear the thrush s song.\\nDenied by her proud father as a suitor to be seen,\\nShe came to me, with loving trust, my gracious little queen.\\nAbove my station, heaven knows, that gentle maiden shone,\\nFor she was belle and wide beloved, and I a youth unknown.\\nThe rich and great about her thronged, and sought on bended knee\\nFor love this gracious princess gave, with all her heart, to me.\\nSo like a startled fawn before my longing eyes she stood.\\nWith all the freshness of a girl in flush of womanhood.\\nI trembled as I put my arm about her form divine.\\nAnd stammered, as in awkward speech, I begged her to be mine.\\nTis sweet to hear the pattering rain, that lulls a dimlit dream\\nTis sweet to hear the song of birds, and sweet the rippling stream\\nTis sweet amid the mountain pines to hear the south wind s sigh\\nMore sweet than these and all beside was the loving, low reply.\\nThe little hand I held in mine held all I had of life\\nTo mold its better destiny and soothe to sleep its strife.\\nTis said that angels watch o er men, commissioned from above\\nMy angel walked with me on earth, and gave to me her love.\\nAh dearest wife, my heart is stirred, my eyes are dim with tears\\nI think upon the loving faith of all these bygone years,\\nFor now we stand upon this spot, as in that dewy morn.\\nWith the bloom upon the alder and the tassel on the corn.\\nBy permission of The Robert Clarke Company.\\nZ7", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "iiicsT rmxGs I Kuai amickicax ijtkkatuke 39\\nFATHER DAMON S TEMPTATION\\nlilvIXC. A CIIM TI-K I KOM Till C.OI.DI^N IIOTSK\\nBY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER\\n(Born at Plainfield, Mass., vSepteinber 12, 1829)\\nITH a supreme effort of his iron will is the will, after all, stronger than\\nlove? Father Damon arose. He stretehed out his hand to say fare-\\nwell. She also stood, and she felt the hand tremble that held hers.\\nGod bless you he said. You are so good. He was going.\\nHe took her other hand, and was looking down upon her face. She\\nlooked up, and their eyes met. It was for an instant, a flash, glance\\nfor glance, as swift as the stab of daggers.\\nAll the power of heaven and earth could not recall that glance nor undo its\\nrevelations. The man and woman stood face to face revealed.\\nHe bent down toward her face. Affrighted by his passion, scarcely able to\\nstand in her sudden emotion, she started back. The action, the instant of time,\\nrecalled him to himself. He dropped her hands, and was gone. And the\\nwoman, her knees refusing any longer to support her, sank into a chair, help-\\nless, and saw him go, and knew in that moment the height of a woman s joy, the\\ndepth of a woman s despair.\\nIt had come to her. Steeled by her science, shielded by her philanthropy,\\nschooled in indifference to love, it had come to her And it was hopeless.\\nHopeless? It was absurd. Her life was determined. In no event could it be\\nin harmony with his opinions, with his religion, which was dearer to him than\\nlife. There was a great gulf between them which she could not pass unless she\\nceased to be herself. And he A severe priest Vowed and consecrated\\nagainst human passion What a government of ihe world if there w^ere any\\ngovernment that could permit such a thing! It was terrible.\\nAnd yet she was loved That sang in her heart with all the pain, with all\\nthe despair. And with it all was a great pity for him, alone, gone into the wilder-\\nness, as it would seem to him, to struggle with his fierce temptation.\\nIt had come on darker as she sat there. The lamps were lighted, and she\\nwas reminded of some visits she must make. She went, mechanically, to her\\nroom to prepare for going. The old jacket, which she took up, did look rather\\nrusty. She went to the press it was not much of a wardrobe\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and put on the\\nl-*rom The (iolden House, copyright, 1894, by Harper Brothers. All rights reserved.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "40 BEST TlllXGS FROM AMKRICAX LITKRATLRK\\none that was reserved for holidays. And the hat? Her friend, had often joked\\nher about the hat. but now for the first time she seemed to see it as it nnght ap-\\npear to others. As she held it in her hand, and then put it on before the mirror,\\nshe smiled a little, faintlv. at its appearanee. And then she laid it aside for her\\nbetter hat. She never had been so long- in dressing before. And in the even-\\ning, too. wlien it eould make no diflferenee It might, after all. be a little more\\nelK^erful for her forlorn patients. Perhaps she was not eonseious that she was\\nmaking selections, that she was paying a little more attention to her todet than\\nusual. Perhaps it was only the woman who was eonseious that she was loved.\\nIt would be difficult to say what emotion was uppermost in the mind of\\nFather Damon as he left the house\u00e2\u0080\u0094 mortification, conteiupt of himself, or horror.\\nBut there was a sense of escape, of physical escape, and the imperative need of it.\\nthat quickened his steps almost to a run. In the increasing dark, at this hour,\\nin this quarter of the town, there were comparatively few whose observation of\\nhim would recall him to himself. He thought only of escape, and of escape from\\nthat quarter of the citv that was the witness of his labors and his failure, hor\\nthe moment, to get awav from this was the one necessity and without reasoning\\nin the matter, onlv feeling, he was hurrying, stumbling in his haste, northward.\\nBefore he went to the hospital he had been tired, physically weary. He was\\nscarcely conscious of it now indeed, his body, his hated body, seemed lighter,\\nand the dominant spirit now awakened to contempt of it had a certain pleasure\\nin testing it. in drawing upon its vitality, to the point of exhaustion if possible.\\nIt should be seen which was master.\\nHis rapid pace presently brought him into one of the great avenues leading\\nto Harlem. That was the direction he wished to go. That was where he knew,\\nwithout making anv decision, he must go. to the haven of the house of his order,\\non the heights^ bevond Harlem. A train was just clattering along the elevated\\nroad above him. He could see the faces at the windows, the black masses\\ncrowding the platforms. It went pounding by as if it were freight from another\\nworld. He was in haste, but haste to escape from himself. That way. bearing\\nhim along with other people, and in the moving world, was to bring him in\\ntouch with humanitv again, and so with what was most hateful in himself. He\\nmust be alone. But there was a deeper psychological reason than that for walk-\\nincv instead of availing himself of the swiftest method of escape. He was not\\nfleeing from justice or pursuit. When the mind is in torture and the spirit is\\ntorn, the instinctive effort is to bodily activity, to force physical exertion, as if\\nthere must be compensation for the mental strain in the weariness of nature.\\nThe priest obeyed this instinct, as if it were possible to walk away from himself.\\nand went on, at first with almost no sense of weariness.\\nAnd the shame! He could not bear to be observed. It seemed to him that", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "ClIARLlvS DUDIJCY WARNER 41\\nevery one would sec in his face that he was a recreant priest, perjured and for-\\nsworn. And so great had been his spiritual pride! So removed he had deemed\\nhimself from the weakness of humanity And he had yielded at the first tempta-\\ntion, and the connnonest of all temptations! Thank (lod! he had not quite\\nyielded. He had fled. And yet, how would it have been if Ruth Lei ;h had not\\nhad a moment of reserve, of prudent repulsion He p^roancd in an.q;uish. The\\nsin was in the intention. It was no merit of his that he had not with a kiss of\\n])assion broken his word to his Lord and lost his soul.\\nIt was remorse that was driving- him alonj;- the avenue; no room for any\\nother thought yet, or feeling. Perhaps it is true in these days, that the old-\\nfashioned torture known as remorse is rarely experienced except under the name\\nof detection. But it was a reality with this highly sensitive nature, with this\\nconscience educated to the finest edge of feeling. The world need never know\\nhis moment s weakness; Ruth Leigh he could trust as he would have trusted\\nh.is own sister to guard his honor that was all over; never, he was sure, would\\nsh.e even by a look recall the past but he knew how he had fallen, and the awful\\nmeasure of his lapse from loyalty to his Master. And how could he ever again\\nstand before erring, sinful men and women and speak about that purity which\\nhe had violated? Could repentance, confession, penitence wipe away this stain?\\nAs he went on, his mind in a whirl of humiliation, self-accusation, and con-\\ntempt, at length he began to be conscious of physical weariness. Except the\\nbiscuit and the glass of wine at the hospital, he had taken nothing since his light\\nluncheon. When he came to the Harlem l ridge he was compelled to rest.\\nT^eaning against one of the timbers and half seated, with the softened roar of the\\ncity in his ears, the lights gleaming on the heights, the river flowing dark and\\nsilent, he began to be conscious of his situation. Yes. he was very tired. It\\nseemed difificult to go on without help of some sort. At length he crossed the\\nbridge. Lights were gleaming from the saloons along the street. He paused\\nin front of one, irresolute. Food he could not taste, but something he must have\\nto carry him on. But no, that would not do he could not enter in that priest s\\ngarb. He dragged himself along until he came to a drug-shop, the modern\\nsahjon of the respectably virtuous. Phat he entered, and sat down on a stool by\\nthe soda-water counter. The expectant clerk stared at him while waiting the\\norder, his hand tentatively seeking one of the faucets of refreshment.\\nI feel a little feverish, said the father. You may give me five grains of\\n(|uinine in whiskey.\\nThat ll put you all right. said the boy as he handed him the mixture.\\nIt s all the go now.\\nIt seemed to revive him, and he went out and walked on towards the heights.\\nSomehow, seeing this boy, coming back to common life, perhaps the strong and", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "42 CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER\\nunaccustomed stimulant gave a new shade to his thoughts. He was safe. Pres-\\nently he would be at the Retreat. He would rest, and then gird up his loins and\\nface life again. The mood lasted for some time. And when the sense of physical\\nweariness came back, that seemed to dull the acuteness of his spiritual torment.\\nIt was late when he reached the house and rang the night-bell. No one of\\nthe brothers was up except Father Monies, and it was he who came to the door.\\nYou! So late! Is anything the matter?\\nI needed to come, the father said, simply, and he grasped the door-post,\\nsteadying himself as he came in.\\nYou look like a ghost.\\nYes. I m tired. I walked.\\nWalked? From Rivington Street?\\nNearly. I felt like it.\\nIt s most imprudent. You dined first?\\nI wasn t hungry.\\nBut you must have something at once. And Father Monies hurried away.\\nheated some bouillon by a spirit-lamp, and brought it, with bread, and set it\\nbefore his unexpected guest.\\nThere, cat that, and get to l)cd as soon as you can. It was great nonsense.\\nAnd Father Damon obeyed. Indeed, he was too exhausted to talk.", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 43\\nTHE CARPENTER AND HIS SON\\nBEING CHAPTER VII. FROM BEN-HUR\\nBY GENERAL LEW WALLACE\\n(Born at Brookville, Ind., April lo, 1827)\\nEXT day a detachment of legionaries went to the desolated palace, and,\\nclosing the gates permanently, plastered the corners with wax, and\\nat the sides nailed a notice in Latin: This is the Property of\\nThe Emperor.\\nIn the haughty Roman idea, the sententious announcement was\\nthought sufficient for the purpose and it was.\\nThe day after that again, about noon, a decurion with his command of ten\\nhorsemen approached Nazareth from the south that is, from the direction of\\nJerusalem. The place was then a straggling village, perched on a hill-side, and so\\ninsignificant that its one street was little more than a path well beaten by the com-\\ning and going of flocks and herds. The great plain of Esdraelon crept close\\nto it on the south, and from the height on the west a view could be had\\nof the shores of the Mediterranean, the region beyond the Jordan, and Hermon.\\nThe valley below, and the country on every side, were given to gardens, vine-\\nyards, orchards, and pasturage. Groves of palm-trees Orientalized the landscape.\\nThe houses, in irregular assemblage, were of the humbler class square, one-\\nstory, flat-roofed, and covered with bright green vines. The drought that had\\nburned the hills of Judea to a crisp, brown and lifeless, stopped at the boundary-\\nline of Galilee.\\nA trumpet, sounded when the cavalcade drew near the village, had a magical\\neffect upon the inhabitants. The gates and front doors cast forth groups eager\\nto be the first to catch the meaning of a visitation so unusual.\\nNazareth, it must be remembered, was not only aside from any great high-\\nway, but within the sway of Judas of Gamala wherefore, it should not be hard\\nto imagine the feelings with which the legionaries were received. But when they\\nwere up and traversing the street, the duty that occupied them became apparent,\\nand then fear and hatred were lost in curiosity, under the impulse of which the\\npeople, knowing there must be a halt at the well in the northeastern part of the\\ntown, quit their gates and doors, and closed in after the procession.\\nA prisoner, whom the horsemen were guarding, was the object of curiosity.\\nFrom Ben-Hur, copyright, 1880. by Harper Brothers. All rights reserved.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "GENERAL LEW WALLACE\\n44", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "GENERAL LEW WALLACE 45\\nHe was afoot, bareheaded, half naked, his hands bound behind him. A thong\\nfixed to his wrists was looped over the neck of a horse. The dust went\\nwith the party when in movement, wrapping him in yellow fog, sometimes in a\\ndense cloud. He drooped forward, footsore and faint. The villagers could see\\nhe was young.\\nAt the well the decurion halted, and, with most of the men, dismounted.\\nThe prisoner sank down in the dust of the road, stupefied, and asking nothing\\napparently he was in the last stage of exhaustion. Seeing, when they came\\nnear, that he was but a boy, the villagers would have helped him had they dared.\\nIn the midst of their perplexity, and while the pitchers were passing among\\nthe soldiers, a man was descried coming down the road from Sepphoris. At\\nsight of him a woman cried out, Look Yonder comes the carpenter. Now\\nwe will hear something.\\nThe person spoken of was quite venerable in appearance. Thin white locks\\nfell below the edge of his full turban, and a mass of still whiter beard flowed\\ndown the front of his coarse gray gown. He came slowly, for, in addition to his\\nage, he carried some tools an axe, a saw, and a drawing-knife, all very rude and\\nheavy and had evidently traveled some distance without rest.\\nHe stopped close by to survey the assemblage.\\nO Rabbi, good Rabbi Joseph! cried a woman, running to him. Here is\\na prisoner; come ask the soldiers about him, that we may know who he is, and\\nwhat he has done, and what they are going to do with him.\\nThe rabbi s face remained stolid he glanced at the prisoner, however, and\\npresently went to the officer.\\nThe peace of the Lord be with you he said, with unbending gravity.\\nAnd that of the gods with you, the decurion replied.\\nAre you from Jerusalem?\\nYes.\\nYour prisoner is young.\\nIn years, yes.\\nMay I ask what he has done?\\nHe is an assassin.\\nThe people repeated the word in astonishment, but Rabbi Joseph pursued\\nhis inquest.\\nIs he a son of Israel?\\nHe is a Jew, said the Roman, dryly.\\nThe wavering pity of the bystanders came back.\\nI know nothing of your tribes, but can speak of his family, the speaker\\ncontinued. You may have heard of a prince of Jerusalem named Hur Ben-\\nHur, thev call him. He lived in Herod s day.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "46 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nI have seen him, Joseph said.\\nWell, this is his son.\\nExclamations became general, and the dectirion hastened to stop them.\\nIn the streets of Jerusalem, day before yesterday, he nearly killed the noble\\nGratus by flinging a tile upon his head from the roof of a palace his father s. I\\nbelieve.\\nThere was a pause in the conversation during which the Nazarenes gazed at\\nthe young Ben-Hur as at a wild beast.\\nDid he kill him? asked the rabbi.\\nNo.\\nHe is under sentence\\nYes the galleys for life.\\nThe Lord help him said Joseph, for once moved out of his stolidity.\\nThereupon a youth who came up with Joseph, but had stood behind him un-\\nobserved, laid down an axe he had been carrying, and, going to the great stone\\nstanding by the well, took from it a pitcher of water. The action was so quiet\\nthat before the guard could interfere, had they been disposed to do so, he was\\nstooping over the prisoner, and offering him drink.\\nThe hand laid kindly upon his shoulder awoke the unfortunate Judah, and.\\nlooking up, he saw a face he never forgot the face of a boy about his own age,\\nshaded by locks of yellowish bright chestnut hair a face lighted by dark-blue\\neyes, at the time so soft, so appealing, so full of love and holy purpose, that they\\nhad all the power of command and will. The spirit of the Jew, hardened though\\nit was by days and nights of suffering, and so imbittered by wrong that its dreanis\\nof revenge took in all the world, melted vuider the stranger s look, and became\\nas a child s. He put his lips to the pitcher, and drank long and deep. Not a\\nword w as said to him, nor did he say a word.\\nWhen the draught was finished, the hand that had been resting upon the\\nsufferer s shoulder was placed upon his head, and stayed there in the dusty locks\\ntime enough to say a blessing the stranger then returned the pitcher to its\\nplace on the stone, and, taking his axe again, went back to Rabbi Joseph. All\\neyes went with him, the decurion s as well as those of the villagers.\\nThis was the end of the scene at the well. When the men had drunk, and\\nthe horses, the march was resumed. But the temper of the decurion was not as\\nit had been he himself raised the prisoner from the duGt, and helped him on a\\nhorse behind a soldier. The Nazarenes went to their houses among them Rabbi\\nJoseph and his apprentice.\\nAnd so, for the first time, Judah and the son of Mary met and parted.", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 47\\nA SPECIMEN OF GENERAL LEW WALLACE S MANUSCRIPT\\n^Y -c-^ ^^CL^^ vv ,4^/vA^ ^^^^^Je-7^^-CA) lila-^ Jvta^- t^x/ K^ w^\\n(t^\u00c2\u00bb-^^- .\u00c2\u00a3W J{\\\\-Q^*~^ v^\u00e2\u0080\u0094^*^ w-tvv^ fi_je_cwv j w_G/ CU-^.- vu-w -v v-4\\nCt^Vw^fv_e^ cX; h-y..J^ J-^-C^ -^-aJ^ tA-e-Jz-^ H^U2_^ TZ-txyy\\nc;^*-^ v4 /\u00c2\u00ab_^-rv^ t-^ ^^^i-.WvjL a^ ^-u-^tr- ^-^-f cu^^\\nA^^^ /^^CS v-r.^ i_ti ^...^^L^ ^YYlr\\noHjU^y^. UO-^^UUUx^^l^JV", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS", "height": "3088", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 49\\nTHE LAPHAMS DILEMMA\\nBEING ONE CHAPTER FROM THE REMARKABI^E NOVEIv ENTITI^ED\\nTHE RISE OF SII,AS I^APHAM\\nBY WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS\\n(Born at Martinsville, Belmont County, Ohio, March i, 1837)\\nRS. LAPHAM went away to put on her bonnet and cloak, and she was\\nwaiting at the window when her husband drove up. She opened the\\ndoor and ran down the steps. Don t get out I can help myself\\nin, and she clambered to his side, while he kept the fidgeting mare\\nstill with voice and touch.\\nWhere do you want I should go he asked, turning the buggy.\\nOh, I don t care. Out Brookline way, I guess. I wish you hadn t brought\\nthis fool of a horse, she gave way petulantly. I wanted to have a talk.\\nWhen I can t drive this mare and talk, too, I ll sell out altogether, said\\nLapham. She ll be quiet enough when she s had her spin.\\nWell, said his wife and while they were making their way across\\nthe city to the milldam she answered certain questions he asked about some point\\nin the new house.\\nI should have liked to have you stop there, he began but she answered\\nso quickly, Not to-day, that he gave it up and turned his horse s head west-\\nward when they struck Beacon Street.\\nHe let the mare out, and he did not pull her in till he left the Brighton\\nroad and struck off under the low boughs that met above one of the quiet streets\\nof Brookline, where the stone cottages, with here and there a patch of determined\\nivy on their northern walls, did what they could to look English amid the glare\\nof the autumnal foliage. The smooth earthen track under the mare s hoofs\\nwas scattered with flakes of the red and yellow gold that made the air luminous\\naround them, and the perspective was gay with innumerable tints and tones.\\nPretty sightly, said Lapham, with a long sigh, letting the reins lie loose\\nin his vigilant hand, to which he seemed to relegate the whole charge of the\\nmare. I want to talk with you about Rogers, Persis. He s been getting in\\ndeeper and deeper with me and last night he pestered me half to death to go\\nin with him in one of his schemes. I ain t going to blame anybody, but I\\nhain t got very much confidence in Rogers. And I told him so last night.\\nOh, don t talk to me about Rogers, his wife broke in. There s some\\nBy permission of Houghton, Mifflin Co., Boston.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "50 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nthing a good deal more important than Rogers in the world, and more important\\nthan your business. It seems as if you couldn t think of anything else that\\nand the new house. Did you suppose I wanted to ride so as to talk Rogers\\nwith you? she demanded, yielding to the necessity a wife feels of making her\\nhusband pay for her suffering, even if he has not inflicted it. I declare\\nWell, hold on, now! said Lapham. What do you want to talk about?\\nI m listening.\\nHis wife began, Why, it s just this, Silas Lapham and then she broke off\\nto say, Well, you may wait, now starting me wrong when it s hard enough,\\nanyway.\\nLapham silently turned his whip over and over in his hand and waited.\\nDid you suppose, she asked at last, that that young Corey had been\\ncoming to see Irene?\\nI don t know what I supposed, replied Lapham, sullenly. You always\\nsaid so. He looked sharply at her under his lowering brows.\\nWell, he hasn t, said Mrs. Lapham, and she replied to the frown that\\nblackened on her husband s face. And I can tell you what, if you take it in\\nthat way I shan t speak another word.\\nWho s takin it what way? retorted Lapham, savagely. What are you\\ndrivin at?\\nI want you should promise that you ll hear me out quietly.\\nI ll hear you out if you ll give me a chance. I haven t said a word yet.\\nWell, I m not going to have you flying into forty furies, and looking like\\na perfect thundercloud at the very start. I ve had to bear it, and you ve got to\\nbear it, too.\\nWell, let me have a chance at it, then.\\nIt s nothing to blame anybody about, as I can see, and the only question\\nis, what s the best thing to do about it. There s only one thing we can do for\\nif he don t care for the child, nobody wants to make him. If he hasn t been\\ncoming to see her, he hasn t, and that s all there is to it.\\nNo, it ain t exclaimed Lapham.\\nThere protested his wife.\\nIf he hasn t been coming to see her, what has he been coming for?\\nHe s been coming to see Pen! cried the wife. Now are you satisfied?\\nHer tone implied that he had brought it all upon them but at the sight of the\\nswift passions working in his face to a perfect comprehension of the whole trouble,\\nshe fell to trembling, and her broken voice lost all the spurious indignation she\\nhad put into it. Oh, Silas I what are we going to do about it? I m afraid it ll\\nkill Irene.\\nLapham pulled off the loose driving-glove from his right hand with the", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM DEAN HOVVELLS 51\\nfingers of his left, in which the reins lay. He passed it over his forehead, and\\nthen flicked from it the moisture it had gathered there. He caught his breath\\nonce or twice, like a man who meditates a struggle with superior force and then\\nremains passive in its grasp.\\nHis wife felt the need of comforting him, as she had felt the need of afflict-\\ning him. I don t say but what it can be made to come out all right in the end.\\nAll I say is, I don t see my way clear yet.\\nWhat makes you think he likes Pen? he asked, quietly.\\nHe told her so last night, and she told me this morning. Was he at the\\noffice to-day?\\nYes, he was there. I haven t been there much myself. He didn t say any-\\nthing to me. Does Irene know?\\nNo I left her getting ready to go out shopping. She wants to get a pin\\nlike the one Nanny Corey had on.\\nO my Lord groaned Lapham.\\nIt s been Pen from the start, I guess, or almost from the start. I don t\\nsay but what he was attracted some by Irene at the very first but I guess it s\\nbeen Pen ever since he saw her and we ve taken up with a notion and blinded\\nourselves with it. Time and again I ve had my doubts whether he cared for\\nIrene any but I declare to goodness, when he kept coming I never hardly\\nthought of Pen, and I couldn t help believing at last he did care for Irene. Did\\nit ever strike you he might be after Pen?\\nNo. I took what you said. I supposed you knew.\\nDo you blame me, Silas? she asked, timidly.\\nNo. What s the use of blaming? We don t either of us want anything\\nbut the children s good. What s it all of it for, if it ain t for that That s what\\nwe ve both slaved for all our lives.\\nYes, I know. Plenty of people lose their children, she suggested.\\nYes, but that don t comfort me any. I never was one to feel good because\\nanother man felt bad. How would you have liked it if some one had taken com-\\nfort because his boy lived when ours died No, I can t do it. And this is worse\\nthan death, some ways. That comes and it goes but this looks as if it was one\\nof those things that had come to stay. The way I look at it, there ain t any hope\\nfor anybody. Suppose we don t want Pen to have him will that help Irene any,\\nif he don t want her? Suppose we don t want to let him have either, does that\\nhelp either?\\nYou talk, exclaimed Mrs. Lapham, as if our say was going to settle it.\\nDo you suppose that Penelope Lapham is a girl to take up with a fellow that\\nher sister is in love with, and that she always thought was in love with her sister,\\nand go ofT and be happy with him Don t you believe but what it would come", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "52 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nback to her, as long as she breathed the breath of hfe, how she d teased her about\\nhim, as I ve heard Pen tease Irene, and helped to make her think he was in love\\nwith her. by showing that she thought so herself? It s ridiculous!\\nLapham seemed quite beaten down by this argument. His huge head hung\\nforward over his breast the reins lay loose in his moveless hand the mare took\\nher own way. At last he lifted his face and shut his heavy jaws.\\nWell? quavered his wife.\\nWell, he answered, if he wants her and she wants him, I don t see what\\nthat s got to do with it. He looked straight forward and not at his wife.\\nShe laid her hands on the reins. Now, you stop right here, Silas Lapham!\\nIf I thought that if I really believed you could be willing to break that poor\\nchild s heart, and let Pen disgrace herself by marrying a man that had as good\\nas killed her sister, just because you wanted Bromfield Corey s son for a son-in-\\nlaw\\nLapham turned his face now, and gave her a look. You had better not\\nbelieve that, Persis Get up! he called to the mare, without glancing at her,\\nand she sprang forward. I see you ve got past being any use to yourself on\\nthis subject.\\nHello shouted a voice in front of him. Where the devil you goin to?\\nDo you want to kill somebody? shrieked his wife.\\nThere was a light crash, and the mare recoiled her length, and separated\\ntheir wheels from those of the open buggy in front, which Lapham had driven\\ninto. He made his excuses to the occupant, and the accident relieved the ten-\\nsion of their feelings, and left them far from the point of mutual injury which\\nthey had reached in their conmion trouble, and their unselfish will for their\\nchildren s good.\\nIt was Lapham who resumed the talk. I m afraid we can t either of us see\\nthis thing in the right light. We re too near to it. I wish to the Lord there was\\nsomebody to talk to about it.\\nYes, said his wife, but there ain t anybody.\\nWell, I dunno, suggested Lapham, after a moment why not talk to the\\nminister of your church? Maybe he could see some way out of it.\\nMrs. Lapham shook her head hopelessly. It wouldn t do. I ve never\\ntaken up my connection with the church, and I don t feel as if I d got any claim\\non him.\\nIf he s anything of a man, or anything of a preacher, you Juwc got a claim\\non him, urged Lapham; and he spoiled his argument by adding, I ve con-\\ntributed enough money to his church.\\nOh, that s nothing, said Mrs. Lapham. I ain t well enough acquainted\\nwith Dr. Langworthy, or else I m too well. No if I was to ask any one, I", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS 53\\nshould want to ask a total stranger. But what s the use, Si? Nobody could\\nmake us see it any different from what it is, and I don t know as I should want\\nthey should.\\nIt blotted out the tender beauty of the day, and weighed down their hearts\\neven more heavily within them. They ceased to talk of it a hundred times, and\\nstill came back to it. They drove on and on. It began to be late. T guess\\nwe better go back. Si said his wife and as he turned without speaking, she\\npulled her veil down and began to cry softly behind it, with low little broken\\nsobs.\\nLapham started the mare up and drove swiftly homeward. At last his wife\\nstopped crying and began trying to find her pocket. Here, take mine, Persis,\\nhe said, kindly, offering her his handkerchief, and she took it and dried her eyes\\nwith it. There was one of those fellows there the other night, he spoke again,\\nwhen his wife leaned back against the cushions in peaceful despair, that I liked\\nthe looks of as well as any man I ever saw. I guess he was a pretty good man.\\nIt was that Mr. Sewall. He looked at his wife, but she did not say anything.\\nPersis, he resumed, I can t bear to go back with nothing settled in our minds.\\nI can t bear to let you.\\nWe must. Si, returned his wife, with gentle gratitude. Lapham groaned.\\nWhere does he live? she asked.\\nOn Bolingbroke Street. He gave me his number.\\nWell, it wouldn t do any good. What could he say to us?\\nOh, I don t know as he could say anything, said Lapham, hopelessly\\nand neither of them said anything more till they crossed the milldam and found\\nthemselves between the rows of city houses.\\nDon t drive past the new house. Si, pleaded his wife. I couldn t bear to\\nsee it. Drive drive up Bolingbroke Street. We might as well see where he\\ndocs live.\\nWell, said Lapham. He drove along slowly. That s the place, he said\\nfinally, stopping the mare and pointing with his whip.\\nIt wouldn t do any good, said his wife, in a tone which he understood as\\nwell as he understood her words. He turned the mare up to the curbstone.\\nYou take the reins a minute, he said, handing them to his wife.\\nHe got down and rang the bell, and waited till the door opened then he\\ncame back and lifted his wife out. He s in. he said.\\nHe got the hitching-weight from under the buggy seat and made it fast to\\nthe mare s bit.\\nDo you think she ll stand with that? asked Mrs. Lapham.\\nI guess so. If she don t, no matter.\\nAin t you afraid she ll take cold she persisted, trying to make delay.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "54 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nLet her said Lapham. He took his wife s trembling hand under his arm\\nand drew her to the door.\\nHe ll think we re crazy, she murmured, in her broken pride.\\nWell, we are, said Lapham. Tell him we d like to see him alone a while,\\nhe said to the girl who was holding the door ajar for him, and she showed him\\ninto the reception-room, which had been the Protestant confessional for many\\nburdened souls before their time, coming, as they did, with the belief that they\\nwere bowed down with the only misery like theirs in the universe for each one\\nof us must suffer long to himself before he can learn that he is but one in a great\\ncommunity of wretchedness, which has been pitilessly repeating itself from the\\nfoundation of the world.\\nThey were as loath to touch their trouble when the minister came in as if it\\nwere their disgrace but Lapham did so at last, and, with a simple dignity which\\nhe had wanted in his bungling and apologetic approaches, he laid the affair clearly\\nbefore the minister s compassionate and reverent eye. He spared Corey s name,\\nbut he did not pretend that it was not himself and his wife and their daughters\\nwho were concerned.\\nI don t know as I ve got any right to trouble you with this thing, he\\nsaid, in the moment while Sewall sat pondering the case, and I don t know\\nas I ve got any warrant for doing it. But, as I told my wife, here, there was\\nsomething about you I don t know whether it was anything you said exactly\\nthat made me feel as if you could help us. I guess I didn t say so much as that\\nto her but that s the way I felt. And here we are. And if it ain t all right-^\\nSurely, said Sewall, it s all right. I thank you for coming for trusting\\nyour trouble to me. A time comes to every one of us when we can t help our-\\nselves, and then we must get others to help us. If people turn to me at such a\\ntime, I feel sure that I was put into the world for something if nothing more\\nthan to give my pity, my sympathy.\\nThe brotherly words, so plain, so sincere, had a welcome in them that these\\npoor outcasts of sorrow could not doubt.\\nYes, said Lapham, huskily, and his wife began to wipe the tears again\\nunder her veil.\\nSewall remained silent, and they waited till he should speak. We can be\\nof use to one another here, because we can always be wiser for some one else\\nthan we can for ourselves. We can see another s sins and errors in a more merci-\\nful light and that is always a fairer light than we can our own and we can\\nlook more sanely at other s afflictions. He had addressed these words to Lap-\\nham now he turned to his wife. If some one had come to you, Mrs. Lapham,\\nin just this perplexity, what would you have thought\\nI don t know as I understand you, faltered Mrs. Lapham.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS 55\\nSewall repeated his words, and added, I mean, what do you think some\\none else ought to do in your place?\\nWas there ever any poor creatures in such a strait before? she asked,\\nwith pathetic incredulity.\\nThere s no new trouble under the sun, said the minister.\\nOh, if it was any one else, I should say I should say why, of course I\\nshould say that their duty was to let She paused.\\nOne suffer instead of three, if none is to blame? suggested Sewall. That s\\nsense, and that s justice. It s the economy of pain which naturally suggests itself,\\nand which would insist upon itself, if we were not all perverted by traditions\\nwhich are the figment of the shallowest sentimentality. Tell me, Mrs. Lapham,\\ndidn t this come into your mind when you first learned how matters stood?\\nWhy, yes, it flashed across me. But I didn t think it would be right.\\nAnd how was it with you, Mr. Lapham\\nWhy, that s what I thought, o course. But I didn t see my way\\nNo, cried the minister, we are all blinded, we are all weakened by a\\nfalse ideal of self-sacrifice. It wraps us round with its meshes, and we can t\\nfight our way out of it. Mrs. Lapham, what made you feel that it might be\\nbetter for three to suffer than one?\\nWhy, she did herself. I know she would die soo.ier than take him away\\nfrom her.\\nI supposed so! cried the minister, bitterly. And yet she is a sensible\\ngirl, your daughter?\\nShe has more common-sense\\nOf course! But in such a case we somehow think it must be wrong to use\\nour common-sense. I don t know where this false ideal comes from, unless it\\ncomes from the novels that befool and debauch almost every intelligence in\\nsome degree. It certainly doesn t come from Christianity, which instantly re-\\npudiates it when confronted with it.\\nThe minister had grown quite heated and red in the face.\\nI lose all patience he went on, vehemently. This poor child of yours\\nhas somehow been brought to believe that it will kill her sister if her sister does\\nnot have what does not belong to her, and what it is not in the power of all the\\nworld, or any soul in the world, to give her. Her sister will suffer yes, keenly\\nin heart and in pride but she will not die. You will suffer, too, in your tender-\\nness for her but you must do your duty. You must help her to give up. You\\nwould be guilty if you did less. Keep clearly in mind that you are doing right,\\nand the only possible good. And God be with you!", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "MARK TWAIN\\n56", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 57\\nTHE INVALID S STORY\\nBEING PART OK THE REMARKABLE TALE OK THAT TITLE.\\nBY MARK TWAIN\\n(Born at Florida, Mo., November 30, 1835)\\nBELONG in Cleveland, Ohio. One Winter s night, two years ago, I\\nreached home just after dark, in a driving snow-storm, and the tirst\\nthing I heard when I entered the house was that my dearest boyhood\\nfriend and schoolmate, John B. Hackett, had died the day before, and\\nthat his last utterance had been a desire that I would take his remains\\nhome to his poor old father and mother in Wisconsin. I was greatly\\nshocked and grieved, but there was no time to waste in emotions I must start\\nat once. I took the card, marked Deacon Levi Hackett, Bethlehem, Wis-\\nconsin, and hurried off through the whistling storm to the railway station.\\nArrived there, I found the long, white pine box which had been described to\\nme I fastened the card to it with some tacks, saw it put safely aboard the express\\ncar, and then ran into the eating-room to provide myself with a sandwich and\\nsome cigars. When I returned, presently, there was my colfin-box back again,\\napparently, and a young fellow examining around it, with a card in his hand and\\nsome tacks and a hammer I was astonished and puzzled. He began to nail on\\nhis card, and I rushed out to the express car. in a good deal of a state of mind,\\nto ask for an explanation. But no there was my box all right, in the express\\ncar; it hadn t been disturbed.\\nThe fact is, that without my suspecting it a prodigious mistake had been\\nmade. I was carrying off a box of guns v/hich that young fellow had come to\\nthe station to ship to a rifle company in Peoria, Illinois, and he had got my\\ncorpse\\nJust then the conductor sang out, All aboard. and I jumped into the ex-\\npress car and got a comfortable seat on a bale of buckets. The expressman was\\nthere, hard at work a plain man of fifty, with a simple, honest, good-natured\\nface, and a breezy, practical heartiness in his general style. As the train moved\\noff a stranger skipped into the car and set a package of peculiarly mature and\\ncapable Limburger cheese on one end of my cofifin-box I mean my box of guns.\\nThat is to say, I know now that it was Limburger cheese, but at that time I\\nnever had heard of the article in my life, and of course was wholly ignorant of\\nCopyright, 1898, by the Author.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "58 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nits character. ell, we sped through the wild night, the bitter storm raged on,\\na cheerless misery stole over me, my heart went down, down, down\\nPresently, having got things arranged to his satisfaction, the expressman\\ngot some wood and made up a tremendous fire in his stove. This distressed me\\nmore than I can tell, for I could not but feel that it was a mistake. I was sure\\nthat the effect would be deleterious upon my poor departed friend. Thompson\\nthe expressman s name was Thompson, as I found out in the course of the night\\nnow went poking around his car, stopping up whatever stray cracks he could\\nfind, remarking that it didn t make any difference what kind of a night it was\\noutside, he calculated to make us comfortable, anyway. I said nothing, but I\\nbelieved he was not choosing the right way. Meantime he was humming to\\nhimself just as before and meantime, too, the stove was getting hotter and hotter,\\nand the place closer and closer. I felt myself growing pale and qualmish, but\\ngrieved in silence and said nothing. Soon I noticed that the Sweet By and By\\nwas gradually fading out next it ceased altogether, and there was an ominous\\nstillness. After a few moments Thompson said,\\nPfew! I reckon it ain t no cinnamon t I ve loaded up thish-yer stove\\nwith\\nHe gasped once or twice, then moved toward the cof gun-box, stood over\\nthat Limburger cheese part of a moment, then came back and sat down near me,\\nlooking a good deal impressed. After a contemplative pause, he said, indicating\\nthe box with a gesture,\\nFriend of yourn?\\nYes, I said, with a sigh.\\nHe s pretty ripe, ain t he?\\nNothing further was said for perhaps a couple of minutes, each being busy\\nwith his own thoughts then Thompson said, in a low, awed voice,\\nSometimes it s uncertain whether they re really gone or not seem gone,\\nyou know body warm, joints limber and so, although you think they re gone,\\nyou don t really know. I ve had cases in my car. It s perfectly awful, becuz\\nyou don t know what minute they ll rise up and look at you! Then, after a\\npause, and slightly lifting his elbow toward the box But he ain t in no trance\\nNo, sir; I go bail for himf\\nWe sat some time in meditative silence, listening to the wind and the roar\\nof the train then Thompson said, wdth a good deal of feeling,\\nWell-a-well, we ve all got to go they ain t no getting around it. Man that\\nis born of woman is a few days and far between, as Scriptur says. Yes, you\\nlook at it any way you want to, it s awful solemn and cur us they ain t nobody\\ncan git around it; aWs got to go just everybody, as you may say. One day", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "MARK TWAIN 59\\nyou re hearty and strong here he scrambled to his feet and broke a pane\\nand stretched his nose out at it a minute or two, then sat down again while I\\nstruggled up and thrust my nose out at the same place, and this we kept on\\ndoing every now and then and next day he s cut down like the grass, and the\\nplace which knowed him then knows him no more forever, as Scriptur says.\\nYes, indeedy, it s awful solemn and cur us but we ve all got to go, one time or\\nanother they ain t no getting around it.\\nThere was another long pause then,\\nWhat did he die of?\\nI said I didn t know.\\nThompson sat down and buried his face in his red silk handkerchief, and\\nbegan to slowly sway and rock his body like one who is doing his best to endure\\nthe almost unendurable. By this time the fragrance if you may call it fragrance\\nwas just about suffocating, as near as you can come at it. Thompson s face\\nwas turning gray I knew mine hadn t any color left in it. By and by Thompson\\nrested his forehead in his left hand, with his elbow on his knee, and sort of waved\\nhis red handkerchief towards the box with his other hand, and said,\\nI ve carried a many a one of em some of em considerable overdue, too\\nbut, lordy, he just lays over em all and does it easy. Cap., they was helio-\\ntrope to him\\nThis recognition of my poor friend gratified me, in spite of the sad circum-\\nstances, because it had so much the sound of a compliment.\\nPretty soon it was plain that something had to be done. I suggested cigars.\\nThompson thought it was a good idea. He said,\\nLikely it ll modify him some. We pufifed gingerly along for a while, and\\ntried hard to imagine that things were improved. But it wasn t any use. Be-\\nfore very long, and without any consultation, both cigars were quietly dropped\\nfrom our nerveless fingers at the same moment. Thompson said, with a sigh,\\nNo, Cap., it don t modify him worth a cent. Fact is, it makes him worse,\\nbecuz it appears to stir up his ambition. What do you reckon we better do\\nnow\\nI was not able to suggest anything indeed, I had to be swallowing and\\nswallowing all the time, and did not like to trust myself to speak.\\na;%\\nFinally he said,\\nI ve got an idea. Suppos n we buckle down to it and give the Colonel a\\nbit of a shove towards t other end of the car about ten foot, say? He wouldn t\\nhave so much influence then, don t you reckon?\\nI said it was a good scheme. So we took in a good fresh breath at the", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "6o BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nbroken pane, calculating to hold it till we got through then we went there and\\nbent over that deadly cheese and took a grip on the box. Thompson nodded\\nAll ready, and then we threw ourselves forward with all our might but\\nThompson slipped and slumped down with his nose on the cheese, and his\\nbreath got loose. He gagged and gasped, and floundered up and made a break\\nfor the door, pawing the air and saying, hoarsely, Don t hender me Gimme the\\nroad! I m a-dying! Gimme the road! Out on the cold platform I sat down\\nand held his head a while, and he revived. Presently he said,\\nDo you reckon we started the Gen rul any?\\nI said no we hadn t budged him.\\nWell, then, that idea s up the flume. We got to think up something else.\\nHe s suited wher he is, I reckon and if that s the way he feels about it, and has\\nmade up his mind that he don t wish to be disturbed, you bet he s a-going to\\nhave his own way in the business.\\nBy and by, as we were starting away from a station where we had stopped\\na moment, Thompson pranced in cheerily, and exclaimed,\\nWe re all right now I reckon we ve got the Commodore this time. I\\njudge I ve got the stufif here that ll take the tuck out of him.\\nIt was carbolic acid. He had a carboy of it. He sprinkled it all around\\neverywhere in fact, he drenched everything with it rifle-box, cheese and all.\\nThen we sat down, feeling pretty hopeful. But it wasn t for long. You see,\\nthe two perfumes began to mix, and then well, pretty soon we made a break\\nfor the door.\\nWe went in again, after we were frozen pretty stiff but, my we couldn t\\nstay in now. So we just waltzed back and forth, freezing and thawing and\\nstifling by turns. In about an hour we stopped at another station, and as we left\\nit Thompson came in with a bag and said,\\nCap, I m a-going to chance him once more just this once and if we don t\\nfetch him this time, the thing for us to do is to just throw up the sponge and\\nwithdraw from the canvass. That s the way I put it up.\\nHe had brought a lot of chicken feathers, and dried apples, and leaf to-\\nbacco, and rags, and old shoes, and sulphur, and assafoetida, and one thing or\\nanother and he piled them on a breadth of sheet-iron in the middle of the floor,\\nand set fire to them. When they got well started, I couldn t see, myself, how\\neven the corpse could stand it. All that went before was just simply poetry to\\nthat smell but, mind you, the original smell stood up out of it just as sublime\\nas ever fact is, these other smells just seemed to give it a better hold and my I\\nhow rich it was I didn t make these reflections there there wasn t time", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "MARK TWAIN\\n6i\\nmade them on the platform. And, breaking for the platform, Thompson got\\nsuffocated and fell, and before I got him dragged out, which I did by the collar,\\nI was mighty near gone myself. When we revived, Thompson said, dejectedly,\\nWe got to stay out here. Cap. We got to do it. They ain t no other\\nway. The Governor wants to travel alone, and he s fixed so he can outvote us.\\nAnd presently he added, This is my last trip I am on my way home to die.\\nAnd don t you know, we re p isoticd. It s our last trip, you can make up your\\nmind to it. Typhoid fever is what s going to come of this. I feel it a-coming\\nright now. Yes, sir, we re elected, just as sure as you re born.\\nWe were taken from the pla tform an hour later, frozen and insensible, at the\\nnext station, and I went straight off into a virulent fever, and never knew any-\\nthing again for three weeks. I found out, then, that I had spent that awful night\\nwith a harmless box of rifles and a lot of innocent cheese but the news was too\\nlate to save inc imagination had done its work, and my health was permanently\\nshattered. Neither Bermuda nor any other land can ever bring it back to me.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "EUGENH FIELD\\n62", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 63\\nTHE JININ FARMS\\nBY EUGENE FIELD\\n(Born at St. Louis, Mo., 1S50 died at Chicago, 111., November 4, 1894)\\n^OU sec, Bill an I wuz jest like brothers; wuz raised on jinin farms;\\nhe wuz his folks only child, an I wuz my folks only one. So\\nnat ril like, we growed up together, lovin an sympathizin with each\\nother. What I knowed I told Bill, an what Bill knowed he told\\nme, an what neither on us knowed why, that warn t wuth knowin\\nJf I hadn t got over my braggin days, I d allow that, in our time,\\nBill an I wuz jest about the sparkinest beaus in the township, leastwise that s what\\nthe girls thought but, to be honest about it, there wuz only two uv them girls we\\ncourted, Bill an I, he courtin one an I t other. You sec, we sung in the choir,\\nan jest as our good luck would have it, we got sot on the sopranner an the\\nalto, an bimeby oh, well, after beauin em round a spell a year or so, for\\nthat matter we up an married em, an the old folk gin us the farms, jinin\\nfarms, where we boys had lived all our lives. Lizzie, my wife, had always been\\npowerful friendly with Marthy, Bill s wife them two girls never met but what\\nthey wuz huggin an kissin an carr in on, like girls does for women ain t\\nlike men they can t control theirselves an their feelin s like the stronger sex\\ndoes.\\nI tell you, it wuz happy times fur Lizzie an me, an Marthy an Bill happy\\ntimes on the jinin farms, with the pastures full uv fat cattle, an the barns full\\nuv grain an hay, an the twin cottages full uv love an contentment! Then,\\nwhen Cyrus come our leetle boy, our first an only one Why, when he come,\\nI wuz jest so happy an so grateful that, if I hadn t been a man, I guess I d have\\njest hollered maybe cried with joy. Wanted to call the leetle tyke Bill, but\\nBill wouldn t hear to nothin but Cyrus. You see, he d bought a cyclopeedy the\\nWinter we wuz maar ed, an had been readin in it uv a great foreign warrior\\nnamed Cyrus that lived a long spell ago.\\nLand uv Goshen, Bill sez I, you don t reckon the baby 11 ever get to be a\\nwarrior\\nWell, I don t know about that, sez Bill. There s no tellin at anv rate,\\nCyrus Ketcham has an uncommon sound for a name so Cyrus it must be an\\nwen he s seven years old I ll gin him the finest Morgan colt in the deestrick.\\nSo we called him Cyrus, an he grew up lovin an bein loved by everybody.\\nCopyright, 1892, by Bacheller, Johnson Bacheller.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "64 BEST THIXGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nWell, along about two years, or, say, eighteen months or so, after Cyrus\\ncome to us, a leetle baby girl come to Bill an Marthy, and uv all the cunnin\\nsweet, leetle things you ever seen, that leetle girl baby wuz the cunnin est an\\nsweetest Looked jest like one uv them foreign crockery figgers you buy in city\\nstores, all pink an white, with big brown eyes here, an a tieny, weeny mouth\\nhere, an a nose an ears you d have bet they wuz wax, they wuz so small an\\nfragile. Never darst hold her for fear I d break her; an it like to skeered me to\\ndeath to see the way Marthy an Lizzie would kind uv toss her round an trot\\nher so on their knees, or pat her so on the back when she wuz colicky, like\\nthe wimmin folks sez all healthy babies is afore they re three months old.\\nYou re going to have the namin uv her, sez Bill to me.\\nYes, sez Marthy, we made it up atween us long ago that you should have\\nthe namin uv our baby like we had the namin uv yourn.\\nThen, kind uv hectorin like for I wuz always a powerful tease I sez:\\nHow would Cleopatry do for a name, or V^nis? I have been readin the\\ncyclopeedy, myself, I d have you know.\\nAn then I laffed one on them provokin lafifs uv mine. Oh, I tell you, I\\nwuz the worst fellar for hectorin folks you ever seen But I meant it all in fun,\\nfor when I suspicioned they hadn t liked my funnin I sez Bill, I sez, an\\nMarthy, there s only one name I d love above all the rest to call your leetle lamb-\\nkin an that s the dearest name on earth to me, the name uv Lizzie, my wife\\nThat jest suited them to a T, an always after that she wuz called leetle Liz-\\nzie, an it sot on her, that name did, like it wuz made for her, an she for it. We\\nmade it up then perhaps more in fun than anything else that when the chil-\\ndren growed up, Cyrus an leetle Lizzie, they should get maar ed together, an\\nhave both the farms, an be happy an a blessin to us in our old age. We made it\\nup in fun, perhaps, but down in our hearts it was our prayer, jest the same, an\\nGod heard the prayer an granted it to be so.\\nThey played together they lived together they tended the deestrick school\\nan went huckleberrin there wuz huskin s, an spellin bees, an choir meetin s,\\nan skatin and slidin down hills. Oh, the happy times uv youth An all those\\nhappy times our boy Cyrus an leetle Lizzie went lovin ly together!\\nWhat made me start so what made me ask uv Bill one time Are we a-\\ngettin old, Bill That wuz the Thanksgivin night when, as we set round the\\nfire in Bill s front room, Cyrus came to us, holdin leetle Lizzie by the hand, an\\nthey asked us could they get maar ed come next Thanksgivin time? Why, it\\nseemed only yesterday that they wuz chicks together God how swift the years\\ngo by when they are happy years\\nReuben, sez Bill to me, let s go down cellar an draw a pitcher uv cider.\\nYou see that, bein men, it wusn t for us to make a show uv ourselves.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "EUGENE FIELD 65\\nMarthy an LiTzie jest hugged each other, an laffed an cried they wuz so\\nglad. Then they hugged Cyrus an leetle Lizzie, an talked an laffed. Well, it\\ndid beat all how them wimmin folks did talk an laff all at one time Cyrus\\nlaffed, too, an then he said he d go out an throw some fodder in to the steers,\\nan Bill an I well, we went down cellar to draw that pitcher uv cider.\\nIt ain t for me to tell uv the meller sweetness uv their courtin time I\\ncouldn t do it if I d try. Oh, how we loved them both Yet oncet in the early\\nsummer-time, our boy Cyrus, he come to me an said: Father, I want you to\\nlet me go away for a spell.\\nCyrus, my boy, go away?\\nYes, father President Linkern has called for soldiers. Father, you have\\nalways taught me to obey the voice uv duty. That voice summons me now.\\nGod in heaven, I thought, you have given us this child only to take him\\nfrom us\\nBut then came the second thought Steady, Reuben you are a man be a\\nman Steady, Reuben be a man\\nYer mother, sez I yer mother it will break her heart!\\nShe leaves it all to you, father.\\nBut the other the other, Cyrus leetle Lizzie, ye know\\nShe is content, sez he.\\nA storm swep through me like a cyclone. It wuz all Bill s fault that war-\\nrior name had done it all the cyclopeedy with its lies pizened Bill s mind to put\\nthis trouble on me an mine.\\nNo, no a thousand times no These were coward feelin s an they misbe-\\ncome me the ache here in the heart uv mine had no business there. The better\\npart uv me called to me an said Pull yourself together, Reuben Ketcham, an\\nbe a man\\nWell, after he went away, leetle Lizzie wuz more to us n ever before wuz at\\nour house all the time called Lizzie mother wuz contented in her woman s\\nway, willin to do her part, waitin an watchin an prayin for him to come back.\\nThey sent him boxes uv good things every fortnight, mother an leetle Lizzie did\\nthere wuzn t a minute uv the day they wuzn t talkin or thinkin uv him.\\nWell, ye see, I must tell it my own way he got killed. In the very first bat-\\ntle Cyrus got killed. The rest uv the soldiers turnt to retreat, because there wuz\\ntoo many for em on the other side. But Cyrus stood right up he wuz the war-\\nrior Bill allowed he wuz going to be our boy wuzn t the kind to run. They tell\\nme there wuz bullet holes here, an here an here all over his breast. We al-\\nways knew our boy wuz a hero.\\nYe can thank God ye wusn t at the jinin farms when the news come that he\\ngot killed. The neighbors, they wuz there, of course, to kind uv hold us up an", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "66 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\ncomfort us. Bill an I sot all day in the woodshed, holdin hands an lookin\\naway from each other so; never said a word, jest sot there, sympathizin an\\nholdin hands. If we d been winmiin, Bill an I would have cried an beat our\\nforrids an hung round each other s neck like the winimen folks done. Bein as\\nwe wuz men, we jest sot there in the woodshed, away from all the rest, holdin\\nhands an sympathizin\\nFrom that time on leetle Lizzie wuz our daughter our very daughter all\\nthat wuz left to us uv our boy. She never shed a tear crep like a shadow round\\nthe house an up the front walk an through the garden. Her heart wuz broke.\\nYou could see it in the leetle lambkin s eyes an hear it in her voice. Wanted to\\ntell her sometimes, when she kissed me an called me father wanted to tell\\nher, Leetle Lizzie, let me help ye bear yer load. Speak out the sorrer that s in\\nyer broken heart speak it out, leetle one, an let me help ye bear yer load.\\nBut it isn t for man to have them feelin s leastwise, it isn t for him to tell uv\\nthem so I held my peace an made no sign.\\nShe jest drooped, an pined, an died. One mornin in the Spring she wuz\\nstandin in the garden, an all at oncet she threw her arms up so an fell upon\\nher face, an when they got to her all that wuz left to us uv leetle Lizzie wuz her\\nlifeless body. I can t tell you what happened next uv the funeral an all that.\\nI said this wuz in the Spring, an so it wuz all round us, but it wuz cold and\\nWinter here.\\nOne day mother sez to me: Reuben, sez she, soft like, Marthy an I is\\ngoin to the buryin ground for a spell. Don t you reckon it would be a good\\ntime for you to step over an see Bill while we re gone\\nMaybe so, mother, sez I.\\nIt wuz a pretty day. Cuttin across lots, I thought to myself what I d say\\nto Bill to kind uv comfort him. I made it up that I d speak about the time when\\nwe wuz boys together uv how we used to slide down the meetin -house hill, an\\ngo huckelberrin uv how I jumped into the pond one day an saved him from\\nbein drowned; a^i then\\nNo, no I couldn t go on like that I d break down. A man can t be a man\\nmore n jest so far.\\nWhy did mother send me over to see Bill? I d better stay to home. I felt\\nmyself chokin up; if I hadn t took a chew uv terbacker, I d ave been cryin\\nThe nearer I got to Bill s the worse I hated to go in. Standin on the stoop,\\n1 could hear the tall clock tickin solemnly inside tick-tock, tick-tock, jest as\\nplain as if I wuz sittin inside uv it. The door wuz shut, yet I knew jest what Bill\\nwuz doin he wuz settin in the old red easy-chair, lookin down at the floor like\\nthis. Strange, ain t it, how sometimes, when you love folks, you know jest what\\nthey re doin without knowin anything about it", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "EUGENE FIELD 67\\nThere wuzn t no use knockin but I knocked three times so. Didn t say a\\nword only jest knocked three times that a-way. Didn t hear no answer\\nnothin but the tick uv the tall clock, an yet I knew that Bill heard me an that\\ndown in his heart he wuz sayin to me to come in. He never said a word, yet I\\nknowed all the time that Bill wuz sayin for me to come in.\\nI opened the door, keerful like, an slipped in. There sot Bill, jest as I\\nknowed he wuz sittin lonesome like, sad like, his head hangin down he never\\nlooked up at me never said a word knowed that I wuz there all the time, but\\nnever said a word an never made a sign.\\nHow changed Bill wuz oh, Bill how changed ye wuz. There wuz furrors\\nin yer face an yer hair wuz white as white as as white as mine Looked small\\nabout the body, thin an hump-shouldered.\\nJest two ol men, that s what we wuz, an we had been boys together!\\nWell, I stood there a spell, kind uv hesitatin like, neither uv us sayin any-\\nthing, until bimeby Bill he sort uv made a sign for me to set down. Didn t\\nspeak, didn t lift his eyes from the floor; only made a sign like this, in a weak,\\ntrcmblin way that wuz all an I sot down, an there we both sot, neither uv us\\nsayin a word, but both settin there an sympathizin as hard as we could, for that\\nis the way with men.\\nBimeby, like we d kind uv made it aforehand, we hitched over closer, for\\nwhen folks is in sorrer an trouble they like to be clost together. But not a\\nword all the time, an hitchin closer an closer together, why, bimeby, we sot\\nside by side. So we sot a spell longer, lovin an sympathizin as men folks do,\\nthinkin uv old times, uv our boyhood thinkin uv the happiness uv the past an\\nuv the hopes them two children had brought us. The tall clock ticked, an that\\nwuz all the sound there wuz, except when Bill gin a sigh, an I gin a sigh, too\\nto lighten the load, ye know.\\nNot a word come from either uv us twuz all we could do to set there, lovin\\neach other an sympathizin\\nAll at oncet for we couldn t stand it no longer all at oncct we turned an\\ngroped with our hand, this a-way, faces t other way, an reached out so an\\ngroped with our hands, this a-way, till we found an held each other fast in a clasp\\nuv tender meanin\\nThen God forgive me if T done a wrong\u00e2\u0080\u0094 then I wisht I wuz a woman.\\nFor, bein a woman, I could have cried: Come. Bill, let me hold you in these\\narms come, let us weep together an let this broken heart uv mine speak\\nthrough these tremblin lips to that broken heart uv yourn^ Bill, tellin ye how\\nmuch T love ye an sympathize with ye!\\nBut, no I wuz not a woman T wuz a man, an bein a man I must let my\\nheart break I must hold my peace, an I must make no sound.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "STEPHEN CRANE\\n68", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 69\\nA TALE OF MERE CHANCE\\nBEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE PURSUIT OF THE TI1,ES, THE STATEMENT OF THE Ct,OCK, AND\\nTHE GRIP OF A COAT OF ORANGE SPOTS, TOGETHER WITH SOME CRITICISM OF A\\nDETECTIVE SAID TO BF; CARVED FROM AN OI,D TABI,E-I,EG.\\nBY STEPHEN CRANE\\n(Born at Newark, N. J., November i, 1871)\\nES, my friend, I killed the man, but I would not have been detected in it\\nwere it not for some very extraordinary circumstances. I had long\\nconsidered this deed, but I am a delicate or sensitive person, you under-\\nstand, and I hesitated over it as the diver hesitates on the brink of a\\ndark and icy mountain pool. A thought of the shock of the con-\\ntact holds one back.\\nAs I was passing his house one morning, I said to myself: Well, at any\\nrate, if she loves him, it will not be for long. And after that decision I was not\\nmyself, but a sort of machine.\\nI rang the bell and the servants admitted me to the drawmg-room. I waited\\nthere while the old tall clock placidly ticked its speech of time. The rigid and\\naustere chairs remained in possession of their singular imperturbability, although\\nof course they were aware of my purpose, but the little white tiles of the floor\\nwhispered one to another and looked at me. Presently he entered the room, and\\nI, drawing my revolver, shot him. He screamed you know that scream\\nmostly amazement and as he fell forward his blood was upon the little white\\ntiles. They huddled and covered their eyes from this rain. It seemed to me\\nthat the old clock stopped ticking as a man may gasp in the middle of a sentence,\\nand a chair threw itself in my way as I sprang toward the door.\\nA moment later, I was walking down the street, tranquil, you understand,\\nand I said to myself: It is done. Long years from this day I will say to her\\nthat it was I who killed him. After time has eaten the conscience of the thing,\\nshe will admire my courage.\\nI was elated that the aiifair had gone off so smoothly, and I felt like return-\\ning home and taking a long, full sleep, like a tired workingman. When people\\npassed me, I contemplated their stupidity with a sense of satisfaction.\\nBut those accursed little white tiles.\\nI heard a shrill crying and chattering behind me and, looking back, I saw\\nthem, blood-stained and impassioned, raising their little hands and screaming:\\nMurder! It was he! I have said that they had little hands. I am not so", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "/o BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nsure of it, but they had some means of indicating me as unerringly as pointing\\nfingers. As for their movement, they swept along as easily as dry, light leaves\\nare carried by the wind. Always they were shrilly piping their song of my guilt.\\n]\\\\Iy friend, may it never be your fortune to be pursued by a crowd of little\\nblood-stained tiles. I used a thousand means to be free from the clash-clash of\\nthese tiny feet. I ran through the world at my best speed, but it was no better\\nthan that of an ox, while they, my pursuers, were always fresh, eager, relentless.\\nI am an ingenious person, and I used every trick that a desperate, fertile\\nman can invent. Hundreds of times I had almost evaded them when some\\nsmoldering, neglected spark would blaze up and discover me.\\nI felt that the eye of conviction would have no terrors for me, but the eyes\\nof suspicion which I saw in city after city, on road after road, drove me to the\\nverge of going forward and saying: Yes, I have murdered.\\nPeople would see the following, clamorous troop of blood-stained tiles, and\\ngive me piercing glances so that these swords played continually at my heart.\\nBut we are a decorous race, thank God. It is very vulgar to apprehend murderers\\non the public streets. We have learned correct manners from the English. Be-\\nsides, who can be sure of the meaning of clamoring tiles It might be merely a\\ntrick in politics.\\nDetectives? What are detectives? Oh. yes, I have read of them and their\\ndeeds, when I come to think of it. The prehistoric races must have been re-\\nmarkable. I have never been able to understand how the detective navigated in\\nstone boats. Still, specimens of their pottery excavated in Taumalipas show a\\nremarkable knowledge of mechanics. I remember the little hydraulic what s\\nthat? Well, what you say may be true, my friend, but I think you dream.\\nThe little stained tiles. My friend, I stopped in an inn at the ends of the\\nearth, and in the morning they were there flying like birds and pecking at my\\nwindow.\\nI should have escaped. Heavens, I should have escaped What was more\\nsimple I murdered and then walked into the world, which is wide and intricate.\\nDo you know that my own clock assisted in the hunt of me? They asked\\nwhat time I left my home that morning, and it replied at once, Half-after eight.\\nThe watch of a man I had chance to pass ne.ar the house of the crime told the\\npeople: Seven minutes after nine. And, of course, the tall, old clock in the\\ndrawing-room went about day after day repeating: Eighteen minutes after\\nnine.\\nDo you say that the man who caught me was very clever My frie d, I have\\nlived long, and he was the most incredible blockhead of my experience. An en-\\nslaved, dust-eating Mexican vaquero wouldn t hitch his pony to such a man. Do\\nyou think he deserves credit for my capture If he had been as pervading as the", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "STEPHEN CRANE\\n71\\natmosphere, he would never have caught me. If he was a detective, as you say,\\nI could carve a better one from an old table-leg. But the tiles That is .another\\nmatter. At night I think they flew in a long, high flock, like pigeons. In the\\nday, little mad things, they murmured on my trail like frothy-mouthed weasels.\\nI see that you note these great, round, vividly orange spots on my coat. Of\\ncourse, even if the detective were really carved from an old table-leg, he could\\nhardly fail to apprehend a man thus badged. As sores come upon one in the\\nplague, so came these spots upon my coat. When I discovered them I made\\neffort to free myself of this coat. I tore, tugged, wrenched at it, but around my\\nshoulders it was like the grip of a dead man s arms. Do you know that I have\\nplunged into a thousand lakes I have smeared this coat with a thousand paints.\\nBut day and night the spots burn like lights. I might walk from this jail to-day\\nif I could rid myself of this coat, but it clings clings clings.\\nAt any rate the person you call a detective was not so clever to discover a\\nman in a coat of spotted orange, followed by shrieking, blood-stained tiles. Yes,\\nthat noise from the corridor is most peculiar. But they are always there, mutter-\\ning and watching, clashing and jostling. It sounds as if the dishes of Hades\\nwere being washed. Yet I have become used to it. Once, indeed, in the night,\\nI cried out to them In God s name, go away, little blood-stained tiles. But\\nthey doggedly answered It is the law.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "JULIA WARD HOWE\\n72", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 7Z\\nBATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC\\nBY JULIA WARD HOWE\\n(Born at New York, May 27, 1819)\\nMine eye hath seen the glory of the coming of the Lord\\nHe is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored\\nHe hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword\\nHis truth is marching on.\\nI have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps\\nThey have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps\\nI can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps\\nHis day is marching on.\\nI have read a fiery gospel writ in rows of burnished steel\\nAs ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal\\nLet the Hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel,\\nSince God is marching on.\\nHe has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat\\nHe is sifting out the hearts of men befpre His judgment seat\\nOh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him Be jubilant, my feet\\nOur God is marching on.\\nIn the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea.\\nWith a glory in His bosom that tranfigures you and me\\nAs he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,\\nWhile God is marching on.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 75\\nCAPTAIN MALLINGER\\nBY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD\\n(Born at Calais, Me., April 3, 1835)\\nHE town was in an uproar. The grocer s boy had dashed back even\\nmore rapidly than that young Jehu usually drove, with his eyes starting\\nout of his head and his hair erect beyond its wont, and the news that\\nsomething had happened up at Captain Mallinger s.\\nWal, what is it? demanded Mr. Peake, leaning across the coun-\\nter, as if he would shake the boy stammering and gasping with fright\\nand excitement.\\nThere ain t nobody there exclaimed Joe, with his returning breath. The\\nback door s bolted, an I looked inter the winders an everythin was all up\\nstandin an the gravel was tore up roun the door, an there wa n t a soul in the\\nhouse, an there was an axe with blood on it\\nWhew That s bad cried John Dark, jumping from his seat on the head\\nof a flour barrel.\\nWal, an w at else did ye see urged Mr. Peake, feeling his feet as Ajax did,\\nbare on bright fire to use their speed.\\nNothin There wa n t nothin else ter see. They ve made away with em\\nan gone off in the boss an wagon, I tell ye!\\nMade away with who? Who s made away with em? exclaimed John\\nSimpson, spilling the tobacco he was cutting and nearly upsetting the raisin\\nboxes against which he was leaning. You ain meanin ter say that Cap n Mal-\\nlinger s ben\\nYes, I be, said Joe, the chattering of his teeth not yet wholly subsiding,\\nand even forgetting to kick out of sight the Bloody Butcher of Big Bend,\\nwhich had fallen from his pocket.\\nBut what for? Who s any grudge agin the Cap n? W y, he s the salt of\\nthe yarth appealing to John Dark, who stood staring, wide-eyed and open-\\nmouthed. T would take an escaped convict to do him a harm.\\nThere there s ben two convicts broke loose over to Scadden prison, said\\nJohn Dark, recovering his fallen jaw with a snap.\\nMy good Lord said Mr. Peake.\\nAn Mrs. Mallinger, tew, said John Simpson. W y, I do no who d a\\nhad the heart ith the face o hern that smile twould melt a stun. My gra-", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "76 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\ncious The hull town depen s on her fer good works. Who could Dretfle\\nnews he exclaimed, as Sam Beales sauntered in. Joe s jes come from the hill,\\nan Cap n Mallinger an his wife I declare I don t seem ter sense it the good\\nold cap n What in thunder who under heaven an what motive\\nMoney, said John Dark. He alius kep it about him. I useter tell him\\nhe d be murdered for it some day\\nCap n Mallinger murdered!\\nAn his wife, said Mr. Peake, with a solemn nod that spoke volumes.\\nNo!\\nFact! said John Dark. Oh, my Lord, I d ruther\\nHow d you know\\nJoe was up and seen it.\\nSeen what?\\nHe seen all the evidunce, an he run roun ter the front door an it wa n t\\nlocked, an he went in an there was the axe-^^\\nThen the murderers went out that way, depend on t. There s that much\\ncerting, said Sam.\\nIt jes makes yer blood run cold, said John Dark. A feller aint safe in\\nhis bed these days. It s terrible\\nTurrible said Mr. Peake.\\nThat s so, said the tramp who had done Mr. Peake a hand s turn of\\nwork that morning, and was eating ofif the top of a soap box the lunch of hard\\ntack and red herring Mr. Peake had given him.\\nI suppose there ll be a reward, said Sam.\\nDon t talk of rewards! cried John Simpson. I don t need no reward for\\ntryin to lay ban s on them black-hearted villains\\nThey ll be suspicionin every loafer in the county, said Sam, looking at the\\ntramp, who was hurrying with his hard tack.\\nSpeciallv if he shows a dollar more n they can account fur, said John\\nDark. At which Sam crammed back in his pocket the money with which he\\nmeant to pay ofif his long-standing score.\\nGeorge I s pose we d orter be noterfyin folks, stid er stan in roun flab-\\nbergasted said John Simpson. There s Lawyer Parker, he s a jestice, an\\nDr. Jones\\nAn the minister, said Mr. Peake, pulling a straw from the dates, and suck-\\ning the end of it.\\nYes, said John Dark, cutting himself a thin slice of cheese inadvertently.\\nCap n Mallinger was a piller of the church, an a real sustainin piller, tew.\\nAn the constable.\\nYou go long fer all yer wuth, Joe, said John Simpson, an sunmion em", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD -jj\\nall here. Seem s ef we d be charged ith doin of it ef we kep it to ourselves a\\ndurin minute.\\nThat s so, said Mr. Peake, carefully setting the forgotten glass over the\\ncheese, and dusting ofT the counter, from force of habit.\\nT ll upset the hull neighborhood. Cap n Mallinger was about s near ter\\nevery man in town as own folks. Paid full half the town an county tax ter boot.\\nOne o the Lord s picked men, said Sam. An ef that s wot s come to\\nhim, murdered in his bed, it don t pay a feller ter walk stret, an thet s a fac\\nWas the bodies\\nWa n t no bodies, said John Dark. Didn t Joe say the gravel was all\\nupset roun the door? There ll hev ter be a s arch.\\nCerting, said Mr. Peake.\\nThere can t no inquest set thout bodies ter set on, said Sam. The cap n\\nEf anybody d a told me Wal, I never. An his wife. tew. There wa n t a bet-\\nter woman n Mis Mallinger in the hull o Queens\\nWat s all this? cried John Watkins, bursting in like a thunder-clap.\\nWat s this cock-an -bull story, Peake, your Joe s a-tellin all over town? Cap n\\nMallinger Wal, as he looked round at the white and horrified faces. Wat\\nnex Wat d anybody want T must a ben his money. Blamed fool\\nWat d he keep his money in his house fer? An go ter bed ith the front door\\nopen Trustin folks an temptin Providence I aint no patience. By mighty,\\nit s dretfle\\nDretfie! said Mr. Peake; and this time he added, Have suthin And\\nthey proceeded then to fortify themselves, holding the glasses to the light, shak-\\ning their heads, and swallowing as if it were a solemn act of sacrament.\\nMeanwhile, as Joe was speeding along to the doctor s and the minister s, he\\nhad met Miss Mayne, after leaving John Watson, staying long enough to give the\\nintelligence hurriedly, and she had made all haste into the Medders house.\\nDon t speak ter me she said, breathlessly. Jes give me a dipper o water or\\nsome cold tea. Pm all in a tremble. Oh, I declare, my heart s shakin inside o\\nme! Oh, Mis Mallinger! Mis Mallinger!\\nAnn Mari Mayne, what ails ye? cried Mrs Medders, wiping her suddy\\narms on her apron. Hes anythin happened. Wat w at s the matter? Wy\\nin the name o goodness don t yer speak\\nHes anythin happened? Everythin s happened! Oh, Jane Medders, you\\ndeserve ter hear the wust Cap n Mallinger an his wife s ben killed and buried\\nin the garding!\\nI don t believe a word of it!\\nYou ve no call to be doubtin my word. I wisht you hed. Joe Simmons\\nwas up there an he seen it. An Mr. Peake, an John Simpson, an Sam Beale,", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "78 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nail John Dark has gone u]i an sent for Lawyer Parker, an the incjnest s go-\\ning-\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI ll go right up myself. said Mrs. Medders. Tis the least 1 ean do fer\\nMrs. Mallinger. A\\\\ y. Ann ^lari 1 ean t take it in! Don t seem no way possi-\\nble. W y, we aint never hed a murder roun here There s Mis Lawyer Par-\\nker now! Let s eall her in 1 do no az we d best, though. She s awtle strung-\\nup, an 11 hev a highsteriek or snthin an keep us ter home w en we d orter\\nbe goin\\nBut Ann ^lari had already beekoned Mrs. Parker in and had broken the\\nnews over her head; and Mrs. i arker had not disappointed Mrs. Madder s ex-\\npeetations. In our midst! she eried. murder in our midst! In this in-\\nnocent hamlet\\nThere s nobody safe. said ]\\\\Iiss Mayne. grimly. Thev ll be suspectin of\\nall of us.\\nOh, who could have done it cried Mrs. I arker, a Hood of tears and a burst\\nof laughter coming together.\\nThere she is, keeled over on ter the sofy, an we ve got ter stav an see to\\nher, said Ann Mari Taint no jilace for woman anyway, uj) there now.\\nYou can stay ef you re a mind ter; I m goin along, said ^Irs. Medders.\\nIt s my bounden duty an no less. I alius could see inter a grin stone s fur ez\\nany one\\nOh oh oh cried a little woman, rushing in like an .\\\\utunm gust. Have\\nyou heard Do you believe it can be true Aint there nt)thin ter do Oh, I\\nmust do snthin It seems ez ef I couldn t leave a straw unturned ter bring sech\\na wretch ter the gallers. Oh, T won t go fer to say I d rather it d a ben me\\ni)Ut I d most as lives leastwise and her words failing her, the little woman\\nbegan to cry hot, hearty, honest tears.\\nWhy, Caddy, Caddy! they exclaimed, diverted a moment from Mrs Par-\\nker s efiforts.\\nHe never done no harm to a mortal soul Cadily cried, from the depths of\\nher shawl. He ses to me. You shan t never want fur nothin so long s I live,\\nCaddy, ses he. An he aint never took a day s rent since I ve been in the house.\\nAn Mis Mallinger! Oh. Mis Mallinger! Oh. my. my!\\nWal, I wa n t goin ter say nothin said Mrs. Medders. lUit the dead\\ndeserve their due. An twuz he give me the money to send my Danny ter the\\ncademy, an I aint ashamed ter tell it. An I ll never forgit. w en he had the\\ndipthery, how Mis Mallinger\\nOh! murmured Mrs Parker, growing calmer. We made our profession\\ntogether, an she s lived up to it\\nI aint got nothink to say agin Mis Mallinger.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD 79\\nAnd that s great praise from you, Ann Mari An ef we re goin ter be\\nany good at all we d orter be goin You better now dear? to Mrs. Parker.\\nIf you wouldn t mind leaving me here at least oh, I can t be left alone\\nwith this horror happening! Oh, Caddy, if you wouldn t mind staying oh,\\nthere s Amelia\\nIt s Mis Dr. Jones cried Mrs. Medders, her horror, her curiosity, her\\nhospitality, all working together excitedly with her tears. Oh, Mis Jones, did\\nyou ever hear anythin like it?\\nI don t know, said Mrs. Jones, taking the rocking chair, pufifing, and un-\\ntying her bonnet, how there was anj/thing human that could be so cruel I\\nwould as soon have thought of any one s killing a baby. It s come near giving\\nme a shock. But I said to the doctor, Don t mind me, I said. Go right along\\nto that suffering angel, said I. Suffering! says he. She s dead and buried,\\nsays he. Than she s a saint in heaven! says I. And that s what she is. Oh,\\nto think I should ever see the day And she rocked herself to and fro, in a\\nluxury of woe.\\nCome and sit by mc, Amelia, said Mrs. Parker, feebly. I like to feel you\\nnear. It s it s oh, it s awful. Who do you think it could have been? And\\nshe began to shudder again as the door opened and the minister s wife joined\\nthem.\\nYou ll excuse me, Mrs. Medders, Mrs. Brown said. But I saw Mrs.\\nJones come in, and it s such a visitation\\nOh, we re all struck of a heap, Mis Brown\\nI cannot altogether believe it now. Mr. Brown has gone on, without stay-\\ning to inquire. What could any one\\nHe kep his money in the house.\\nBut he d have given it to any one that asked for it. He was Mr. Brown s\\nmainstay in the parish his hand was always open. I can t see into such a dark\\nProvidence\\nThe doctor always said Captain Mallinger was his right-hand man. If\\nthere was anybody needed medicines they couldn t afford if there was anybody\\nought to be sent to the city for an operation he couldn t do himself though I\\nthink that was all nonsense, and the doctor could do it just as well as them that\\nCaptain Mallinger paid for doing it\\nI don t know, said Mrs. Brown. I suppose people are sure of what they\\nare talking about but as for me, I simply can t believe it\\nIf Mrs. Brown would lead in prayer, sighed Mrs. Parker, from the sofa.\\nI think we d better be prayin ez we go long, said Mrs. Medders, with de-\\ntermination. And then Mrs. Parker struggled to her feet, and they all sallied\\nforth together.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "8o\\nBEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nI don t feel s we ve any call ter let the men go fust, said Miss Mayne.\\nNo, I guess we re as much the community as they be, said Mrs Medders\\nand they took the short cut which brought them out on the highway at the same\\ntime with Mr. Peake, and the constables, and the fence-viewer, and the rest, who\\nwere following the doctor with the minister in his gig, joined by Lawyer Parker,\\nand Mrs. Peake with a shawl over her head and her voice sounding volubly, and\\nhalf the frightened village in their train Mrs. Parker now nearly fainting, and\\nMrs. Brown and Amelia on either side supporting her.\\nIt was just as they turned the corner at the foot of the lane leading up the\\nlong hill that they met young Martin rattling along in the old buggy in which he\\npicked up the news of a half dozen neighboring townships for his report to the\\ncity newspapers.\\nYoung Martin pulled up brisklv as the doctor s gig came along. Going up\\nthe hill?\\nAint you pointed the wrong way? said John Dark, solemnly.\\nNo, said he. Going home to write my story. Axe in kitchen, house all\\nupset, earth turned up new in the yard take the scare-heads just as well as if it\\nhadn t been a tussle with the big gobbler, and the captain hadn t come in, in the\\nmiddle of house-cleaning, and taken his wife the back way over to Lortonville to\\nspend the night with his sister, who d sent over word she was sick\\nMay I ask, said the minister, how you know all this?\\nSaw the captain. Saw the captain himself, five minutes ago, alive and\\nhearty, driving in the yard.\\nIf that aint a dum shame said Mr. Peake.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 81\\nBUD ZUNTS S MAIL\\nBEING PART OF A SHORT STORY OF THAT TITI^E\\nBY RUTH McENERY STUART\\nBorn in Avoyelles Parish, La.\\nOTHIN for you, Bud Zunts. Seems like I ought to ve heered that often\\nenough to know it by this time but I don t. I don t even to say half\\nb lieve it when I do hear it no, I don t.\\nBud Zunts had just come out of the Simpkinsville post-office, and,\\nmounting the seat of his wagon, he turned his oxen s heavy heads\\nslowly homeward.\\nTh ain t been a night sence she s been a-sayin it, he continued, as the\\nponderous beasts made a lunge out of the deep ruts, th ain t been a night in\\nthree year sence she s been a-sayin it but I ve mo n half expected to see her\\nhan out a letter, an I c n see the purty blue veins in er ban s when she d be\\nhandin it out. He chuckled. N I c n see er smile like s ef she was tickled\\nto see me paid at last for stoppin every night in all these year t inquire. Tis\\npurty tiresome some nights but of co se when a man s a-co tin he can t expec\\nhe can t expec tell the truth, I reckon I dunno nothin bout co tin 1\\nwusht I did know. Seem like ma tried to teach me a little bit of every kind o\\nlearnin she knew about, but don t seem like she could ve knew^ much about\\nco tin nohow.\\nTh ain t never been a time, turn my min free ez I can, thet I c n understan\\nhow in creation pa ever co ted ma th ain t for a fac I ve magined it every\\nway I c n twis things, an I ve made er young an purty, n I ve plumped er\\nout pore ma was awful thin an rawboned, jest like me, ever sence I c n ricollec\\nbut I ve plumped er out in my min n I ve frizzed er hair, n smoothed\\ndown er cowlick, but even then I aint been able to see er bein co ted thout\\nfussin noways. Pore ma. She cert n y was the best an most worrisome\\nwoman thet God ever made.\\nI won t say she was the best, neither, for I ve been a-co tin Miss C delia\\nnow three year an six mont s an three nights to-night, n watchin er constant,\\nan I b lieve she ^ez good a woman ez ma was ever bit thout er worrisome\\nw^ays, too pore ma.\\nBud Zunts mused here a few moments, but presently he chuckled again\\nHere I set a-talkin bout co tin s er everybody knowed it, n I dunno ez\\nFrom Carlotta s Intended and Other Stories, by Ruth McEnery Stuart. Copyright, 1894, by Harper Brothers.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "RUTH MCENERY STUART\\n82", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "RUTH McENERY STUART 83\\nanybody do but me. Wonder ef Miss C delia think Fd stop every night fo four\\nyear goin on n ast for letters n never git a one, n wait tell the las person\\ngoes out every night, n stop an lock the gate n climb over the pickets (she\\nthinks I lock the gate on the outside n fling the key back she mus think I*\\ntake a mighty good aim to hit the aidge o the door-sill every time). Wonder\\nef she do think I do that-a-way ever night, th way I do, jest to be a-doin N\\nI wonder ef she ever heerd me a-tryin the winder-shetters to make shore no-\\nbody d bother er du in the night\\nHe laughed softly.\\nMove on, Bute Bute n Fairy s about ez down-hearted a pair o oxen\\nto-night ez I ever see.\\nThe roads were heavy and wet, and man, beasts, and wagon were old, so\\nthe equipage moved slowly, bogging and spluttering occasionally in soft spots\\nlike the soliloquy.\\nYas, he resumed presently, I been a-co tin Miss C delia for fo year\\ngoin on n I ain t never spoke yet many nights ez I ve laid ofif to. Ef she\\ndidn t keep the post-ofifice, so s I c n see er ever evenin an a Sund y mornin s\\nthoo the little winder, n get my daily incour gements n rfz.ycour gements, I d\\nve spoke long ago n maybe stid o me an Bute n Fairy trudgin along so\\nslow in the mud to-night, not keerin much whether or when we git home, I\\nmight be we might be she might\\nI do declare, the way I do set up here n giggle is rrdic lous\\nW o, Bute These here slushy ruts is awful mud clean up to the hub\\nSo Bud Zunts proceeded on his lonely way, until he finally reached his\\nown gate the humble entrance to the two-roomed cabin that dignified his\\nmeagre little farm, lying on the edge of Simpkinsville.\\nAfter the front door closed to-night, Miss Cordelia Cummins, the post-\\nmistress, stood for a long time behind her pigeon-hole barrier, looking over the\\nremaining mail.\\nHere s mo letters n enough for Kate Clark n papers, too, she said,\\naudibly. Some o the papers got er po try printed in em, an some ain t.\\nHere s one o her s now, A Midnight Monody wonder what that means It s\\nhers, I m shore, cause it s signed by her pen-nandy-plume, Silver Sheen.\\nI s pose that is mo suited fo a po try writer s name n Kate Clark d be but\\nseem to me I wouldn t deny my name, noways po try or no po try\\nThese paper-wrappers stick mighty tight. I mos split this n gettin it\\nback on.\\nI see she s got two letters from the telegraph station. Funny how thin\\nan fine that young man does write like he craved to whisper. Ke writes", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "84 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nprccizcly like a lady. Ef ever I did get a letter from a male person, I d choose\\nfor im to have a mannish handwrite clare I would.\\nTwo f om im to-day an one to him. Well, I m proud to see Kate s\\na-keepin im where he b longs. I dunno either come to feel em, I b lieve her\\none letter s heavier n both o his n n it s writ on pink paper, too n it s got\\nsmellin stufif in it shore s I ve got a nose\\nI do wonder ef Kate writes love verses to im? I hardly b lieve it of er\\nthough I dunno\\nHere s at least fo love letters in a row, n I don t doubt the last one of em\\nis so sweet inside thet ef they was lef open in the sun the honey-bees d light\\non em.\\nSometimes I do wush t I d get a letter myself jest a reel out- n -out love\\nletter, same ez ef I wasn t pos mistress not thet I d b lieve any written-out fool-\\nishness, of co se, but jest fo the fun of it. Maybe ef I didn t handle so many\\nI wouldn t think about it.\\nI do hones b lieve thet th ain t another person a-livin in the country that\\nis, no grown-up person black nor white, but s got a letter some time r other\\nIcss n, of co se. Bud Zunts.\\nBut I m jest a Icetle bit ahead o you, Bud, on that. I knozv you ain t never\\ngot none, n you don t know how many I get.\\nSometimes I do hate to tell im th ain t nothin for im, pore boy Lis n\\nat me a-callin im boy, n he a month an three days older n me, an I m jest\\nto think, I m purty nigh ez ole ez Bud Zunts, an he gray ez a rat! But I\\nreckon his ma worreted im all but gray.\\nPore Mis Zunts She was a good woman. Mis Zunts was. but I ve seen\\nsome worse ones I d a heap ruther live with.\\nShe cert n y was worrisome but I don t doubt Bud is the best-trained\\nyoung man in the country to-day. He turned out is toes, n said ma am an\\nsir, when he warn t no mo n knee-high to a toad-frog. An he knew the whole\\nShorter Catechism fore he could pernounce a half o the words but as for\\nunderstan in it well, I often think maybe that s reserved for heaven, anyway.\\nI do wonder what pore Bud does when he goes home of nights? It mus\\nbe awful lonesome for im when the lamp s lit ef he lights a lamp. You never\\ncan tell jest how low down a man lef to hisself will get. Pore Bud They s jest\\none thing his ma didn t teach him an that s cour ge. Sometimes the most\\nc rageous person a-goin ill seem to squench all the cour ge out of another\\nperson, n not mean to do it, neither.\\nI did start one night to say, 7 wi sorry th ain t nothin fo you to-night,\\nBud Zunts, n then I wouldn t on zvon t! I won t have it said that I give im\\nthat much encour gement.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "RUTH McENERY STUART 85\\nEf he s a womanish man, I won t match im by being a mannish woman.\\nBut I do wush t I knew ef he was wearing woolen next to is skin or not. She\\nsighed. Ef ef Bud was to take the pneumony to-morrow well, I dunno\\nwhat I d do, but I reckon, knowin what s on is min an what s on mine, it d be\\nmy aboundin duty to go, thout sayin a word, an nurse im thoo it to sort o\\nfinish out the pantomime he s done started. But it d pleg me awful deed it\\nwould.\\ni;\\nRising, she went back to the perch, and said, slowly and distinctly, They s\\na love-letter for you. Bud Zunts.\\nNothin for you, Bud Zunts, answered Polly.\\nA love-letter for you. Bud Zunts, repeated Miss Cordelia, calmly.\\nNothin for you Bud Zunts, insists Poll again and while he laughs, Miss\\nCordelia, raising her voice, reiterates\\nA love-letter for you, Bud Zunts\\nNothin for you\\nA love-letter\\nNothin\\nA love-letter\\nMiss Cordelia, in her growing excitement, raised her voice higher and\\nhigher, until it was a shrill scream, while Poll, not to be outdone, screeched his\\nloudest. It was a fierce argument dramatically sustained on both sides, and\\nthere, in the blazing light, woman and bird appeared at their best.\\nThere is no telling just how long the contest might have continued or how\\nit would have resulted had not a sudden swishing sound just behind her told Miss\\nCordelia that somebody was dropping a letter in the box. There was some one,\\nof course, just outside the door. Would he notice the blazing light? Had he\\nheard Starting suddenly, she quickly turned down the lamp and blew out both\\ncandles. Then she hurriedly got into bed. She did not even say her prayers.\\nShe did not even look at the letter in the box. She was too much frightened.\\nPoll, awe-stricken into silence by the sudden darkness, made no sound for\\nsome minutes, and then, in a somewhat querulous voice, he ventured, Nothin\\nfor you. Bud Zunts. And Miss Cordelia did not contradict him.\\nBut when, after a prolonged silence. Poll said, Good-night Cordelia, she\\nanswered, feebly, Good-night, Polly.\\nHappy dreams continued Poll.\\nHappy dreams. responded a week voice from under the covers.\\nGod bless you said the bird. But Miss Cordelia could not answer. She\\nwas crying.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "86 BEST THIN GS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nMR. RABBIT, MR. FOX, AND MR. BUZZARD\\nKRO:\\\\I UNClvE REMUS\\nBY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS\\n(Born at Eatonton, Ga., Decembers, 1848)\\nNE evening when the hltle boy whose nights witli Uncle Remus are as\\nentertaining as those Arabian ones of blessed memory had finished\\nsupper and hurried out to sit with his venerable patron, he found the\\nold man in great glee. Indeed, Uncle Remus was talking and laugh-\\ning to himself at such a rate that the little boy was afraid he had\\ncompany. The truth is. Uncle Remus had heard the child coming,\\nand when the rosy-cheeked chap put his head in at the door, was engaged in a\\nmonologue, the burden of which seemed to be\\nOle Molly Har\\nWat you doin dar,\\nSettin in de cornder\\nSmokin yo seegyar?\\nAs a matter of course this vague illusion reminded the little boy of the fact\\nthat the wicked Fox was still in pursuit of the Rabbit, and he immediately put\\nhis curiosity in the shape of a question.\\nUncle Remus, did the Rabbit have to go clean away when he got loose\\nfrom the Tar-Baby?\\nBless grashus, honey, dat he didn t. Who? Him? You dunno nuthin\\ntall bout Brer Rabbit ef dat s de way you puttin im down. Wat he gwinc\\nway fer? He mouter stayed sorter close twel the pitch rub ofT n his ha r, but\\ntwern t menny days fo he wuz loping up en down de naberhood same as ever,\\nen I dunno ef he wern t mo sassier dan befo\\nSeem like dat tale bout how he got mixt up wid de Tar-Baby got roun\\nmongst de nabers. Leas ways, Miss Meadows en de girls got win un it, en de\\nncx time Brer Rabbit paid um a visit, Miss Meadows tackled im bout it, en\\nde gals sot up a monst us gigglement. Brer Rabbit, he sot up des ez cool ez a\\ncowcumber, he did, en let em run on.\\nWho was Miss Meadows, Uncle Remus? inquired the little boy.\\nDon t ax me, honey. She wuz in de tale, Miss Meadows en de gals wuz,\\nen de tale I give you like hit wer gun ter me. Brer Rabbit, he sot dar, he did.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS 87\\nsorter lam-like, en den bimeby he cross his legs, he did, and wink his eye slow,\\nen up en say, sezee\\nLadies, Brer Fox wuz my daddy s ridin -hoss for thirty year, maybe mo\\nbut thirty year dat I knows un, sezee en den he paid um his specks, en tip his\\nbeaver, en march ofif, he did, des ez stiff en ez stuck up ez a fire-stick.\\nNex day, Brer Fox cum a callin, and w en he gun fer to laff bout Brer\\nRabbit, Miss Meadows en de gals, dey ups and tells im bout w at Brer Ral)l)it\\nsay. Den Brer Fox grit his toof sho nuff, he did, en he look mighty dumpy,\\nbut when he riz fer to go he up en say, sezee\\nLadies, I ain t sputin w at you say, but I ll make Brer Rabbit chaw up his\\nwords en spit um out right yer whare you kin see im, sezee, en wid dat off\\nBrer Fox marcht.\\nEn w en he got in de big road, he shuck de dew off n his tail, en made\\na straight shoot fer Brer Rabbit s house. W en he got dar, Brer Rabbit wuz\\nspectin un him, en de do wuz shut fas Brer Fox knock. Nobody ain t\\nans er. Brer Fox knock. Nobody ans er. Den he knock ag in blam blam\\nDen Brer Rabbit holler out, mighty weak\\nIs dat you. Brer Fox? I want you ter run en fetch de doctor. Dat bit\\ner parsley w at I e t dis mawnin is gittin way wid me. Do, please. Brer Fox,\\nrun quick, sez Brer Rabbit, sezee.\\nI come atter you, Brer Rabbit, sez Brer Fox, sezee. Dere s gwinter be a\\nparty up at Miss Meadows sezee. All de gals 11 be dere, en I promus dat I d\\nfetch you. De gals, dey lowed dat hit wouldn t be no party cep in I fotch you,\\nsez Brer Fox, sezee.\\nDen Brer Rabbit say he wuz too sick, en Brer Fox say he wuzzent, en dar\\ndey had it up and down, sputin en contendin Brer Rabbit say he can t walk.\\nBrer Fox say he tote im. Brer Rabbit say how? Brer Fox say in his arms.\\nBrer Rabbit say he drap im. Brer Fox low he won t. Bimeby Brer Rabbit\\nsay he go ef Brer Fox tote im on his back. Brer Fox say he would. Brer\\nRabbit say he can t ride widout a saddle. Brer Fox say he git de saddle. Brer\\nRabbit say he can t set in saddle less he have a bridle for to hoi by. Brer Fox\\nsay he git de bridle. Brer Rabbit say he can t ride widout bline bridle, kaze\\nBrer Fox be shyin at stumps long de road, en fling im off. Brer Fox say he\\ngit bline bridle. Den Brer Rabbit say he go. Den Brer Fox say he ride Brer\\nRabbit mos up to Miss Meadows s, en den he could git down en walk de bal-\\nance ob de way. Brer Rabbit greed, en den Brer Fox lit out atter de saddle\\nen de bridle.\\nCo se Brer Rabbit know de game dat Brer Fox wuz fixin fer ter play, en\\nhe termin fer ter out-do im en by de time he koam his ha r en twis his mus-\\ntarsh, en sorter rig up, yer come Brer Fox, saddle and bridle on, en lookin ez", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "88 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\npeart ez a circus pony. He trot up ter de do en stan dar pawin de ground en\\nchompin de bit same like sho nuff boss, en Brer Rabbit he mount, he did, en\\nday amble ofif. Brer Fox can t see behine wid de bline bridle on, but bimeby he\\nfeel Brer Rabbit raise one er his foots.\\nWat you doin now, Brer Rabbit? sezee.\\nShort nin de lef stir p, Brer Fox, sezee.\\nBimeby Brer Rabbit raise de udder foot.\\nWat you doin now. Brer Rabbit? sezee.\\nPullin down my pants. Brer Fox, sezee.\\nAll de time, bless grashus, honey. Brer Rabbit was puttin on his spurrers.\\nen w en day got close to Miss Meadows s, whar Brer Rabbit wuz to git ofif, en\\nBrer Fox made a motion fer ter stan still. Brer Rabbit slap de spurrers inter\\nBrer F^x flanks, en you better b lieve he got over groun W en dey got ter de\\nhouse, Miss Meadows en all de girls wuz settin on de peazzer, en stidder stop-\\npin at de gate Brer Rabbit rid on by, he did, en den come gallopin dov/n de\\nroad en up ter de hoss-rack, w ich he hitch Brer Fox at, en den he sa nter inter\\nde house, he did, en shake ban s wid de gals, en set dar, smokin his seegyar\\nsame ez a town man. Bimeby he draw in long puff, en den let hit out in a\\ncloud, en squar hisse f back, en holler out, he did\\nLadies, ain t I done tell you Brer Fox wuz de ridin -hoss fer our fambly?\\nHe sorter losin his gait now, but I speck I kin fetch im all right in a mont or\\nso, sezee.\\nEn den Brer Rabbit sorter grin, he did, en de gals giggle, en Miss\\nMeadows, she praise up de pony, en dar wuz Brer Fox hitch fas ter de rack,\\nen couldn t he p hisse f.\\nIs that all. Uncle Remus? asked the little boy, as the old man paused.\\nDat ain t all, honey, but twon t do fer to give out too much clofif for ter\\ncut one pa r pants, replied the old man, sententiously.\\nWhen Miss Sally s little boy went to Uncle Remus the next night, he\\nfound the old man in a bad humor.\\nI ain t tellin no tales ter bad chilluns, said Uncle Remus, curtly.\\nBut, Uncle Remus, I ain t bad, said the little boy, plaintively.\\nWho dat chunkin dem chickens dis mawnin Who dat knockin out\\nfokes s eyes wid dat Yallerbammer sling des fo dinner? Who dat sickin dat\\np inter puppy after my pig? Who dat scatterin my ingun sets? Who dat\\nflingin rocks on top er my house, w ich a little mo en one un em would er drap\\nspang on my head?\\nWell, now. Uncle Remus, I didn t go to do it. I won t do so any more.\\nPlease, Uncle Remus, if you will tell me, I ll run to the house and bring you\\nsome teacakes.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS\\n89\\nSeein urn s better n hearin tell un um, replied the old man, the severity\\nof his countenance relaxing somewhat; but the little boy darted out, and in a\\nfew minutes came running back with his pockets full and his hands full.\\nI lay yo mammy 11 spishun dat de rats stummucks is widenin in dis\\nnaberhood w en sh come fer ter count up er cakes, said Uncle Remus, with a\\nchuckle.\\nLemme see. I mos dis member .v/har bouts Brer Fox and Brer Rabbit\\nAVUZ.\\nThe rabbit rode the fox to Miss Meadows s and hitched him to the horse-\\nrack, said the little boy.\\nHOME OF JOEI^ CHANDI^ER HARRIS\\nWhy, co se he did, said Uncle Remus. Co se he did. Well, Brer Rab-\\nbit rid Brer Fox up, he did, en tied im to de rack, en den sot out in the peazzer\\nwid de gals, a-smokin er his seegyar wid mo proudness dan w at you mos ever\\nsee. Dey talk, en dey sing, en dey play on de peanner, de gals did, twel bimeby\\nhit come time for Brer Rabbit fer to be gwine, en he tell um all good-by, en\\nstrut out to de hoss-rack same s ef he was de king er der patter-rollers, en den\\nhe mount Brer Fox en ride off.\\nBrer Fox ain t sayin nuthin tall. He des rack off, he did, en keep his\\nmouf shet, en Brer Rabbit know d der wuz bizness cookin up fer him, en he felt", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "90 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nmonst ous skittish. Brer Fox amble on twel he git in de long lane, outer sight\\ner Miss Meadows s house, en den he tu n loose, he did. He rip en he r ar, en\\nhe cuss en he sw ar; he snort en he cavort.\\nWhat was he doing that for. Uncle Remus the little boy inquired.\\nHe wuz tryin fer ter fling Brer Rabbit off n his back, bless yo soul But\\nhe des might ez well er rastle wid his own shadder. Every time he hump hisse f\\nBrer Rabbit slap de spurrers in im, en dar day had it up en down. Brer Fox\\nfa rly to up de groun he did, en he jump so high en he jump so quick dat he\\nmighty nigh snatch his own tail off. Dey kep on gwine on dis way twel bimeby\\nBrer Fox lay down en roll over, he did, en dis sorter unsettle Brer Rabbit, but by\\nde time Brer Fox got on his footses ag in. Brer Rabbit wuz gwine thoo de under-\\nbresh mo samer dan a race-hoss. Brer Fox, he lit out atter im, he did, en he\\npush Brer Rabbit so close dat it wuz bout all he could do fer ter git in a holler\\ntree. Hole too little fer Brer Fox fer ter git in, en he hatter lay down en res\\nen gadder his mine tergedder.\\nWhile he wuz layin dar, Mr. Buzzard come floppin long, en seein Brer\\nFox stretch out on de groun he lit en view de premusses. Den Mr. Buzzard\\nsorter shake his wing, en put his head on one side, en say to hisse f like, sezee\\nBrer Fox dead, en I so sorry, sezee.\\nNo I ain t dead, nudder, sez Brer Fox, sezee. I got ole man Rabbit\\npent up in yer, sezee, en I m gwine git im dis time, ef it take twel Chris mus,\\nsezee.\\nDen, atter some mo palaver. Brer Fox make a bargain dat Mr. Buzzard\\nwuz ter watch de hole, en keep Brer Rabbit dar w iles Brer Fox went atter his\\naxe. Den Brer Fox, he lope off, he did, en Mr. Buzzard, he tuck up his stan\\nat de hole. Bimeby, w en all get still. Brer Rabbit sorter scramble down close\\nter de hole, he did, en holler out\\nBrer Fox Oh, Brer Fox\\nBrer Fox done gone, en nobody say nuthin Den Brer Rabbit squall out\\nlike he wuz mad\\nYou needn t talk less you wanter, sezee; I know youer dar, an I ain t\\nkeerin sezee. I des wanter tell you dat I wish mighty bad Brer Tukkey\\nBuzzard was here, sezee.\\nDen Mr. Buzzard try to talk like Brer Fox\\nW at you want wid Mr. Buzzard sezee.\\nOh, nuthin in tick ler, cep dere s de fattes gray squir l in yer dat ever\\nI see, sezee, en ef Brer Tukkey Buzzard was roun he d be mighty glad fer ter\\ngit im, sezee.\\nHow Mr. Buzzard gwine ter git him sez de buzzard, sezee.\\nWell, dar s a little hole, roun on de udder side er de tree, sez Brer Rab-", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS 91\\nbit, sezee, en ef Brer Tukkey Buzzard was here so he could take up his stan\\ndar, sezee, I d drive dat squir l out, sezee.\\nDrive im out, den, sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee, en I ll see dat Brer Tukkey\\nBuzzard gits im, sezee.\\nDen Brer Rabbit kick up a racket, like he wer drivin sumpin out, en Mr.\\nBuzzard he rush roun fer ter ketch de squir l, en Brer Rabbit, he dash out, he\\ndid, en he des fly fer home.\\nWell, Mr. Buzzard he feel mighty lonesome, he did, but he done prommust\\nBrer Fox dat he d stay, en he termin fer ter sorter hang roun en jine in de\\njoke. En he ain t hatter wait long, nudder, kase bimeby yer come Brer Fox\\ngallopin thoo de woods wid his axe on his shoulder.\\nHow you speck Brer Rabbit gittin on, Brer Buzzard? sez Brer Fox,\\nsezee.\\nOh, he in dar, sez Brer Buzzard, sezee. He mighty still, dough. I\\nspeck he takin a nap, sezee.\\nDen I m des in time fer ter wake im up, sez Brer Fox, sezee. En wid\\ndat he fling ofif his coat, en spit on his ban s, en grab de axe. Den he draw\\nback en come down on de tree pow En eve y time he come down wid de\\naxe pow Mr. Buzzard, he step high, he did, en hollar out\\nOh, he in dar. Brer Fox. He in dar, sho\\nEn eve y time a chip u d fly off, Mr. Buzzard he d jump, en dodge, en hoi\\nhis head sideways, he would, en holler\\nHe in dar. Brer Fox. I done heerd im. He in dar, sho\\nEn Brer Fox, he lammed away at dat holler tree, he did, like a man mauHn\\nrails, twel bimeby, atter he done got de tree mos cut thoo, he stop fer ter ketch\\nhis bref, en he seed Mr. Buzzard laffin behind his back, he did, en right den en\\ndar, widout gwine enny fudder. Brer Fox he smelt a rat. But Mr. Buzzard he\\nkeep on holler n\\nHe in dar. Brer Fox he in dar, sho I done seed im.\\nDen Brer Fox, he made like he peepin up de holler, en he say, sezee\\nRun yer, Brer Buzzard, en look ef dis ain t Brer Rabbit s foot hangin\\ndown yer.\\nEn Mr. Buzzard, he come steppin up, he did, same ez ef he were treddin\\non kurkle-burrs, en he stick his head in de hole en no sooner did he done dat\\ndan Brer Fox grab im. Mr. Buzzard flap his wings, en scramble roun right\\nsmartually, he did, but twan no use. Brer Fox had de vantage er de grip, he\\ndid, en he hilt im right down ter de groun Den Mr. Buzzard squall out,\\nsezee\\nLemme lone, Brer Fox. Tu n me loose, sezee. Brer Rabbit 11 git out.\\nYouer gittin close at im, sezee, en leb m mo licks 11 fetch im, sezee.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "92\\nBEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nI m nigher ter you, Brer Buzzard, sez Brer Fox, sezee, dan I ll be ter\\nBrer Rabbit dis day, sezee. Wat you fool me fer? sezee.\\nLenmie lone. Brer Fox, sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee; my ole oman waitin\\nfer me. Brer Rabbit in dar, sezee.\\nDar s a bunch er his fur on dat blackbe y bush, sez Brer Fox, sezee, en\\ndat ain t de way he come, sezee.\\nDen Mr. Buzzard up n tell Brer Fox how twuz, en he low d, Mr. Buzzard\\ndid, dat Brer Rabbit wuz de low-downest w atsizname w at he ever run up wid.\\nDen Brer Fox say, sezee\\nDat s needer here ner dar. Brer lUizzard, sezee. I lef you ter watch\\ndis yer hole, en I lef Brer Rabliit in dar. I comes back en I fines you at de\\nhole, en Brer Rabbit ain t in dar, sezee. I m gwinter make you pay fer t. I\\ndone bin tampered wid twcl plum down ter de sapsucker 11 set on a log en sassy\\nme. I m gwinter fling you in a bresh-heap en burn you up, sezee.\\nEf you fling me on der fire, Brer Fox, I ll fly way, sez Mr. Buzzard, sezee.\\nWell, den, I ll settle yo hash right now, sez Brer Fox, sezee, en wid\\ndat he grab Mr. Buzzard by de tail, he did, en make fer ter dash im g in de\\ngroun but des bout dat time de tail fedders come out, en Mr. Buzzard sail of\u00c2\u00a5\\nlike wunner dese yer berloons, en ez he riz he holler back\\nYou gimme good start. Brer Fox, sezee, en Brer Fox sot dar en watch\\nim fly outer sight.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nTHE SONG OF THE CAMP\\nBY BAYARD TAYLOR\\n(Born at Kennett Square, Pa., January ii, 1825; died at Berlin, Germany, December 19, 1878)\\nGive US a song! the soldiers cried,\\nThe outer trenches guarding,\\nWhen the heated guns of the camps allied\\nGrew weary of bombarding.\\nThe dark Redan, in silent scoff,\\nLay, grim and threatening, under\\nAnd the tawny mound of the Malakoff\\nNo longer belched its thunder.\\nThere was a pause. A guardsman said\\nWe storm the forts to-morrow\\nSing while we may, another day\\nWill bring enough of sorrow.\\nThey lay along the battery s side,\\nBelow the smoking cannon\\nBrave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde,\\nAnd from the banks of Shannon.\\nThey sang of love, and not of fame\\nForgot was Britain s glory\\nEach heart recalled a different name.\\nBut all sang Annie Laurie.\\nVoice after voice caught up the song.\\nUntil its tender passion\\nRose like an anthem, rich and strong\\nTheir battle-eve confession.\\nDear girl, her name he dared not speak.\\nBut, as the song grew louder,\\nSomething upon the soldier s cheek\\nWashed off the stains of powder.\\nReproduced by kind permission of Houghton, Mifflin Co., of lioston.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "BAYARD TAYLOR\\n94", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "BAYARD TAYLOR\\nBeyond the darkening ocean burned\\nThe bloody sunset s embers,\\nWhile the Crimean valleys learned\\nHow English love remembers.\\nAnd once again a fire of hell\\nRained on the Russian quarters,\\nWith scream of shot, and burst of shell,\\nAnd bellowing of the mortars\\nAnd Irish Nora s eyes are dim\\nFor a singer, dumb and gory\\nAnd English Mary mourns for him\\nWho sang of Annie Laurie.\\nSleep, soldiers still in honored rest\\nYour truth and valor wearing\\nThe bravest are the tenderest\\nThe loving are the daring.\\n95", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "PHILANDER DEMING", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 97\\nJOHN S TRIAL\\nBY PHILANDER DEMING\\n(Born at Carlisle, N. Y., February 6, 1S29)\\nUST where the Wilderness road of the Adirondack Highlands strikes the\\nedge of the great Champlain Valley, in a little clearing, is a lonely log\\nhouse. On the tenth day of July, 1852, a muscular, gaunt woman stood\\nat the door of the house, overlooking the vast extent of the valley.\\nFrom her standpoint, ten miles of green forest swept down to the lake s\\nwinding shore. She saw the indentation made in the shore line by the\\nbay, and beyond, the wide waters gleaming in the fervid brightness of Summer.\\nSpecks were here and there discernible in the light, flashed back from the blue,\\nmirror-like surface, and by long watching it could be seen that these specks were\\nmoving to and fro.\\nThe woman knew that these distant moving atoms were boats freighting\\nlumber through Lake Champlain. She knew there was but one boat that\\nwould be likely to turn aside ar.d come into the little bay, and that this boat\\nwould be her son John s sloop.\\nThat was why she watched so anxiously a speck that neared the bay, and\\nat length entered it. To make doubly sure, she brought to bear an old spyglass,\\nwhose principal lens was cracked entirely through. It gave her a smoky view\\nof the famous sloop, The Dolly Ann, John s property and then she w^as\\nentirely certain that her son, who had been three weeks absent on his voyage,\\nwas coming home.\\nJupiter, the house-dog, who had been watching her, seemed to know it, too,\\nperfectly well for, as she turned from her survey through the glass, his canine\\nnature developed a degree of wriggling friskiness, of which the grave old dog\\nseemed half ashamed. He whined, and walked about the door-yard for a\\nfew moments, then gave his mistress a long, steady look, and, seeming satisfied\\nwith what he read in her face, jumped over the fence, and started down the road\\ninto the valley at a full run.\\nThe woman knew that three or four hours must yet elapse before John and\\nJupiter would come along the path together, tired by their long tramp up the\\nmountain side. She thought and waited, as lonely mothers think and wait for\\nabsent sons.\\nAt about four o clock a young, dark-eyed man and the dog came up the road\\nBy permission of Houghton, Mifflin Co., Boston.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "98 BEST THIXGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nand to the house. Heigho, mother, all well? was the man s greeting. The\\nwoman s greeting was only How do you do, John? There was no show of\\nsentiment, not even a hand-shake but a bright look in the man s face, and a\\ntremor in the voice of the woman conveyed the impression that these plain people\\nfelt a great deal more than they expressed.\\nTwo hours passed away; and, after supper, the neighbors, who had seen\\nJohn and the dog come up the road, dropped in for a talk with the captain,\\nas John was called by his friends.\\nSoon the inquiry was made, Where did you leave your cousin William\\nJohn had taken his cousin William, who lived upon the lake shore, with\\nhim upon this last trip, and hence the question.\\nBut John did not answer the question directly. He seemed troubled and un-\\nhappy about it. He finally acknowledged that he and William had not agreed,\\nand that high words and blows had passed between them, and added that his\\ncousin had finally left the boat and gone away in a hufif, he knew not where, but\\nsomewhere into the pineries of Canada. He declared, getting warm in his\\nrecollection of the quarrel, that he didn t care a darn where Will went, anyway.\\nA month passed: it was August. Cousin Will did not return. But cer-\\ntain strange stories came up the lake from Canada, and reached the dwellers\\nalong the Adirondack Wilderness road. No Cousin William had been seen in\\nthe pineries but just across the Canada line, at the mouth of Fish River, where\\nthe sloops were moored to receive their lading of lumber, a bruised, swollen, fes-\\ntering corpse had risen and floated in the glare of a hot August day. The boat-\\nmen rescued it, and buried it upon the shore. They described it as the body of\\na hale, vigorous young man, agreeing in height, size and appearance with Cousin\\nWilliam.\\nAnd there was another story told by the captain of a sloop which had been\\nmoored at the mouth of Fish River, nearby John s sloop, on the fatal voyage\\nfrom which Cousin William had not returned.\\nThe captain said that, upon the fourth of July, he had heard quarreling\\nupon John s sloop all the afternoon, and had noticed that only two men were\\nthere. He thought the men had been drinking. At nightfall there was a little\\nlull but soon after dark the noise broke out again. He could see nothing\\nthrough the gloom but he heard high and angry words, and at length blows,\\nand then a dull, crushing thud, followed by a plunge into the water; and then\\nthere was entire silence. He listened for an hour, in the stillness of the Summer\\nnight, but heard no further sound from the boat. In the early gray of the\\nnext morning, the captain, looking across the intervening space to John s sloop,\\nwhich he described as hardly a stone s-throw from his own, saw a hat lying upon\\nthe deck, and, using his glass, was confident that he saw spatters of blood.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "PHILANDER DEMING 99\\nHe thought it none of his business, and, taking advantage of a light breeze,\\nsailed away and said nothing. But, when the floating corpse was found, he felt\\nsure there had been a murder, and, as he expressed it, felt bound to tell his story\\nlike an honest man, and so told it.\\nPutting these things together, it soon grew to be the current opinion upon\\nthe lake that Captain John had murdered his cousin William. The dwellers\\nupon the Wilderness road also came, by slow degrees and unwillingly, to the\\nsame conclusion. It was felt and said that John ought to be arrested.\\nAccordingly, on a dreary day in November, two officers from the county\\ntown, twenty miles away from the lake shore, came and climbed the steep road\\nto the lonely log house, and arrested John. It was undoubtedly a dreadful\\nblow to those two lonely people living isolated in a wilderness. Perhaps there\\nought to have been some crying and a scene but there was no such thing. The\\nofficers testified that neither John nor his mother made any fuss about it. There\\nwas a slight twitching of the strong muscles of her face as she talked with the\\nofficers, but no other outward sign.\\nJohn gave more evidence of the wound he felt. He was white and quivering\\nyet he silently, and without objection, made ready to go with the officers. He\\nwas soon prepared, and they started. John, as he went out of the door, turned\\nand, said, Good-by it will all be made right, mother. She simply answered,\\nYes, good-by; I know it, my son.\\nThe trio went on foot down the road to the next house, where the officers\\nhad left their team. Jupiter, standing up with his forepaws upon the top of the\\nfence, gazed wistfully after them. When they passed around the bend of the\\nroad, out of sight, Jupiter went into the house. The strong woman was there\\nabout her work, as usual but the heavy tears would now and then fall upon the\\nhard pine floor. She knew that her own boy would spend the coming night in\\nthe county jail.\\nAt twelve o clock of that chill November night, the woman and the dog\\nwent out of the house she fastened the door, and then they went together down\\nthe dark mountain road, while the Autumn winds swept dismally through the\\ngreat wilderness, and the midnight voice of the pines mourned the dying year.\\nThe next day, at noon, a very weary woman on foot, with a small bundle and a\\nlarge dog, put up at the village hotel hard by the county jail.\\nAnother day passed, and then the preliminary examination came on before\\na Justice, to determine whether there was sufficient evidence to hold John in\\ncustody until a grand jury of the county should be assembled for the next Court\\nof Oyer and Terminer.\\nThree days were spent in this examination before the Justice. The captain\\nof the sloop who had overheard the quarrel in the night told his story, and the", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "loo BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nboatmen who had found the body told theirs. Two men who had been the crew\\nof John s Httle vessel were also called but they could tell little more than that\\nthey were absent on shore upon the Fourth of July, and when they returned to the\\nvessel William had gone, they knew not where nor why.\\nThe evidence against John seemed to the Magistrate clear and conclusive.\\nBut the counsel for the accused (employed by John s mother) took the ground\\nthat, as the offence w^as committed in Canada, a Justice in the United States had\\nno jurisdiction in the matter.\\nThis view prevailed, and after five days the accused was set at liberty. But\\nthat voice of the people, which the ancient proverb says is like the voice of God.\\nhad decided that John was guilty. It was under this crushing condemnation that\\nJohn and his mother left the county town on a cold December day, turning their\\nsteps homeward; and at evening they climbed the acclivity so familiar to them,\\nand reached the lonely log house upon the mountain. Their neighbors w^ere\\nglad to see them back again, but were plain to say that it appeared like as if\\nJohn was guilty. These dwellers in the solitudes were accustomed to speak\\ntruly what they thought. John and his mother, too, spoke openly of this matter.\\nIt was only of showing affection and love that these people were ashamed and\\nshy. They both admitted to their neighbors that the evidence was very strong;\\nbut John added quietly that he was not guilty, as if that settled the whole matter.\\nBut the voice of the* people, and a sense of justice, would not let this crime\\nrest. It came to be very generally known that a man guilty of murder was\\nliving near the shore of Lake Champlain unmolested. Arrangements were\\neffected by which it came to pass that the Canadian authorities made a forma!\\napplication to the United States for the delivery of one John Wilson, believed\\nto be guilty of the murder of his cousin, William Wilson.\\nAnd so again two officers, this time United States officials, climbed up to the\\nlittle log house upon the edge of the great valley. Through a drifting, blinding-\\nstorm of snow they were piloted by a neighbor to the lonely house. They made\\nknown their errand and, in course of half an hour, the officers and their prisoner\\nwere out in the storm en route for the distant city of Montreal.\\nIt was many days before the woman saw her son again. For four months\\nJohn was imprisoned, awaiting his trial before the Canadian courts. Doubtless\\nthose four months seemed long to the solitary woman. She had not much op-\\n]-)ortunity to indulge in melancholy fancies she spent much of her time in pulling\\nbrush and wood out of the snow and breaking it up with an axe, so as to adapt\\nit to the size of her stove.\\nThe neighbors tried to be kind, and often took commissions from her to the\\nstore and the grist-mill in the valley. But, after all, said Pete Searles, one of\\nJohn s friends, in speaking of the matter afterward, what could neighbors amount", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "PHILANDER DEMING loi\\nto, when the nearest of them Hved a mile away, and all of them were plain to say\\nthat they believed she was the mother of a murderer?\\nBut the neighbors said the woman did not seem to mind the solitude and the\\nroug-h work. Morning, noon and night she was out in the snow or the storm at\\nthe little hovel of a barn back of the house, taking care of two cows and a few\\nsheep which were hers and John s. At other times travelers upon the Wilder-\\nness road would see her gaunt, angular figure clambering down a rocky ridge,\\ndragging poles to the house to be cut up for fuel.\\nShe received two letters from John in the course of the Winter. The first\\ntold her that he was imprisoned, and awaiting his trial in Montreal and the next\\none said that his trial had been set down for an early day in March.\\nThis correspondence was all the information the mother had of her son;\\nfor the lake was frozen during the Winter, so that the boats did not run, and no\\nnews could come from Canada by the boatmen.\\nWhen March came and passed away without intelligence from John, it was\\ntaken by the dwellers upo the lake shore and along the Wilderness road as a sure\\nindication that he had been convicted of the crime. A letter or newspaper an-\\nnouncing the fact was confidently looked for by the neighbors whenever they\\nwent to the distant post-office for their weekly mail.\\nAs March went out, and Spring days and sunshine came, it was noticed that\\nthe face of John s mother looked sharp and white but she went about the same\\ndaily duties as before, without seeming to feel ill or weak.\\nOn a splashy April day, full of sunshine, she stood on the rocky ridge back\\nof the house, looking down upon the lake. A few early birds had come back,\\nand were twittering about the clearing. Although the snow still lingered in\\npatches upon the highlands, the valley looked warm below, and the first boats of\\nthe season were dotting the wide, distant mirror of Old Champlain. A man\\ncame slowly up the muddy line of road, through the gate, and around the house\\nthen first the woman saw him. A slight spasm passed over her face. There\\nwas a little pitiful quiver of the muscles about the mouth, and then she walked\\nslowly down the ridge to where the man stood. She struggled a little with her-\\nself before she said, Well, John, I am glad to see you back.\\nJohn tried to be cool also but nature was too much for him. He could not\\nraise his eyes to hers and his simple response, Yes, mother, was chokingly\\nuttered.\\nThe two walked into the house together in the old familiar way. The\\nwoman, without a word, began to spread the table and her son went out and\\nprepared fuel, and, bringing it in, replenished the fire. Then he sat down in his\\naccustomed place by the stove, with a pleasant remark about how well the fire", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "102 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nburned, and how good it seemed to be home again. And the woman spoke a\\nfew kind, motherly words.\\nIt was the way thev had always done when John came back but now there\\nwas a great sadness in it, for he had come from prison. Jupiter seemed fully\\nto realize the situation. He exhibited none of that friskiness which character-\\nized the welcome he had usually given but, when John was seated, the old dog\\ncame slowly up to him, laid his forepaws and his head in his master s lap, and\\nlooked sadly in his face.\\nAs they sat down to supper, John began to tell of his fare in the jail at IVIon-\\ntreal, and to speak freely of his life there. Will you have to go back? said his\\nmother, with that quiver about the mouth again. No, mother, said John it\\nis finished, and I am discharged.\\nAfter supper the story was told over, how well John s counsel had worked\\nfor him, and how the Judge had said there was not sufificient evidence to convict\\nof so great a crime.\\nJohn continued from this time on, through the Spring, to live at home. He\\nallowed his sloop to float idly in the bay, while, as he said, he himself rested.\\nThe truth was, he saw, as others did not, that his mother had carried a fearful\\nweight, and now, when it was lifted by his return, that the resources of her life\\nwere exhausted. The change, not yet apparent to other eyes, was clear to his\\nvision. So it is that these silent spirits read each other.\\nAs the warm weather advanced, the strong woman became weak and, as the\\nJune flowers began to bloom, she ceased to move about much, and sat the most\\nof each day in a chair by the open door. John managed the house, and talked\\nwith his mother. Her mind changed with the relaxation of her physical frame.\\nShe no longer strove to hide her tears, but, like a tired infant, would weep, with-\\nout restraint or concealment, as she told her son of the early loves and romance\\nof her girlhood life in a warm valley of the West. He learned more of his\\nmother s heart in those June days than he had surmised from all he had known of\\nher before. And he understood what this predicted. He felt that the heart\\nnearest his own was counting over the treasures of life ere it surrendered them\\nforever.\\nThere was no great scene when the woman died. It was at evening, just as\\nthe July fervors were coming on. She had wept much in the morning. As the\\nday grew warm she became very weak and faint, and about noon was moved\\nby her son from her chair to her bed, and so died as the sun went down.\\nJohn was alone in the house when she died. Since his return from Alon-\\ntreal, he had been made to feel that he had but one friend besides his mother.\\nOnly one neighbor had called upon him. and that was Pete Searles. He had\\never proved true. But John did not like to trouble his one friend, who lived", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "PHILANDER DEMING 103\\ntwo miles away, to come and stay with him during the night; so he Hghted a\\ncandle, took down from a shelf a little Bible and hymn book that he and his\\nmother had carried on an average about four times a year to a school-house used\\nas a church, some six miles away and so, alone with the dead, he spent the hours\\nin reading and tears and meditation.\\nIn the morning he locked the door of his home, and walked over to Pete s.\\nAs he met his friend, he said in a clear voice, but with eyes averted, She has\\ngone, Pete. If you will just take the key and go over there, I ll go down to the\\nlake and get the things, and tell Downer, and we ll have the funeral, say on\\nThursday.\\nPete hesitated a moment,- then took the key John offered him, and said,\\nYes, John I will tell my woman, and we will go over and fix it, and be there\\nwhen you come back. And so John went on his way. Downer was the min-\\nister, and the things were a coffin and a shroud.\\nOn Thursday was the funeral. Pete took care to have all the people of the\\nneighborhood there, although it hardlv seemed as if John desired it. The pop-\\nular voice, having once decided it, still held John as a murderer, and claimed that\\nhe was cleared from the charge only by the tricks of his lawyer. John knew of\\nthis decision. At the funeral he was stern, cold, white and statue-like. While\\nothers wept, but few tears fell from his eyes and even these seemed wrung from\\nhim by an anguish for the most part suppressed or concealed.\\nHe chose that his mother should be buried, not in the burying-ground at\\nthe settlement, but upon their own little farm where she had lived. And so, in\\na spot below the rocky ridge, where wild violets grew, she was laid to rest.\\nJohn spent the night following the funeral at Pete s house, then returned to\\nhis own home, and from that time his solitary life began. He took his cattle and\\nhis sheep over to Pete s, made all fast about his home, and resumed his boating\\nupon Lake Champlain. He fully realized that he was a marked man. He was\\nadvised, it was said, even by his own legal counsel, to leave the country, and to\\nleave his name behind him but no words influenced him. Firm and steady in\\nhis course, strictly temperate and just, he won respect where he could not gain\\nconfidence.\\nTen years rolled by. Captain John still was a boatman, and still kept his\\nhome at the lonely log house on the edge of the great valley. From each voyage\\nhe returned and spent a day and night at the old place and it was noticed that a\\nstrong, high paling was built around his mother s grave, and a marble head-\\nstone was placed there, and other flowers grew with the wild violets. Even in\\nWinter, when there was no boating, and he boarded down by the lake, he made\\nmany visits to the old homestead. His figure, which, though youthful, was now\\ngrowing gaunt and thin, as his mother s had been, was often seen by Pete at", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "I04 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nnightfall upon the top of a certain rocky ridge, standing out clear and sharp\\nagainst the cold blue steel of the Winter sky.\\nJohn had no companions, and sought none. The young men and women\\nof his set had married and settled in life he was still the same.\\nBut there came a change. Eleven years had passed since the mother died,\\nand it was June again. John was spending a day at the old place once more.\\nHe sat in the door, looking out on the magnificent landscape the broad lake\\nand the dim line of mountains away across the valley. The lovely day seemed\\nto cheer this stern, lonely man.\\nThree persons came up the road they advanced straight to where John was\\nsitting. One of them stepped forward, looked John steadily in the face, held\\nout his hand to him, and said, John, do you know me?\\nThe voice seemed to strike him with a sharp, stunning shock. He quivered,\\nheld his breath, stared into the eyes of the questioner, and then, suddenly be-\\ncoming unnaturally cool and collected, said, Is it you, William?\\nThe two who stood back had once been John s warmest friends. They now\\ncame forward, and, with such words as they could command, told the story of\\nWilliam s sudden return, and sought for themselves forgiveness for the cruel and\\nfalse suspicion which had so long estranged them from their friend.\\nJohn seemed to hear this as one in a dream. He talked with William and\\nthe men, in a manner that seemed strangely cold and indifferent, about where\\nWilliam had been voyaging so long in distant seas and of his strange absence.\\nA quarter of an hour passed away. The men proposed that John should go with\\nthem to their homes, and said there would be a gathering of friends there. They\\npressed the invitation with warmth, and such true feeling as our voices express\\nwhen a dear friend has been greatly wronged, and we humbly acknowledge it.\\nJohn said absently, in reply, that he did not know. He looked uneasily\\naround as if in search of something perhaps his hat. He essayed to rise from\\nhis chair, but could not, and in a moment he fell back, ashy pale, fainting and\\nbreathless. The men had not looked for this but, accustomed as they were to\\nthe rough life of the Wilderness, they were not alarmed. They fanned the faint-\\ning man with their straw hats, and, as soon as water could be found, applied it\\nto his hands and face. He soon partially recovered, and, looking up, said in a\\nbroken voice, Give me a little time, boys. At this hint the two old friends,\\nwho were now crying, stepped out of the door, and Cousin William sat down out\\nupon the doorstep.\\nJohn found that a little time was not enough. He had traveled too long\\nand far in that fearful desert of loneliness easily or quickly to return. A nervous\\nfever followed the shock he received, and for two months he did not leave the\\nhomestead, and was confined to his bed. But the old house was not lonely the", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "PHILANDER DEMING\\n105\\nmen and women came, both his old friends and some new-comers, and tried to\\nmake up to him in some degree the love and sympathy he had so long missed.\\nBut for many days it was evident that their kindness pained and oppressed him.\\nIt appears like, said Pete, that a rough word don t hurt him but a kind\\none he can t stand. And this was true. His soul was fortified against hatred\\nand contempt but a kind voice, or a gentle caress, seemed to wound him so that\\nhe would sob like an infant.\\nAs he recovered from his illness, he continued gentle, kind and shrinking\\nto a fault. By the operation of some spiritual law that I do not fully comprehend,\\nhe was, after his recovery, one of those who win a strange affection from others.\\nHis influence seemed like a mild fascination. It was said of him in after years\\nthat he was more truly loved, and by more people, than any other man or woman\\nin all the settlements round. Children loved him with a passionate attachment,\\nand the woman of child-like nature, whom he made his wife, is said to have died\\nof grief at his death. He departed this life at the age of thirty-eight years and\\nhe sleeps on the edge of the great valley, with his mother and his wife beside him.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "io6 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nACROSS THE JUMPING SAND HILLS\\nBY GILBERT PARKER\\n(Born in Canada, November 23, 1862)\\nERE, now, trader, aisy, aisy quicksands I ve seen along the sayshore,\\nand up to me half ways I ve been in wan, wid a double and twist in the\\nrope to pull me out but a suckin sand in the open plain aw, trader,\\naw, the like o that, no, niver a bit, aw So said IMacavoy, the giant,\\nwhen the thing was discussed in his presence.\\nWell, I tell you it s true, and they re not three miles from Fort\\nO Glory. The company s men don t talk about it; what s the use? Travelers\\nare few that way, and you can t get the Indians within miles of them. Pretty\\nPierre knows all about them, better than any one else, almost. He ll stand by\\nme in it eh, Pierre? Pierre took no notice, and was silent for a time, intent\\non his cigarette, and in the pause Mowley, the trapper, said\\nPierre s gone back on you, trader. Perhaps you haven t paid him for the\\nlast lie. I go one better, you stand by me my treat that s the game\\nAw, the like o that, added Macavoy, reproachfully. Aw, yer tongue to\\nthe roof o yer mouth, Mowley! Liars all men may be, but that s wid wimmin\\nor landlords. But, Pierre, ofif another man s bat like that! Aw, Mowley, fill\\nyour mouth wid the bowl o yer pipe.\\nPierre now looked up at the three men, rolling another cigarette as he did\\nso, but he seemed to be thinking of a distant matter. INIeeting the three pairs of\\neyes fixed on him, his own held them for a moment musingly then he lit his\\ncigarette, and, half reclining on the bench where he sat, he began to speak, talk-\\ning into the fire, as it were\\nI was at Guidon Hill, at the company s post there. It was the fall of the\\nyear, when you feel that there is nothing so good as life and the air drinks like\\nwine. You think that sounds like a woman or a priest Mais, no. The seasons\\nare strange. In the Spring I am lazy and sad in the Fall I am gay I am for\\nthe big things to do. This matter was in the Fall. I felt that I must move yet,\\nwhat to do? There was the thing. Cards? Of course; but that s only for\\ntimes, not for all seasons. So I was like a wild dog on a chain. I had a good\\nhorse, Tophet, black as a coal, all raw bones and joint, and a reach like a moose.\\nHis legs worked like piston rods. But, as I said, I did not know where to go\\nor what to do. So we used to sit at the post loafing in the daytime watching the", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "GILBERT PARKER 107\\nplains, all panting for travelers, like a young bride waiting her husband for the\\nfirst time.\\nMacavoy regarded Pierre with rich delight. He had an unctuous spirit and\\nhis heart was soft for women, so soft that he never had one on his conscience,\\nthough he had brushed gay smiles ofif the lips of many with his own. But that\\nwas an amiable weakness in a strong man.\\nAw, Pierre, he said, coaxingly, kape it down aisy, aisy, me heart s goin\\nlike a trip-hammer at thought av it. Aw, yis aw, yis, Pierre.\\nWell, it was like that to me all sun and a sweet sting in the air. At\\nnight, to sit and tell tales and such things, and perhaps a little brown brandy, a\\nlook at the stars, a half-hour with the cattle the same old game. Of course,\\nthere was the wife of Hilton, the factor fine, always fine to see, but deaf and\\ndumb. We were good friends, Ida and me. I had a hand in her wedding.\\nHoly I knew her when she was a little girl. We could talk together by signs.\\nShe was a good woman she had never guessed at evil. She was quick, too, like\\na flash, to read and understand without words. A face was a book to her.\\n\\\\^ery good. One afternoon we were all standing outside the post, when\\nwe saw some one ride over the Long Divide. It was good for the eyes. I can-\\nnot tell quite how but horse and rider were so sharp and clear-cut against the\\nsky that they looked very large and peculiar; there was something in the air to\\nmagnify. They paused for a moment on the top of the Divide, and it seemed\\nlike a messenger, out of the Strange Country at the farthest North, the place of\\nlegends. But, of course, it was only a traveler, like ourselves, for in a half-hour\\nshe was with us.\\nYes, it was a girl dressed as a man. She did not try to hide it she had\\ndressed so for ease. She would make a man s heart leap in his mouth if he\\nwas like Alacavoy, or the pious Mowley there.\\nPierre s last three words had a touch of irony, for he knew that the trapper\\nhad a precious tongue for Scripture when a missionary passed that way, and a\\nbad name with women to give it point. Mowley smiled sourly, but Macavoy\\nlaughed outright, and smacked his lips on his pipe-stem luxuriously.\\nAw, now, Pierre, all me little failin s aw he said.\\nPierre swung round on the bench, leaning upon the other elbow, and cherish-\\ning his cigarette, presently continued\\nShe had come far, and was tired to death, so stifif that she could hardly get\\nfrom her horse and the horse, too, was ready to drop. Handsome enough she\\nlooked for all that, in man s clothes and a peaked cap, with a pistol in her belt.\\nShe wasn t big built just a feathery kind of sapling but she was set fair on\\nher legs like a man, and a hand that was as good as I have seen, sq strong and\\nfine, and like silk and iron with a horse. Well, what was the trouble? for I saw", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "loS BEST THINGS FROM A.MERICAN LITERATURE\\nthat there was trouble. Her eyes had a hunted look and her nose breathed like\\na deer s in the chase. All at once, when she saw Hilton s wife, a cry came from\\nher and she reached out her hands. What would women of that sort do? They\\nwere both of a kind. They got into each other s arms. After that there was\\nnothing for us men but to wait. All women are the same, and Hilton s wife was\\nlike the rest. She must get the secret first, then the men should know. We had\\nto wait an hour. Then Hilton s wife beckoned to us. We went inside. The\\ngirl was asleep. There was something in the touch of Hilton s wife like sleep\\nitself like music. It was her voice that touch. She could not speak with her\\ntongue, but her hands and face were language and music. Bien, there was the\\ngirl asleep, all clear of dust and stain; and that fine hand, it lay loose on her\\nbreast, so quiet so quiet. Enfin, the real story, for how she lay there does not\\nmatter, but still it was good to see, when we knew the story.\\nThe trapper was laughing silently to himself, to hear Pierre in this romantic\\nUiood. A woman s hand it was the game for a boy, not an adventurer, for the\\ntrapper s only creed was that women were like deer spoils for the hunter.\\nPierre saw it, but he was above petty anger. He merely said\\nIf a man have an eye to see behind the face, he understands the foolish\\nlaugh of a man. or the hand of a good woman that is much. So Hilton s wife\\ntold us all. She had ridden two hundred miles from the southwest, and was\\nmaking for Fort Micah. sixty miles further north. For what? She had loved\\na man against the will of her people. There had been a feud, and Garrison\\nthat was the lover s name was the last on his own side. There was trouble at\\na Hudson s Bay Company s post, and Garrison shot a half-breed. Alen say he\\nwas right to shoot him, for a woman s name must be safe up here, besides the\\nhalf-breed drew first. Well, Garrison was tried and must go to jail for a year.\\nAt the end of that time he would be free. The girl, Janie, knew the day. Word\\nhad come to her. She made everything ready. She knew her brothers were\\nwatching her three brothers and two other men who had tried to get her love*\\nShe knew, also, that the five would carry on the feud against the one man. So,\\none. night she took the best horse on the ranch, and started away towards Fort\\nMicah. Alors, you know how she got there, after two days hard riding, enough\\nto kill a man. and over fifty yet to do. She was sure her brothers were on her\\nIrack. But if she could get to Fort Micah, and be married to Garrison before\\nthey came, she wanted no more. There were only two horses of use at Hilton s\\npost then all the rest were away or not fit for hard travel. There was my To-\\nphet, and a lean chestnut with a long propelling gait, and not an ounce of loose\\nskin on him. There was but one way; the girl must get there. Allons, what is\\nthe good What is life without these things? The girl loves the man she must\\nhave him in spite of all. There was only Hilton and his wife and me at the post.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "GILBERT PARKER 109\\nand Hilton was lame from a fall, and one arm in a slingf. If the brothers fol-\\nlowed well, Hilton could not interfere he was a company s man, but for my-\\nself, as I said, I was hungry for adventure. I had an ache in my blood for some-\\nthing. I was tingling to my toes my heart was thumping in my throat. All\\nthe cords of my legs were straightening, like I was in the saddle.\\nPierre sat up. It seemed absurd for him to speak as one who could be hot\\nand shivering with excitement, for his movements were always quiet and pre-\\ncise as a hammer. But in his eyes there was a furnace burning, and his small,\\niron hand caught the air with a snap. Macavoy had seen Pierre when dangers\\ncrowded round them both, and he knew that the little man was worth three of\\nhimself, in spite of his own great height. For the others, they did not know,\\nand if they had lived with Pierre all their lives they would never have understood\\nhim.\\nAw, Pierre, said Macavoy, admiringly aw, the ache in yer blood that s\\nit. Aw, yis, yis, an yer thighs are.bendin like wire, and the prairie beyant, an\\nthe lady there, asleep wid the hand fallin soft where the heart beats up like the\\nswell of a tide. Aw, yis, the like o that swate, swate, an you wid the ache in\\nyer blood, and the long chestnut pawin the ground aw, yis.\\nPierre nodded at Macavoy pleasantly, for after his fashion he cared for the\\ngiant as he had once cared for Shon McGann, and a little man loves the admir-\\nation of a large man, as Pierre himself had said more than once he knew man s\\nvanity and his own weaknesses. But he turned his looks on the trapper now,\\nfor it was his way to conquer at the points of great disadvantage not by many\\nwonders showing, but by a deep persistence and a singular personal force.\\nShe slept for three hours. I got the two horses saddled. Who could tell\\nbut she might need help? I had nothing to do. I knew the shortest way to\\nFort Micah, every foot, and then it is good to be ready for all things. I told\\nHilton s wife what I had done. She was glad. She made a gesture at me as to\\na brother, and then began to put things in a bag for us to carry. She had settled\\nall how it was to be. She had told the girl. You see, a man may be what is it\\nthey call me a plunderer and yet, a woman will trust him, comme ca\\nAw, yis aw, yis, Pierre but she knew yer hand and yer tongue niver wint\\nag in a woman, Pierre. Naw, niver a wan aw, swate, swate she was, wid a heart\\na heart, Hilton s wife aw, yis\\nPierre waved Macavoy into silence.\\nThe girl waked after three hours with a start. Her hand caught at her\\nheart. Oh! she said, still staring at us, I thought they had come!\\nA little later she and Tilton s wife went into another room. All at once\\nthere was a sound of horses without, and then a knock at the door,\\nand four men entered. They were the girl s hunters. It was hard to tell", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "no BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nwhat to do all in a minute, but I saw at once the best thing was to act for all\\nand to get all the men inside the house. So I whispered to Hilton, and then\\npretended that I was a great man in the company. I ordered Hilton to have the\\nhorses cared for, and, not giving the men time to speak, I fetched out the old\\nbrown brandy, wondering what could be done. There was no sound from the\\nother room, though I thought I heard a door open once. Hilton played the\\ngame well, and showed nothing when I ordered him about, and lied with me\\nwhen I said no girl had come, laughing when they told why they were after her.\\nMore than one did not believe at first, but pshaw! what have I been doing all\\nmy life to let such fellows doubt me? So the end of it was that I got them all\\ninside the house. There was one thing, their horses were all fresh, as Hilton\\nwhispered to me. They had only ridden them a few miles they had stolen or\\nbought them at a ranch to the west of us. I could not make up my mind what\\nto do but it was clear I must keep them quiet till something shaped.\\nThey were all drinking brandy when Hilton s wife entered the room. Her\\nface was, mon dieu so innocent, so child-like She stared at the men and then\\nI told them she was deaf and dumb, and I told her why they had come. oila,\\nit was beautiful She shook her head so innocently, and then told them like a\\nchild that they were wicked to chase a girl. I could have kissed her feet. Ton-\\nnere, how she fooled them She said, would they not search the house She\\nsaid all through me, on her fingers and by signs. And I told them at once. But\\nshe told me something else, that the girl had slipped out as the last man came in,\\nhad mounted the chestnut and would wait for me by the spring, a quarter of a\\nmile away. There was the danger that some one of the men knew the finger-\\nlanguage, so she told me this thing in signs mixed up with other sentences.\\nGood There was now but one thing to do for me to get away. So I\\nsaid, laughing, to one of the men Come, and we will look after the horses and\\nthe others can search the place with Hilton. So we went out to where the horses\\nwere tied to the railing and led them away to the corral.\\nOf course you will understand how I did it. I clapped a hand on his mouth,\\nput a pistol at his head, gagged and tied him. Then I got my Tophet and away\\nI went to the spring. The girl was waiting. There were few words. I gripped\\nher hand, gave her another pistol, and then we got away on a fine moonlit trail.\\nWe had not gone a mile when I heard a faint yell far behind. My game had been\\nfound out. There was nothing to do but to ride for it now and to fight if nec-\\nessary. But fighting was not good, for I might be killed and then the girl would\\nbe caught just the same. We rode on such a ride the horses neck and neck,\\ntheir feet pounding the prairie like piston rods, rawbone to rawbone, ding-dong\\ngait. I knew they were after us, though I saw them but once on the crest of a\\ndivide, about three miles behind. Hour after hour like that, with ten minutes", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "GILBERT PARKER ui\\nrest now and then at a spring, or to stretch our legs. We hardly spoke to each\\nother but God of Love my heart was warm to this girl who had ridden one\\nhundred and x ifty miles in twenty-four hours.\\nDawn was just breaking oozy and gray at the swell of the prairie, over the\\nJumping Sand Hills. They lay quiet and shining in the green-brown plain, but\\nI knew that beneath there was a churn which could set those swells of sand in\\nmotion and make deadly sport of an army. Who could tell what it is A flood\\nunder the surface, a tidal river what? No man knows. But they are sea mon-\\nsters on the land. Every morning at sunrise they begin to eddy and roll, and no\\nman ever saw a stranger sight. Bien, I looked back. There were four horse-\\nmen coming on, about three miles away. What was there to do The girl and\\nmyself on my tired horse were too much. They saw also and hurried on. There\\ncame to me a great idea. I must reach and cross the Jumping Sand Hills be-\\nfore sunrise. It was all a deadly chance.\\nWhen we got to the edge of the sand they were almost a mile behind, I\\nwas all sick to my teeth as my poor Tophet stepped into the sand. God, how I\\nwatched the dawn Slow, slow, we toiled over that velvet powder. As we\\nreached the further side I felt that it was beginning to move. The sun was show-\\ning like the lid of an eye along the plain. I looked back. All four horsemen\\nwere in the sand, plunging on toward us. By the time we touched the brown-\\ngreen prairie on the further side the sand was rolling behind us. The girl had\\nnot looked back. She seemed too dazed. I jumped from the horse and told her\\nthat she must push on alone to the fort that Tophet could not carry both that\\nI should be in no danger. She looked at me, I cannot tell how, then stooped\\nand kissed me between the eyes. I have never forgotten. I struck Tophet, and\\nshe was gone to her happiness, for she reached the fort and her lover s arms.\\nBut I stood looking back upon the Jumping Sand Hills. So, was there\\never a sight like that those hills gone like a smelting floor, the sunrise spotting\\nit with rose and yellow, and three horses and their riders fighting what cannot be\\nfought What could I do They would have got the girl if I had not led them\\nacross, and they would have killed me if they could. Only one cried out, and\\nthen but once, in a long shriek. But, after, all three were quiet as they fought,\\nuntil they were gone where no man could see, where none cries out so we can\\nhear.\\nThere was a long pause, painful to bear. The trader sat with eyes fixed\\nhumbly as a dog s on Pierre. At last Macavoy said: She kissed ye, Pierre\\naw, yis, she did that Jist betune the eyes. Do yees iver see her now, Pierre\\nBut Pierre, though looking at him, made no answer.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "12 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nTHE FLYING MARCH\\nBY W. L ALDEN\\n(Born at Williamstowu, Mass., October 9, 1S37)\\nfNE day Professor Van Wagener and I were walking together on our way\\nto the post-office, when we met a regiment of infantry. Of course we\\nstopped to look at them, for I don t suppose there is a man living who\\ndoesn t like to look at soldiers. The professor looked at the men in\\nthe critical sort of way that everybody puts on in such circumstances,\\nand presently he said\\nColonel, isn t it your opinion that a regiment that could march two hun-\\ndred miles a day would be much more efficient than one that could only march\\ntwenty miles?\\nAll other things being equal, it certainly would, I replied; but the sollier\\nwho can march a hundred miles a day, not to speak of two hundred, isn t born\\nyet/\\nI think you are mistaken, Colonel! said he. It s my idea that by the use\\nof proper means it can be made just as easy to march at the rate of twenty miles\\nan hour as it is now to march at the rate of four miles an hour.\\nThere you are again said I. You re thinking of some invention that is\\ngoing to revolutionize the art of warfare My dear professor You ve been\\nrevolutionizing warfare ever since I knew you, but I haven t noticed that it has\\nbeen revolutionized to any great extent.\\nWell, nothing more was said on the subject at that time, but about a rronth\\nlater an Wagener came over to my house one morning with a big basketful of\\nmachinery and chemicals on his arm and asked me to lend him the use of my\\nbackyard for an hour or two, while he revolutionized the art of warfare. Of\\ncourse, I told him he icould do anything in my backyard that he might want to\\ndo, provided he didn t do it with dynamite or any other explosive, and he assured\\nme that this time there was nothing in the slightest degree dangerous in what he\\nmeant to do.\\nI will explain the whole matter to you, he said, sitting down on a bench\\nin my backyard, and wiping his forehead with a cloth stained with chemicals, for\\nthe basket was heavy, and the day was hot. You remember we were speaking\\nthe other day about the marching abilities of infantry regiments. Now, let me\\nask vou what it is that makes it hard for a soldier to march, or for any man to", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "W. L. ALDEN 113\\nwalk. Isn t it the force of gravitation, which holds him down to the ground, and\\nprevents him from lifting his foot except by a muscular effort?\\nI suppose it is, said I.\\nVery good, said Van Wagener. Now if you could reduce the force of\\ngravitation one-half, or, say, two-thirds, it would be just that much easier for a\\nman to walk than it is in existing circumstances, wouldn t it?\\nI admit it, said I. For it was always necessary to admit Van Wagener s\\npremises, provided you wanted to carry on a conversation with him.\\nYou are really an intelligent man. Colonel! said he, although at times\\nyou are rather slow to perceive the merits of any valuable invention. As I was\\nsaying, the thing to do if you want to make walking or marching easier, is to\\nreduce the force of gravitation.\\nPlease to look at my shirt for a moment, continued the professor. As\\nyou see, it is made of very thin cloth coated with a coating of india rubber. Also,\\nyou will perceive, that it is made of two thicknesses of rubber cloth, joined to-\\ngether at the neck and the waist, and that just where the collar button would\\nordinarily come at the back of my neck, is a small valve. Now this shirt will\\nhold just as many cubic feet of hydrogen gas as would be sufficient to lift a\\nman of my weight, together with eighty pounds of arms and accoutrements.\\n^rhen you mean a soldier shall fiy instead of march? I said.\\nNot at all, said Van Wagener. I simply propose to make him so light\\nthat he will be able to take steps thirty or forty feet long, and to jump over hedges\\nand streams with perfect ease.\\nI wanted to remind the professor of a jumping machine that he had once in-\\nvented, and that had nearly killed him when he tried to use it, but I kept quiet.\\nNow, said my friend, taking ofif his coat and waistcoat, and wiping away\\nthe perspiration that was streaming down his face, I will proceed to give you a\\npractical illustration of the value of my invention. This is the first time I have\\nactually experimented with it, but I have absolute confidence in its practica-\\n1/iIity.\\nWith that Van Wagener opened his basket, and took out a sort of tin knap-\\nsack with a rubber tube attached to it.\\nThis, said he, is the generator. I fasten this on my back, and you will\\nunderstand that if I were a soldier I should carry it outside my knapsack. I\\nconnect this tube with the shirt-valve, and turn this little stop-cock. The mo-\\nment the stop-cock is turned the gas begins to generate and flows through the\\ntube into the shirt. When I have gas enough to reduce my weight one-half, I\\nshut ofT the supply, and march on my way, taking steps twenty feet long, and\\nfeeling almost as light as a bird. But first, I must fasten these leaden soles to\\nmy boots, so that I can be sure of preserving an upright attitude. You see, I", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "114 T EST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nsliall be in just the same condition as a diver, the weight of whose body is reduced\\nas he sinks in the water. He is obHged to wear shoes weighted with lead, for\\nwithout them he might go down head first.\\nan W agener carefully tied his lead soles to his feet, and then he buckled\\nthe generator on his back, and tried to turn the stop-cock of which he had spoken.\\nHe had so much difficulty in finding it that he asked me to turn it for him, which,\\nof course, I did.\\nPresently the gas began to hiss as it was generated, and the professor began\\nto swell as his shirt gradually filled. When it was apparently about half full he\\nasked me to turn ofif the gas, and then he started to walk across my back yard.\\nThere is no denying that the gas got in its work fairly well. an Wagencr went\\nacross that yard taking steps that were about ten feet long and bounding gently\\ninto the air every time his feet touched the ground. Still, his walk was to all\\nappearance the drunkenest walk that has ever been seen since the days when\\nNoah made his great invention of drunkenness. The professor s body was\\nswinging forwards and backwards and sidewa}-s, and was mostly at an angle of.\\nsay, fifty degrees with the ground. It was clear that if it hadn t been for the lead\\nsoles fastened to his boots he would have done a good deal of walking on his\\nhead. I followed pretty close after him, and he evidently enjoyed himself im-\\nmensely, for he kept calling out to me to notice how light he was, and demanded\\nto know whether he hadn t knocked gravitation endways with his gas machine.\\nEven when he came down with both feet in a briar bush, and stuck there until I\\npulled him out by main force, leaving a large proportion of his trousers in the\\nbush, he never lost his spirits. He had walked twice round the yard when a lit-\\ntle accident happened which interrupted his experiment. He came down with\\nboth feet on my cat s tail. Now Tommie was one of the best-tempered cats I\\never knew, that is to say so long as you treated him with proper respect.\\nBeing mad all over, Tommie frees liis mind with a few remarks, and then\\nhe makes a jump for the professor s shoulder, where he stopped long enough to\\ngive him a couple of good ones on the cheek that drew the blood, and then he\\nwent over the fence in search of a quiet spot where he could make repairs to his\\ntail. I came up to the professor to sympathize with him while he was wiping the\\nblood from his face, but he sang out to me not to bring my cigar anywhere near\\nhim, for the gas was leaking, and an explosion might be brought about. I could\\nsee that his size was rapidly growing less, and in a little while the gas had all es-\\ncaped through half-a-dozen holes that the cat s claws had made in the shirt, and\\nthe professor was able to wrdk like an ordinary Christian.\\nI can t do anything more, said V^an Wagencr, until I have mended the\\nleaks in my shirt. You ll admit, I think, that my experiment was a great suc-\\ncess?", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "W. L. ALDEN IT5\\nI ll admit, said I, that any army in the world would run away from an\\nenemy approaching in the same style as you circulated round my yard.\\nWait till T have had a little more experience, said the professor. To-\\nmorrow, at about this hour, I will come back here with my shirt repaired, and\\neverything ready for a final and conclusive experiment. I hope you will have the\\ngoodness to lock up that abominable cat, for I can t promise to succeed in my ex-\\nperiment if that beast is on hand.\\nAll right, said I, the cat shall be locked up. But I ask you what will\\nhappen when your army marches across country with their shirts inflated with\\ngas Cats are awfully common, and if the army treads on a cat s tail there ll be\\na panic that will be worse than a defeat.\\nVan Wagener didn t condescend to answer me, but he marched out of my\\nyard with his basket on his arm, and a glow of triumph in his face, which struck\\nme as being a little previous, in view of all the facts.\\nWell, the next day the professor turned up at the same hour in the very best\\nof spirits.\\nThis time he had extra heavy lead weights to his feet, and when everything\\nwas ready, I turned on the supply of gas for him, until he judged that his weight\\nhad been reduced to about one-third of what it ordinarily was. Then he gave\\nme the word to turn off the gas, and he started to walk across the yard. His walk\\nwas only a little drunker in appearance than it had been the day before, but he\\ncertainly did get over the ground at a tremendous rate. Every time his feet\\ntouched the earth he bounded about ten feet into the air. and came down again\\na good thirty feet from where he had started. He went the length of the yard,\\nwhich was fully five hundred feet, in no time at all, and as he passed me on the\\nway back, he was so excited that he tried to clap his feet together, and to crow\\nlike a rooster. I don t say this was quite worthy of a respectable scientific man,\\nl)ut allowances must be made for an inventor who finds that his invention works.\\nP)Ut the professor made the biggest mistake in his life when he tried to clap his\\nfeet together. In so doing, one of his lead soles, which had been tied on by the\\nprofessor himself, with a sort of knot that was of no manner of use, dropped off,\\nand Van Wagener went up into the air like a shot. I saw him trying to reach\\nthe stop-cock that shuts off the gas from his shirt, but he could not find it, and\\nit would have done him no good if he had found it. What that shirt needed was\\nsome sort of safety valve for letting the gas escape in case of accident, but Van\\nWagener had omitted to furnish it with any such valve. Without his lead sole\\nhe was considerably lighter than the atmosphere, and consequently there was\\nnothing to prevent him from going up. There was a gentle breeze from the\\nsouthward, and as Van Wagener rose slowly and seemed to be drifting towards\\na thickly-built part of the town I was in hopes that he would be able to catch", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "ii6 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nhold of some building and hold on till some one could come to his aid. He\\nnever said a word as he sailed upwards, but I m ready to bet that he would have\\ngiven a good deal if the cat could have jumped on him from the roof of the house\\nand punctured his shirt. I sang out to him to keep cool, which is the easiest\\nthing to say to a man who is in difficulties, but he simply smiled a resigned sort\\nof smile, and disappeared behind the house.\\nI ran out of the front door and chased the professor, keeping my eye on him\\njust as a sailor keeps his eye on a man who falls overboard, though there wasn t\\nany chance of sending a life boat, or, for that matter, a life balloon, after him.\\nHe drifted along at an elevation of perhaps fifty feet, and presently I saw he was\\nheading directly for the Presbyterian church. The church itself was only about\\nthirty feet high from the ground to the roof, but it had a steeple that was a good\\nhundred feet in height, though it didn t look it. Van Wagener drifted along\\namid the general enthusiasm of the inhabitants, who all rushed out-of-doors to\\nsee him, and imagined that he had contrived some new way of navigating the\\nair, and was making a big success of it.\\nBy rare good luck, he happened to hit the very top of the Presbyterian\\nsteeple, and he caught hold of it and held on for all he was worth. There wasn t\\nmuch to hold on to, except the lightning-rod, for, of course, there wasn t any\\ncross there, and in the place where a cross ought to have been there was a big\\ngilt pineapple, which was too big- to put one s arms round.\\nBy the time I got alongside of the church there were about two thousand\\npeople men, women and children there, waiting to see the professor fall, and\\nbe smashed to pieces by the time he should strike the ground. They were all in\\nthe best of spirits, as folks generally are when they are admitted free to some\\nattractive show. Deacon White was the only exception he disapproved strong-\\nly of Van Wagener s conduct, and said that it was little better than sacrilege.\\nOf course I knew that the professor was in no danger of falling down. What\\nhe wanted to do was to avoid falling up, whenever it should become necessary\\nfor him to let go his hold. I saw that the thing to do was to get a rope to him\\nas soon as possible, calculating that he would have sense enough to know how to\\nuse it. The difficulty was how to get the rope to him, for the steeple was per-\\nfectly smooth on the outside, so that nobody could possibly climb it, and there\\nwas no ladder in the town that would reach half=way up to the pineapple.\\nPretty soon I saw my way. I sent a man to get two hundred feet of stout line,\\nand then I found a boy who was flying a kite, and bought out his whole stock\\nfor fifty cents. I used to be a middling good kite flyer when I was a boy, and it\\ndidn t take me very long to manoeuvre that kite so that the string fell across\\nVan Wagener s shoulder, and I saw him seize it with one hand. Then I bent\\nthe two hundred feet of line to the kitestring, and shook it as a signal to the", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "W. L. ALDEN 117\\nprofessor to haul away. He did so, and in a little while he had one end of the\\nline in his possession, and he cast the kite adrift, string and all.\\nAny man who wasn t a scientific person would have known that I expected\\nVan Wagener to tie the line to his ankles, and let me pull him gently down.\\nBut the professor never thought of that. He tied the line fast to the lightning-\\nrod, and started to slide down it. Naturally, his inflated shirt made that im-\\npossible. We could see him hanging on to the line with both hands, and with\\nhis body swinging out at right angles, but in spite of all he could do he couldn t\\nmanage to climb down the line a single foot. The public got more excited than\\never, and the betting on the professor s ultimate fate was lively. But after a\\ntime he came to the conclusion that he had made a mistake, and I was never\\nmore relieved in my life than when I saw him climb back to his perch on the\\npineapple and begin to unfasten the line. He kept me on the anxious seat for\\nthe next ten minutes while he waited to rest, and then I was delighted to see\\nhim make the line fast to both his ankles.\\nIt was a beautiful spectacle, the way in which the professor came down as I\\nhauled in on the line. He kept perfectly erect, but lie also kept slowly revolving\\non his axis, as you might say. His arms were stretched out at right angles to\\nhis body in order to steady himself a little, and the general efifect of him was that\\nof an angel without wings in the act of blessing the public. When he reached\\nthe ground, I got a good hold of him and slit his inflated shirt with my penknife.\\nThen, when the gas had all escaped, I untied his legs, and, giving him my arm,\\nfor he was more or less weak with the excitement of his adventure, I took him\\nhome, followed by a cheering and enthusiastic crowd composed of all the leading\\ncitizens of the place, without distinction of creed or politics.\\nFor my part, I consider that Van Wagener s invention was a success, but,\\ncuriously enough, he never made any further experiments with it. You see, he\\nhad got a pretty big scare when he was drifting over the town and clinging to\\nthe Presbyterian steeple, and the result was that he weakened, as you might say,\\non his invention. Now that Van Wagener is dead, it is open to any one to take\\nup his invention and make a practical success of it.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "ii8 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nA STORY FOR A CHILD\\nBY BAYARD TAYLOR\\nI.\\nLittle one, come to my knee\\nHark how the rain is pouring\\nOver the roof, in the pitch-black night,\\nAnd the wind in the woods a-roaring\\nII.\\nHush, my darling, and listen,\\nThen pay for the story with kisses\\nFather was lost in the pitch-black night,\\nIn just such a storm as this is\\nIII.\\nHigh up on the lonely mountains.\\nWhere the wild men watched and waited\\nWolves in the forest, and bears in the bush,\\nAnd I on my path belated.\\nIV.\\nThe rain and the night together\\nCame down, and the wind came after,\\nBending the props of the pine-tree roof,\\nAnd snapping many a rafter.\\nV.\\nI crept along in the darkness.\\nStunned and bruised and blinded\\nCrept to a fir with thick-set boughs.\\nAnd a sheltering rock behind it.\\nVI.\\nThere, from the blowing and raining\\nCrouching, I sought to hide me\\nSomething rustled, two green eyes shone,\\nAnd a wolf lay down beside me.\\nJieprodviced by kind permission of Little, Brown Co. of Boston,", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "BAYARD TAYLOR\\nVII.\\nLittle one, be not frightened\\nI and the wolf together,\\nSide by side, through the long, long night,\\nHid from the awful weather.\\nMIL\\nHis wet fur pressed against me\\nEach of us warmed the other:\\nEach of us felt, in the stormy dark,\\nThat beast and man was brother.\\nIX.\\nAnd when the falling forest\\nNo longer crashed in warning,\\nEach of us went from our hiding-place\\nForth in the wild, wet morning.\\n119\\nDarling, kiss me payment\\nHark how the wind is roaring\\nFather s house is a better place\\nWhen the stormy rain is pouring!", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "I20 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nSPELLING DOWN THE MASTER\\nFROM THE HOOSIER SCHOOIv-MASTER\\nBY EDWARD EGGLESTON\\n(Born at Vevay, Ind., December lo, 1S37)\\n/^l^ LOW, said Mrs. Means, as she stuffed the tobacco into her cob pipe\\nP,; after supper on that eventful Wednesday evening: I low they ll\\ni app int the Squire to gin out the words to-night. They mos always do,\\n1^^ you see, kase he s the peartest olc man in this deestrick and I low\\n-t h some of the young fellers would have to git up and dust ef they\\nwould keep up to him. And he uses sech remarkable smart words.\\nHe speaks so polite, too. But laws don t I remember when he was poarer\\nnor Job s turkey Twenty year ago, when he come to these ere diggin s,\\nthat air Squire Hawkins was a poar Yankee school-master, that said pail instead\\nof bucket, and that called a cow a caow, and that couldn t tell to save his gizzard\\nwhat we meant by lozv and by right smart. But he s larnt our ways now, an he s\\njest as civilized as the rest of us. You wouldn t know he d ever been a Yankee.\\nHe didn t stay poar long. Not he. He jest married a right rich girl He\\nHe And the old woman grinned at Ralph, and then at Mirandy, and then at\\nthe rest, until Ralph shuddered. Nothing was so frightful to him as to be fawned\\non by this grinning ogre, whose fewjonesome, blackish teeth seemed ready to\\ndevour him. He didn t stay poar, you bet a hoss and with this the coal was\\ndeposited on the pipe and the lips began tc crack like parchment as each puff\\nof smoke escaped. He married rich, you see, and here another significant look\\nat the young master and another fond look at Mirandy as she puffed away re-\\nflectively. His wife hadn t no book-larnin She d been through the spellin\\nbook wunst and had got as fur as asperity on it a second time. But she couldn t\\nread a word when she was married and never could. She warn t overly smart.\\nShe hadn t hardly got the sense the law allows. But schools was skase in them\\nair days, and besides, book-larnin don t do no good to a woman. Makes her\\nstuck up. I never knowed but one gal in my life as had ciphered into fractions\\nand she was so dog-on stuck up that she turned up her nose one night at a apple-\\nix^elin bekase I tuck a sheet off the bed to splice out the tal)lc-cloth, which was\\nruther short.\\nEvery family furnished a candle. There were yellow dips and white dips,\\nburning, smoking and llaring. There was laughing and talking and giggling", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "EDWARD EGGLESTON 121\\nand simpering and ogling and flirting and courting. What a full-dress party\\nis to Fifth Avenue, a spelling-school is to Hoopole County. It is an occasion\\nwhich is metaphorically inscribed with this legend: Choose your partners.\\nSpelling is only a blind in Hoopole County, as is dancing on Fifth Avenue.\\nBut as there are some in society who love dancing for its own sake, so in Flat\\nCreek district there were those who loved spelling for its own sake, and who,\\nsmelling the battle from afar, had come to try their skill in this tournament, hoping\\nto freshen the laurels they had won in their school-days.\\nI low, said Mr. Means, speaking as the principal school trustee, I low\\nour friend the Square is jest the man to boss this ere consarn to-night. Ef\\nnobody objects I ll app int him. Come, Square, don t be bashful. Walk up to\\nthe trough, fodder or no fodder, as the man said to his donkey.\\nThere was a general giggle at this, and many of the young swains took occa-\\nsion to nudge the girls alongside them, ostensibly for the purpose of making\\nthem see the joke, but really for the pure pleasure of nudging. The Greeks\\nfigured Cupid as naked, probably because he wears so many disguises that they\\ncould not select a costume for him.\\nThe Squire came to the front. Ralph made an inventory of the agglomera-\\ntion which bore the name of Squire Hawkins, as follows\\n1. A swallow-tail coat of indefinite age, worn only on state occasions, when\\nits owner was called to figure in his public capacity. Either the Squire had\\ngrown too large or the coat too small.\\n2. A pair of black gloves, the most phenomenal, abnormal, and unex-\\npected apparition conceivable in Flat Creek district, where the preachers wore\\nno coats in the Summer, and where a black glove was never seen except on the\\nhands of the Squire.\\n3. A wig of that dirty, waxen color so common to wigs. This one showed\\na continual inclination to slip ofif the owner s smooth, bald pate, and the Squire\\nhad frequently to adjust it. As his hair had been red, the wig did not accord\\nwith his face, and the hair ungrayed was doubly discordant with a countenance\\nshriveled by age.\\n4. A semicircular row of whiskers hedging the edge of the jaw and chin.\\nThese were dyed a frightful dead-black, such a color as belonged to no natural\\nhair or beard that ever existed. At the roots there was a quarter of an inch of\\nwhite, giving the whiskers the appearance of having been stuck on.\\n5. A pair of spectacles with tortoise-shell rim. Wont to slip off.\\n6. A glass eye, purchased of a pedlar, and differing in color from its\\nnatural mate, perpetually getting out of focus by turning in or out.\\n7. A set of false teeth, badly fitted, and given to bobbing up and down.\\n8. The Squire proper, to whom these patches were loosely attached.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "122 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nIt is an old story that a boy wrote home to his father begging him to come\\nWest, because mighty mean men get into office out here. But Ralph concluded\\nthat some Yankees had taught school in Hoopole County who would not have\\nheld a high place in the educational institutions of Massachusetts. Hawkins had\\nsome New England idioms, but they were well overlaid by a Western pronun-\\nciation.\\nLadies and gentlemen, he began, shoving up his spectacles, and sucking\\nhis lips over his white teeth to keep them in place, ladies and gentlemen, young\\nmen and maidens, raley I m obleeged to Mr. Means fer this honor, and the\\nSquire took both hands and turned the top of his head round half an inch. Then\\nhe adjusted his spectacles. Whether he was obliged to Mr. Means for the honor\\nof being compared to a donkey was not clear. I feel in the inmost compart-\\nments of my animal spirits a most happifying sense of the success and futility\\nof all my endeavors to sarve the people of Flat Creek deestrick, and the people\\nof Tomkins township, in my weak way and manner. This burst of eloquence\\nwas delivered with a constrained air and an apparent sense of a danger that he,\\nSquire Hawkins, might fall to pieces in his weak way and manner, and of the\\nsuccess and futility of all attempts at reconstruction. For by this time the\\nghastly pupil of the left eye, which was black, was looking away round to the\\nleft, while the little blue one on the right twinkled cheerfully toward the front.\\nThe front teeth would drop down so that the Squire s mouth was kept nearly\\nclosed, and his words whistled through.\\nI feel as if I could be grandiloquent on this interesting occasion twist-\\ning his scalp round but raley I must forego any such exertions. It is spelling\\nyou want. Spelling is the corner-stone, the grand, underlying subterfuge of a\\ngood eddication. I put the spellin -book prepared by the great Daniel Web-\\nster alongside the Bible. I do, raley. I think I may put it ahead of the Bible\\nfor if it wurn t fer spellin -books and sich occasions as these, where would the\\nBible be I should like to know. The man who got up, who compounded this\\nwork of inextricable valoo, was a benufactor to the whole human race or any\\nother. Here the spectacles fell ofif. The Squire replaced them in some con-\\nfusion, gave the top of his head another twist, and felt of his glass eye, while poor\\nShocky stared in wonder, and Betsey Short rolled from side to side in the efifort\\nto suppress her giggle. Mrs. Means and the other old ladies looked the applause\\nthey could not speak.\\nI app int Larkin Lanham and Jeems Buchanan fer captings, said the\\nSquire. And the two young men thus named took a stick and tossed it from\\nhand to hand to decide which should have the first choice. One tossed the\\nstick to the other, who held it fast just where he happened to catch it. Then the\\nfirst placed his hand above the second, and so on the hands were alternately", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "EDWARD EGGLESTON 123\\nchanged to the top. The one who held the stick last without room for the other\\nto take hold had gained the lot. This was tried three times. As Larkin held\\nthe stick twice out of three times, he had the choice. He hesitated a moment.\\nEverybody looked toward tall Jim Phillips. But Larkin was fond of a venture\\non unknown seas, and so he said, I take the master, while a buzz of surprise\\nran round the room, and the captain of the other side, as if afraid his opponent\\nv. ould withdraw his choice, retorted quickly, and with a little smack of exultation\\nand defiance in his voice, And take Jeems Phillips.\\nAnd soon all present, except a few of the old folks, found themselves ranged\\nin opposing hosts, the poor spellers lagging in, with what grace they could, at\\nthe foot of the two divisions. The Squire opened his spelling-book and began\\nto give out the words to the two captains, who stood up and spelled against\\neach other. It was not long until Larkin spelled really with one and had to\\nsit down in confusion, while a murmur of satisfaction ran through the ranks of\\nthe opposing forces. His own side bit their lips. The slender figure of the\\nyoung teacher took the place of the fallen leader, and the excitement made\\nthe house very quiet. Ralph dreaded the loss of prestige he would suffer if he\\nshould be easily spelled dowm. And at the moment of rising he saw in the\\ndarkest corner the figure of a well-dressed young man sitting in the shadow.\\nWhy should his evil genius haunt him? But by a strong effort he turned his\\nattention away from Dr. Small, and listened carefully to the words which the\\nSquire did not pronounce very distinctly, spelling them with extreme deliberation.\\nThis gave him an air of hesitation which disappointed those on his own side.\\nThey wanted him to spell with a dashing assurance. But he did not begin a\\nword until he had mentally felt his way through it. After ten minutes of spelling\\nhard words, Jeems Buchanan, the captain on the other side, spelled atrocious\\nwith an instead of a c, and subsided, his first choice, Jeems Phillips, coming up\\nagainst the teacher. This brought the excitement to fever-heat. For though\\nRalph was chosen first, it was entirely on trust, and most of the company were\\ndisappointed. The champion who now stood up against the school-master was\\na famous speller.\\nJim Phillips was a tall, lank, stoop-shouldered fellow who had never dis-\\ntinguished himself in any other pursuit than spelling. Except in this one art\\nof spelling he was of no account. He could not catch well or bat well in ball.\\nHe could not throw well enough to make his mark in that famous Western game\\nof bullpen. He did not succeed well in any study but that of Webster s Ele-\\nmentary. But in that he was to use the usual Flat Creek locution in that\\nhe was a boss. This genius for spelling is in some people a sixth sense, a\\nmatter of intuition. Some spellers are born, and not made, and their facility\\nreminds one of the mathematical prodigies that crop out every now and then", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "124 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nto bewilder the world. Bud Means, foreseeing that Ralph would be pitted\\nagainst Jim Phillips, had warned his friend that Jim could spell like thunder and\\nlightning, and that it took a powerful smart speller to beat him, for he knew\\na heap of spelling-book. To have spelled down the master is next thing\\nto having whipped the biggest bully in Hoopole County, and Jim had spelled\\ndown the last three masters. He divided the hero-worship of the district with\\nBud Means.\\nFor half an hour the Squire gave out hard words. What a blessed thing\\nour crooked orthography is Without it there could be no spelling-schools.\\nAs Ralph discovered his opponent s mettle he became more and more cautious.\\nHe was now satisfied that Jim would eventually beat him. The fellow evidently\\nknew more about the spelling-book than old Noah Webster himself. As he\\nstood there, with his dull face and long, sharp nose, his hands behind his back\\nand his voice spelling infallibly, it seemed to Hartsook that his superiority must\\nlie in his nose. Ralph s cautiousness answered a double purpose it enabled him\\nto tread surely, and it was mistaken by Jim for weakness. Phillips was now-\\nconfident that he should carry ofif the scalp of the fourth school-master before\\nthe evening was over. He spelled eagerly, confidently, brilliantly. Stoop-\\nshouldered as he was, he began to straighten up. In the minds of all the com-\\npany the odds were in his favor. He saw this, and became ambitious to distin-\\nguish himself by spelling without giving the matter any thought.\\nTheodolite, said the Squire.\\nT-h-e, the, o-d, od, theod o, theodo 1-y-t-e, theodolite, spelled the cham-\\npion.\\nNex said the Squire, nearly losing his teeth in his excitement. Ralph\\nspelled the word slowly and correctly, and the conquered champion sat down in\\nconfusion. The excitement was so great for some minutes that the spelling was\\nsuspended. Everybody in the house had shown sympathy with one or the\\nother of the combatants, except the silent shadow in the corner. It had not\\nmoved during the contest, and did not show any interest now in the result.\\nGewhilliky crickets! Thunder and lightning! Licked him all to smash I\\nsaid Bud, rubbing his hands on his knees. That beats my time all holler!\\nAnd Betsey Short giggled until her tuck-comb fell out, though she was on\\nthe defeated side.\\nShocky got up and danced with pleasure.\\nBut one suffocating look from the aqueous eyes of Mirandy destroyed the\\nlast spark of Ralph s pleasure in his triumph, and sent that awful below-zero\\nfeeling all through him.\\nHe s powerful smart, is the master, said old Jack to Mr. Pete Jones.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "EDWARD EGGLESTON 125\\nHe ll beat the whole kit and tuck e^f em afore he s through. I know d he was\\nsmart. That s the reason I tuck him, proceeded Mr. Means.\\nYaas, but he don t lick enough. Not nigh, answered Pete Jones. No\\nlickin no larnin says I.\\nIt was now not so hard. The other spellers on the opposite side went down\\nquickly under the hard words which the Squire gave out. The master had\\nmowed down all but a few, his opponents had given up the battle, and all had\\nlost their keen interest in a contest to which there could be but one conclusion,\\nfor there were only the poor spellers left. But Ralph Hartsook ran against a\\nstump where he was least expecting it. It was the Squire s custom, when one\\nof the smaller scholars or poorer spellers rose to spell against the master, to\\ngive out eight or ten easy words, that they might have some breathing-spell\\nbefore being slaughtered, and then to give a poser or two which soon settled\\nthem. He let them run a little, as a cat does a doomed mouse. There was now\\nbut one person left on the opposite side, and, as she rose in her blue calico dress,\\nRalph recognized Hannah, the bound girl at old Jack Means She had not at-\\ntended school in the district and had never spelled in spelling-school before,\\nand she was chosen last as an uncertain quantity. The Squire began with easy\\nwords of two syllables, from that page of Webster so well known to all who ever\\nthumbed it as baker, from the word that stands at the top of the page. She\\nspelled these words in an absent and uninterested manner. As everybody knew\\nthat she would have to go down as soon as this preliminary skirmishing was\\nover, everybody began to get ready to go home, and already there was the buzz\\nof preparation. Young men were timidly asking girls if they could see them\\nsafe home, which was the approved formula, and were trembling in mortal fear\\nof the mitten. Presently the Squire, thinking it time to close the contest,\\npulled his scalp forward, adjusted his glass eye, which had been examining his\\nnose long enough, and turned over the leaves of the book to the great words at\\nthe place known to spellers as incomprehensibility, and began to give out those\\nwords of eight syllables with the accent on the sixth. Listless scholars now\\nturned round, and ceased to whisper, in order to be in at the master s final tri-\\numph. But to their surprise, old Miss Means s white nigger, as some of them\\ncalled her in allusion to her slavish life, spelled these great words with as perfect\\nease as the master. Still not doubting the result, the Squire turned from place\\nto place and selected all the hard words he could find. The school became\\nutterly quiet, the excitement was too great for the ordinary buzz. Would\\nMeans s- Hanner beat the master beat the master that had laid out Jim Phil-\\nlips? Everybody s sympathy was now turned to Hannah. Ralph noticed that\\neven Shocky had deserted him, and that his face grew brilliant every time Hannah\\nspelled a word. In fact, Ralph deserted himself. As he saw the fine, timid", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "126 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nface of the girl so long oppressed flush and shine with interest; as he looked at\\nthe rather low but broad and intelligent brow and the fresh, white complexion,\\nand saw the rich, womanly nature coming to the surface under the influence of\\napplause and sympathy, he did not want to beat. If he had not felt that a\\nvictory given would insult her, he would have missed intentionally. The bull-\\ndog, the stern, relentless setting of the will had gone, he knew not whither.\\nAnd there had come in its place, as he looked in that face, a something which he\\ndid not understand. You did not, gentle reader, the first time it came to you.\\nThe Squire was puzzled. He had given out all the hard words in the book.\\nHe again pulled the top of his head forward. Then wiped his spectacles and put\\nthem on. Then out of the depths of his pocket he fished up a list of words just\\ncoming into use in those days words not in the spelling-book. He regarded\\nthe paper attentively with his blue right eye. His black left eye meanwhile fixed\\nitself in such a stare on Mirandy Means that she shuddered and hid her eyes in\\nher red silk handkerchief.\\nDaguerreotype, sniffed the Squire. It was Ralph s turn.\\nD-a-u, dau\\nNext.\\nAnd Hannah spelled it right.\\nSuch a buzz followed that Betsey Short s giggle could not be heard, but\\nShocky shouted Hanner beat My Hanner spelled down the master And\\nRalph went over and congratulated her.\\nAnd Dr. Small sat perfectly still in the corner.\\nAnd then the Squire called them to order, and said As our friend Hanner\\nThompson is the only one left on her side, she will have to spell against nearly all\\non t other side. I shall therefore take the liberty of procrastinating the com-\\npletion of this interesting and exacting contest until to-morrow evening. I hope\\nour friend Hanner may again carry ofif the cypress crown of glory. There is\\nnothing better for us than healthful and kindly simulation.\\nDr. Smalh who knew the road to practice, escorted Mirandy, and Bud went\\nhome with something else. The others of the Means family hurried on, while\\nHannah, the champion, stayed behind a minute to speak to Shocky. Perhaps it\\nwas because Ralph saw that Hannah must go alone that he suddenly remembered\\nhaving left something which was of no consequence, and resolved to go round by\\nMr. INIeans s and get it.\\n/cTwJ?^\\nf^ Q\u00e2\u0080\u009ed./", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 127\\nTHE NIGHT BEFORE THANKSGIVING\\nBEING A TALE REPRODUCED IN FAC hIMILE FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT\\nBY SARAH ORNE JEWETT\\n(Born at South Berwick, Me., Sept. 3, 1849)\\nh^uo aUL yy^Ha, He-ii (jjf^^ 4-^C^ C4-Ji^^ (f\\nl^U^Ci. tX^/ R fi^ ^e^ ^XD kctf, K^ lyJUa t\u00c2\u00bb \u00c2\u00ab-^\u00c2\u00ab_^X \u00c2\u00bby^e.r^^\\nSiQjU c^ Aol**- Cjeyyysx A^u^ t^ (\\\\eL4^ ^i j^", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "M^\\nf\\n^09-.\\nSARAH ORNE JEWETT\\n128", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "SARAH ORNE JEWETT 129\\nClOn^u^i C^ u!W-^^A^tX IcUaJ^^ OaaJ^ fizz A^ViL ICZ^\\nS ^vp CU CfZt j ^r M^uitwX let f%mmf[Cwtm{^\\n?vKcXtctM^ (^^Ufjjiti^ 4v-\u00c2\u00ab^ rfrwt^^ /tAt/i^CY-^-", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "130\\nBEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\n11\\nttm:; hJL Jlutiy luiu. s^fr^ htic k UZL. y", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "SARAH ORNE JEWETT 131\\n(V\\\\ 4mvL iM^Jto c^iAM^ f^^-^ lh\\\\A/ K^l^C^Uyd^ ^i^^^^", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "132 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "SARAH ORNE JEWETT 133\\nUd x^^ c^^ f^ f:^^^ M^?fe\\n^^SxfMJwtt/. Ax_^ tx-^ ^V^u ^\u00e2\u0099\u00a6e^^ ^^Ji^ ^^c^laJ j /tt^f^\\n7ilA*r t^^^ ^n^ f^^-^^Ju tU ?^A/-tHt^ A if7u?^", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "134 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nin", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "SARAH ORNE JEWETT 135\\nJ^ d/r^i-^ f^^^^^~^^ .j^it:^^:^\\n^.-zXTo /T^^^ Avf rr^Ou^f^^^^^^^^^\\n^fc. T cuO /i^o,f...Jrt^", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "136 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nUe^l Ciuvu ^t^^c^tw? At^ Ai^^ tu4^ Be^\\nU(u^ uc^ y^^*^ fUfyt^Ctu jx^^kf^xAJL\\nJt/f n/r. iW ST^ Tk i^^^ lo^^ni2yKAA^\\n/^(itV^Cc? X OuU g^^^ (^^yuAJic^ ^^^It^^\\nC^^ J^ytf-^^ ^CUaPOu ^r^^^JU.^ li^a^uJu, ^ic^", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "SARAH ORNE JEWETT\\nLfh i Biry^^f\\\\^ ^l^a^^ y^MMUAUx^ Pseu^\\n137", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "138 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nKJL^ yl^iAA^ T^-ifj; ^^i^ 7h\u00c2\u00ab^L t^ Arv. (hvf-\\nl^ tfU (UuUAf t^ liJ^ ^^UXaJ: fiC^^AjL^ -^^^tc^\\n(h^ f^^-i^ ^Hh^^ A ?^/i., ^u^P ^t^ /^t/\u00e2\u0080\u0094", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "SARAH ORNE JEWETT 139\\n?lf7 y AM^xJ^jX (i~^/hMU. yyvu^frtf ^C kliUf-G^", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN\\n[40", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 141\\nTHE OLD ADMIRAL\\nBY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN\\nGone at last,\\nThat brave old hero of the past!\\nHis spirit has a second birth,\\nAn unknown, grander life\\nAll of him that was earth\\nLies mute and cold.\\nLike a wrinkled sheath and old\\nThrown ofif forever from the shinnnering blade\\nThat has good entrance made\\nUpon some distant, glorious strife.\\nFrom another generation,\\nA simpler age, to ours Old Ironsides came\\nThe morn and noontide of the nation\\nAlike he knew, nor yet outlived his fame\\nOh, not outlived his fame\\nThe dauntless men whose service guards our shore\\nLengthen still their glory-roll\\nWith his name to lead the scroll,\\nAs a flagship at her fore\\nCarries the Union, with its azure and the stars.\\nSymbol of times that are no more\\nAnd the old heroic wars.\\nHe was the one\\nWhom Death had spared alone\\nOf all the captains of that lusty age,\\nWho sought the foeman where he lay,\\nOn sea or sheltering bay,\\nNor till the prize was theirs repressed their rage.\\nThey are gone all gone\\nThey rest with glory and the undying powers\\nOnly their name and fame and what they saved are ours", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "142 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nIt was fifty years ago,\\nUpon the Gallic Sea,\\nHe bore the banner of the free,\\nAnd fought the fight whereof our children know.\\nThe dreadful, desperate fight!\\nUnder the fair moon s light\\nThe frigate squared, and yawed to left and right.\\nEvery broadside swept to death a score\\nRoundly played her guns and well, till their fiery ensigns fell,\\nNeither foe replying more.\\nAll in silence, when the night-breeze cleared the air.\\nOld Ironsides rested there.\\nLocked in between the twain, and drenched with blood.\\nThen homeward, like an eagle with her prey\\nOh, it was a gallant fray,\\nThat fight at Biscay Bay\\nFearless the Captain stood, in his youthful hardihood;\\nHe was the boldest of them all.\\nOur brave old Admiral\\nAnd still our heroes bleed.\\nTaught by that olden deed.\\nWhether of iron or of oak\\nThe ships we marshal at our country s need,\\nStill speak their cannon now as then they spoke\\nStill floats our unstruck banner from the mast\\nAs in the stormy past.\\nLay him in the ground\\nLet him rest where the ancient river rolls\\nLet him sleep beneath the shadow and the sound\\nOf the bell whose proclamation, as it tolls,\\nIs of Freedom and the gift our fathers gave.\\nLay him gently down\\nThe clamor of the town\\nWill not break the slumbers deep, the beautiful ripe sleep\\nOf this lion of the wave,\\nWill not trouble the old Admiral in his grave.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN 143\\nEarth to earth his dust is laid.\\nMethinks his stately shade\\nOn the shadow of a great ship leaves the shore\\nOver cloudless western seas\\nSeeks the far Hesperides,\\nThe islands of the blest,\\nWhere no turbulent billows roar\\nWhere is rest.\\nHis ghost upon the shadowy quarter stands\\nNearing the deathless lands.\\nThere all his martial mates, renewed and strong,\\nAwait his coming long.\\nI see the happy Heroes rise\\nWith gratulation in their eyes\\nWelcome, old comrade, Lawrence cries\\nAh, Stewart, tell us of the wars\\nWho win the glory and the scars?\\nHow floats the skyey flag how many stars\\nStill speak they of Decatur s name\\nOf Bainbridge s and Perry s fame?\\nOf me, who earliest came\\nMake ready, all\\nRoom for the Admiral\\nCome, Stewart, tell us of the wars", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "PHOTO BY HOlililNOER 4 CO., Y.\\nPAUL L. FORD\\n144", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 145\\nGATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY\\nA PART OF ONE CHAPTER FROM THE HONORABLE PETER STEKI^ING\\nBY PAUL LEICESTER FORD\\n(Born at Brooklyn, N. Y., 1865)\\nFEW days later Peter again went up the steps of the Fifty-seventh Street\\nhouse. This practice was becoming habitual with Peter in fact, so\\nhabitual that his cabby had said to him this very day, The old place,\\nsir Where Peter got the time it is difBcult to understand, consider-\\ning that his law practice was said to be large, and his political occu-\\npations just at present not small. But that is immaterial. The simple\\nfact that Peter went up the steps is the essential truth.\\nFrom the steps he passed into a door from the door he passed into a hall\\nfrom a hall he passed into a room from a room he passed into a pair of arms.\\nThank the Lord, you ve come, Watts remarked. Leonore has up and\\ndown refused to make the tea till you arrived.\\nI was at headquarters, and they would talk, talk, talk, said Peter. I get\\nout of patience with them. One would think the destinies of the human race de-\\npended on this campaign\\nSo the Growley should have his tea, said a vision, now seated on the lounge\\nat the tea-table. Then Growley will feel better.\\nI m doing that already, said Growley, sitting down on the delightfully\\nshort lounge, now such a fashionable and deservedly popular drawing-room arti-\\ncle. May I tell you how you can make me absolutely contented?\\nI suppose that will mean some favor from me, said Leonore. I don t\\nlike children who want to be bribed out of their bad temper. Nice little boys are\\nnever bad-tempered.\\nI was only bad-tempered, whispered Peter, because I was kept from be-\\ning with you. That s cause enough to make the best-tempered man in the uni-\\nverse murderous.\\nWell? said Leonore, mollifying, what is it this time?\\nI want you all to come down to my quarters this evening after dinner. Fve\\nreceived warning that Fm to be serenaded about nine o clock, and I thought you\\nwould like to hear it.\\nWhat fun cried Leonore. Of course we ll go. Shall you speak\\nNo. We ll sit in my window-seats merely, and listen.\\nHow manv will be there?", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "10\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2Worl.r will |U-c l\\noicc (^f l.ahor a 1\\naltl\\\\ say ton thou-\\nhandful. 01i!h\\\\\\n,lH\\n^k \\\\\\\\\\\\)\\\\u his |n cko\\nrotor iiad found.\\nt.\\nwhonovcr the pa-\\n146 BEST THINGS V\\\\ 0\\\\\\\\ AMVAUCW l.l iM .RATr Rl\\nIt depends on the paper you read. T\\nsand, the Tribune three thousand, and the\\nthe way, I brought \\\\ou a \\\\dioo\\nHe handed Leonoro a paiHT, whioh l.o loo\\nNow this was sinipl\\\\ shauioful of him\\npers really abused him. that Loonoro was iloubly toiulor Ui him. the more, if he\\npretended that the attaeks ant! abuse painoil him. So ho 1 rought her rogularI\\\\\\nuow that organ of the Labor Party whioh was most vituperative of him, and\\nlooked sad over it just as long as was possible, oousidoring that Keonore was try-\\ning to eomfort him.\\nOh, dear! said Leonoro. That dreadful paper. 1 oan t bear to read it.\\nIs it very bad to-day\\nI haven t read it. said Potor. smiling. 1 never read then Peter\\ncoughed, suddenlv looked sad, ixud oonitinuod the parts that dit ntit speak of\\nme. That isn t a lie, ho told himself. I don t road thotu. lUit he felt guilty.\\nClearly Peter was losing his old-time straightforwariluoss.\\nAfter its saying that you had tloceived yom- olieuts into settling tlu)se suits\\nagainst ]\\\\Ir. Bohlniann, upon his promise io help \\\\(ni in politics, 1 don t believe\\nthey can say anything worse, said Leonoro, putting two lumps of sugar (with her\\nfingers) into a cup of tea. Then she stirred the tea, and tasted it. Then she\\ntouched the edge of the cup with her lips. Is that right? she asked, as she\\npassed it to Peter.\\nAbsolutely, said Peter, looking the picture of bliss. l ut then he remem-\\nbered that this wasn t his role, so he looked sad and said That hurt mo, I con-\\nfess. It is so unkind.\\nPoor dear, whispered a voice. You shall have an extra one to-day, and\\nyou shall take just as long as you want\\nNow, how could mortal man look grieved, even over an American newspa-\\nper, with that prospect in view? It is true that one is a very indefinite thing.\\nPerhaps Leonore merely meant another cup of tea. Whatever she meant, Peter\\nnever learned, for, barely had he tasted his tea when the girl on the lounge beside\\nhim gave a cry. She rose, and as she did so, some of the tea-things fell to the\\nfloor with a crash.\\nLeonore! cried Peter. \\\\Miat\\nPeter! cried Leonore. Say it isn t so? It was terrible to sec the suf-\\nfering in her face and to hear the appeal in her voice.\\nMy darling. cried the mother, what is the matter?\\nIt can t be, cried Leonore. Mamma! Papa! Say it isn t so?\\nWhat, my darling? said Peter, supporting the swaying figure.\\nThis. said Leonore, huskilv. holding out the new.spaper.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "IVM L IJ ICRSTKR FORI) 147\\nMrs. D Alloi snatched it. One glance she gave it. Oh, my poor darling!\\nshe cried. I ought not to have allowed it. Peter! Peter! Was not the stain\\ngreat enough but \\\\ou must make my poor child suffer for it? She shoved Peter\\naway, and clasped Leonorc wildly in her arms.\\nMamma! cried I.conore. Don t talk so! Don t! 1 know he didn t!\\nI Ic couldn t\\nI eter caught up the jjajjcr. There in big head-lines was:\\nsim\u00c2\u00ab:ak n\\\\ stikung!\\nWHO IS Tins r.ov?\\nOetective Peltcr Finds a Ward L nkncnvn to tlie Courts, and Explanations Are\\nin r)rder iM om\\nPURITY STIRLING.\\nThe rest of the article it is needless to (-|uote. What it said was so worded\\nas to convey everything vile by innuendo and inference, yet in truth saying\\niKjthing.\\nOh, my darling! continued Mrs. D Alloi. You have a right to kill me for\\nletting him come here after he had confessed it to me. Rut I oh, flon t tremble\\nso. Oh, Watts We iiave killed her.\\nPeter held the paper for a moment. Then he handed it to Watts. He only\\nsaid Watts? but it was a cry for help and mercy as terrible as Leonore s had\\nbeen the moment before.\\nOf course, chum, cried Watts. Reonore, dear, it s all right. You\\nmustn t mind. Peter s a good man. Ik tter tlian most of us. You mustn t\\nmind.\\nDon t, cried Leonore. Let me speak. Mamma, did Peter tell you it\\nwas so?\\nAll were silent.\\nMamma! Say something? Papa! Peter! Will nobody speak?\\nLeonore, said Peter, do not doubt me. Trust me and I will\\nTell me, cried Leonore, interrupting, was this why you didn t come to\\nsee us? Oh! I see it all! This is what mamma knew. This is what pained\\nyou. And I thought it was your love Leonore screamed.\\nMy darling, cried Peter, wildly, don t look so. Don t speak\\nDon t touch me, cried Leonore. Don t. Only go away. Leonore\\nthrew herself upon the rug weeping. It was fearful the way those sobs shook\\nher.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "148 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nIt can t be. said Peter. Watts! She is killing herself.\\nBut Watts had disappeared from the room.\\nOnly go away, cried Leonore. That s all you can do now. There s\\nnothing to be done.\\nPeter leaned over and picked up the prostrate figure, and laid it tenderly on\\nthe sofa. Then he kissed the edge of her skirt. Yes. That s all I can do, he\\nsaid, quietly. Good-bye, sweetheart. I ll go away. He looked about as if be-\\nwildered, then passed from the room to the hall, from the hall to the door, from\\nthe door to the steps. He went down them, staggering a little as if dizzy, and tried\\nto walk towards the avenue. Presently he ran into something. Clumsy, said\\na lady s voice. I beg your pardon, said Peter, mechanically. A moment later\\nhe ran into something again. I beg your pardon, said Peter, and two well-\\ndressed girls laughed to see a bareheaded man apologize to a lamp-post. He\\nwalked on once more, but had not gone ten paces, when a hand was rested on his\\nshoulder.\\nNow, then, my beauty. said a voice. You want to get a cab, or 1 shall\\nhave to run you in. Where do you want to go?\\nI beg your pardon, said Peter.\\nCome, said the policeman, shaking him; where do you belong? My\\nGod! It s Mr. Stirling. Why, sir; what s the matter?\\nI think I ve killed her, said Peter.\\nHe s awfully screwed, ejaculated the policeman. And him of all men\\nNobody shall know. He hailed a passing cab, and put Peter into it. Then he\\ngave Peter s office address, and also got in. He was fined the next day for be-\\ning ofif his beat without adequate reasons, but he never told where he had been.\\nWhen they reached the building, he helped Peter into the elevator. From there\\nhe helped him to his door. He rang the bell, but no answer came. It was past\\nofBce-hours, and Jenifer having been told that Peter would dine up-town, had\\ndeparted on his leave of absence. The policeman had already gone through\\nPeter s pockets to get money for cabby, and now he repeated the operation, tak-\\ning possession of Peter s keys. He opened the door and, putting him into a\\ndeep chair in the study, laid the purse and keys on Peter s desk, writing on a scrap\\nof paper with much dil^culty: mr. Stirling $2.50 I took to pay the carriage.\\nJohn Motty policeman 22 precinct. he laid it beside the keys and purse. Then\\nhe went back to his beat.\\nAnd what was Peter doing all this time? Just what he now did. He tried\\nto think, though each eye felt as if a red hot needle was burning in it. Presently\\nhe rose, and began to pace, the floor, but he kept stumbling over the desk and\\nchairs. As he stumbled he thought, sometimes to himself, sometimes aloud\\nIf I could only think I can t see. What was it Dr. Pilcere said about her", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "PAUL LEICESTER FORD 149\\neyes Or was it my eyes Did he give me some medicine I can t remember.\\nAnd it wouldn t help her. Why can t I think? What is this pain in her head\\nand eyes? Why does everything look so dark, except when those pains go\\nthrough her head They feel like flashes of lightning, and then I can see. Why\\ncan t I think Her eyes get in the way. He gave me something to put on them.\\nBut I can t give it to her. She told me to go away. To stop this agony How\\nshe suffers. It s getting worse every moment. I can t remember about the med-\\nicine. There it comes again. Now I know. It s not lightning. It s the petro-\\nleum Be quick, boys. Can t you hear my darling scream It s terrible. If I\\ncould only think. What was it the French doctor said to do, if it came back?\\nNo. W e want to get some rails. Peter dashed himself against the window.\\nOnce more, men, together. Can t you hear her scream? Break down the\\ndoor! Peter caught up and hurled a pot of flowers at the window, and the glass\\nshattered and fell to the floor and street. If I could see. But it s all dark. Are\\nthose lights? No. It s too late. I can t save her from it.\\nSo he wandered physically and mentally. Wandered till sounds of martial\\nmusic came up through the broken window. Fall in, cried Peter. The An-\\narchists are after her. It s dynamite, not lightning. Podds, don t let them hurt\\nher. Save her. Oh save her Why can t I get to her? Don t try to hold me,\\nhe cried, as he came in contact with a chair. He caught it up and hurled\\nit across the room, so that it crashed into the picture-frames, smashing chair and\\nframes into fragments. I can t be the one to throw it, he cried, in an agonized\\nvoice. She s all I have. For years I ve been so lonely. Don t. I can t throw it.\\nIt kills me to see her suffer. It wouldn t be so horrible if I hadn t done it myself.\\nIf I didn t love her so. But to blow her up myself. I can t. Men, will you\\nstand by me, and help me to save her?\\nThe band of music stopped. A moment s silence fell, and then up from the\\nstreet came the air of: Marching Through Georgia, five thousand voices sing-\\ning:\\nHurrah, hurrah, for Stirling, brave and strong;\\nHurrah, hurrah, for Stirling, never wrong.\\nAnd roll the voters up in line,\\nTwo hundred thousand strong\\nVoting for freedom and Stirling.\\nLeonore knelt in front of Peter, and, drenching her fingers with the wash,\\nbegan rubbing it softly over his eyes. It has always been a problem whether it\\nwas the remedy or the ends of those fingers which took those lines of suffering", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "I50 BHwST TlllXC^S FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nout of Peter s face and made him sit quietly in that chair. Those having Uttle\\nfaith in medicines, and much faith in a woman s hands, will opine the latter.\\nDoctors will not.\\nSuflficeth it to say, after ten minutes of this treatment, during which Peter s\\nface had slowly changed, first to a look of rest, and then to one which denoted\\neagerness, doubt and anxiety, but not pain, that he finall put out his hands and\\ntook Leonore s.\\nYou have come to me, he said. Has he told you?\\nWho? What? asked Leonore.\\nYou still think I could? cried Peter. Then why are you here? He\\nopened his eyes wildly and would have risen, onl}- Leonore was kneeling in front\\nof the chair still.\\nDon t excite yourself. Peter, begged Leonore. We ll not talk of that\\nnow. Not till you are better.\\nWhat are you here for? cried Peter. W hy did you come\\nOh, please, Peter, be quiet.\\nTell me, I will have it. Peter was exciting himself, more from Leonore s\\nlook than by what she said.\\nOh, Peter. I made papa bring me because oh 1 wanted to ask you\\nto do something. For my sake\\nWhat is it?\\nI wanted to ask you, sobbed Leonore, to marry her. Then I shall always\\nthink vou were what I I have been loving, and not Leonore laid her head\\ndown on his knee, and sobbed bitterly.\\nPeter raised Leonore in his arms, and laid the little head on his shoulder.\\nDear one, he said, do you love me?\\nYes, sobbed Leonore.\\nAnd do you think I love you?\\nYes.\\nNow look into your heart. Could you tell me a lie?\\nNo.\\nNor can T vou. I am not the father of that boy. and I never wronged his\\nmother.\\nl)Ut you told .sobbed Leonore.\\nI lied to your mother, dear.\\nFor what? Leonore had lifted her head and there was a look of hope in\\nher eyes, as well as of doubt.\\nBecause it was better at that time than the truth. But Watts will tell you\\nthat I lied.\\nPapa?", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "PAUL LICICESTIOR FORD 151\\nYes, Dot. Dear old Peter speaks the truth.\\nBut if you Hed to her, why not to me?\\nI can t He to you, Leonore. I am tclHn^- you the truth. Won t you be-\\nHcvc me?\\nI do, cried Lconore. I know \\\\ou speak ihc truth. It s in your face and\\nvoice. And the next moment her arms were al)out Peter s neck, and her hps\\nwere on his.\\njust then some one in the lorchhght shouted: What s the matter wid\\nvStirhui;?\\nAnd a thousand voices joyfull\\\\ yelled:\\nlie s all riirht.\\nAnd so was the crowd.\\nf.l.^", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "DR. S. WHIK MITCHBLL\\n152", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "ilJiST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 153\\nA NIGHT BATTLE OF THE REVOLUTION\\nBEING A I AKT Ol ONK CHAI TKK KKOM ULCJH WYNNIC\\nBY S. WEIR MITCHELL\\n(Born Philadelphia, Pa., Feb. 15, 1S30)\\nN the niglit of the 9th of October His Excellency put a match to the first\\n;un, and for f(jur days and nights a furious cannonade went on from\\nboth sides.\\nLate on the night of the 10th Jack came to my tent, and we\\nwalked out to see this terrible spectacle, climbing a little hill which\\nlay well away from our lines. For a time we were quite alone.\\nA monstrous dome of smoke hung over the town. Now and then a gust of\\nsea wind tore it apart, and through the rifts we saw the silver cup of the moon\\nand the host of stars. We lay long on the hillock. I suppose the hour and the\\nmighty fates involved made us serious and silent. Far away seventy cannon\\nthundered from our works, and the enemy s batteries roared their incessant fury of\\nreply.\\nPresently I said, J^^l^ l^ow still the heavens are, and under them this rage of\\nwar How strange\\nYes, said Jack once I said something of this tranquilness in the skies to\\nour great Dr. Franklin. He is very patient with young fellows, but he said to\\nme Yes, it is a pleasing thing, even to be wrong about it. It is only to the eye\\nof man that there is calm and peace in the heavens no shot of cannon can fly as\\nthese worlds fly, and comets whirl, and suns blaze and if there is yonder, as with\\nus, war and murder and ravage, none can say. It all comes back to me now,\\nsaid Jack, and I thought to tell you.\\nJt is a terrible sight, said I, as the great tumult of sound grew louder.\\nLet us thank God the cause is a just one.\\nAnd there are the stars again, said Jack, and the moon. And we were\\nsilent once more, watching the death-struggle of a failing cause.\\nOur own mad world was far other than at peace. The great bombs rose in\\nvast curves overhead, with trails of light, and, seeming to hesitate in mid-air, ex-\\nploded, or fell on town or ship or in the stream between. As we looked, awe-\\nstruck, hot shot set fire to the Charon. a forty-four-gun ship, nigh to Glouces-\\nter, and soon a red rush of fire twining about mast and spar rose in air. lighting\\nReproduced by permi-ssion of The Century Co., N. Y.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "154 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nthe sublime spectacle, amid the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry and multi-\\ntudinous inexplicable noises, through which we heard now and then the wild\\nhowl of a dog from some distant farm-yard.\\nAt last the warship blew up, and a wonderful strong light lighted the town,\\nthe river, and the camp. As it fell the dog bayed again, a long, sharp, wavering\\ncry.\\nThis seemed to me to impress Jack Warder more than anything else in this\\ndin of war. He said now and again, There is that dog, and wondered what\\nthe beast thought of it all. It is curious upon what the minds of men fix on grave\\noccasions. I meant to ask Jack why he spoke over and over of the dog when be-\\nfore us was the bloody close of a great historic tragedy, a king humbled a young\\nrepublic at sword-point with an ancient monarchy.\\nIt seemed to me a man s mind must grow in the presence of such, might of\\nevents. The hill, a half-mile from the lines, was a good vantage-ground whence\\nto see and hear. Jack and I smoked many pipes, and, as he was not for duty in\\nthe trenches, lay here most of that cool October night, wrapped in our cloaks.\\nSometimes we talked more often we were silent, and ever the great cannon\\nroared from trench and bastion, or were quiet awhile to let their hot lips cool.\\nOnce Jack fell to talk of how he and I were changed from the quiet Quaker\\nlads we had been, and did I remember our first fight, and Colonel Rupert Forest,\\nand Master Dove? That greater master, War, since then had educated and\\nbroadened us. He was more philosophic than I, and liked thus to speculate but\\nof Darthea he said never a word, though we spoke of many things that memor-\\nable night.\\nAt last, when it was near to dawn. Jack jumped up, crying, Oh, confound\\nthat dog! He had what I never had, some remnant of the superstitions of our\\nancestors, and I suspect that the howl of the poor beast troubled him. I guessed\\nat this when he said presently, I suppose we shall have to carry the place by\\nstorm.\\nNow, don t tell me you will get hit, said I. You always say that. There\\nare enough dead men to set every dog in Virginia a-howling.\\n^c\\nThen a rocket rose high in air over our camp. Ready, men! said Hamil-\\nton, while I drew my long Hessian blade.\\nSix bombs in quick succession rose and went over us. I heard the marquis\\ncry out, En avaiit! Forward\\nForward, sappers! cried a voice in front.\\nCome along, boys! cried Jack. And not giving the sappers more than\\ntime to scramble up, we were ofT in a swift rush through the darkness. The", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "S. WEIR MITCHELL 155\\nquickly formed line broke irregularly as we ran over the space between us and\\nthe abatis, the sappers vainly trying to keep ahead.\\nAs we rushed forward, my legs serving me well, I saw that they in the\\nredoubt knew what was coming. A dozen rockets went up, Bengal fires of a\\nsudden lighted their works, a cannon-shot went close to my head, and all pande-\\nmonium seemed to break loose.\\nAt the stockade, a hundred feet from their works, our men pushed aside the\\nsappers, and tore down the rude barrier, or tumbled over it. They were used to\\nfences. Here Gimat was hurt, and Kirkpatrick, of the pioneers, and a moment\\nlater Colonel Barber.\\nThe hundred feet beyond were passed at a run, and the men with fascines\\ncast them into the ditch. It was already half full of the wreck the cannon had\\nmade in the earthwork. We jumped in, and out it was all mud and water.\\nLadders were set against the parapet, but the slope was now not abrupt, having\\nbeen crumbled away by our guns, so that most of us scrambled up without delay.\\nI saw Captain Hunt fall, the enemy firing wildly. If Sergeant Brown of the\\nFourth Connecticut, or Mansfield of the Forlorn Hope, were first on the parapet,\\nI do not know. Hamilton got by me, and I saw him set a foot on the shoulder\\nof a man and jump onto the top of the redoubt. Why more or all were not\\nkilled seems to me a wonder. I think if the enemy had been cooler we had been\\neasily disposed of. I saw the girl-boy leap down among the bayonets, and we\\nwere at once in a hurly-burly of redcoats, our men with and after us.\\nFor a little there was fierce resistance and a furious struggle, of which T\\nrecall only a remembrance of smoke, red flashes, yells, and a confusion of men\\nstriking and thrusting. A big Hessian caught me a smart thrust in the left leg\\nno great hurt. Another with his butt pretty nearly broke my left arm, as I\\nput it up to save my head. I ran him through and felt that they were giving way.\\nTo the left and right was still a mad struggle, and what with the Bengal\\nfires still blazing, and a heap of brush in flames at one side of the redoubt, there\\nwas light enough to see. Near about me was a clear space, and a pause such as\\noccurs now and then in such a scrimmage. There were still men who held back,\\nand to whom, as I pushed on, I called, Come on We have them A great\\nwind from the sea blew the smoke away, so that it was easy to see. As I called\\nout to the men who hesitated on the outer slope, as some will. I heard before me\\na voice cry, This way, men and, turning, caught sight of the face of Arthur\\nWynne. He, too, saw and knew me. He uttered an oath, I remember, crying\\nout, At last as I dashed at him.\\nI heard ahead of me cries for Quarter! quarter! The mass of striving\\nmen had fallen back, and in fact the business was at an end. I saw Jack run", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "156 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nfrom my left toward me, but he stood still when he saw what was happening, and\\ninstantly, as he came, Arthur and I crossed swords. What else chanced or who\\nelse came near I knew not. I saw for the time only that one face I so hated,\\nfor the heap of brush in the work was still blazing.\\nAs is true of every Wynne I ever knew, when in danger I became cool at\\nonce. I lost no time, but pressed him hard with a glad sense that he was no\\nlonger my master at the game. I meant to kill him, and as he fell back I knew\\nthat at last his hour had come. I think he too knew it. He fenced with caution,\\nand was as cool as I. Just as I touched him in the right shoulder I felt a\\nwounded Hessian clutch my leg. I fell squarely backward, my cousin lunging\\nsavagely as I dropped. I had been done for had not Jack struck up his blade as\\nI lay, calling out\\nCoward\\nI was up in a moment, pretty savage, and caught sight of my Jack fencing\\nwith my man, as calm as if we were in old Pike s gallery. As I stood panting\\nit was but a moment I saw Jack s blade whip viciously round Arthur s and\\npass through his breast, nearly to the guard.\\nMy cousin cried I know not what, fell to one side, and then in a heap across\\na dead grenadier.\\nBetter I than thou, cried Jack, blowing hard. He will play no more\\ntricks. Come on\\nWith a glance at my enemy, I hurried past him over dead and wounded men,\\na cannon upset, muskets cast away, and what not.\\nThis way, Wynne, said the marquis. C est tini Get those fellows to-\\ngether, gentlemen.\\nOur men were huddling the prisoners in a corner and collecting their arms.\\nA red-faced New Hampshire captain was angrily threatening Major Campbell,\\nthe commander of the redoubt, who had just surrendered. Colonel Hamilton\\nstruck up the captain s blade, or I do believe he would have killed the major.\\nHe was furious over the death of Colonel Scammel, who was greatly beloved,\\nand had been killed by Hessians after having given up his sword.\\nIt was over, and I went back to see what had become of Arthur. He was\\nalive, and having dragged himself to the inner wall of the redoubt, was now\\nseated against it. Jack soon found a antern, and by its light we looked at Ar-\\nthur. He was covered with blood, but was conscious, and stared at me with\\ndull eyes, without power to say a word.\\nTake care of him, Jack. said I. and went away down the crumbled slope\\nand through the broken abatis, while overhead the bombs howled with unearthly\\nnoises and the cannonrv broke out anew.", "height": "3055", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 157\\nUNDER THE LION S PAW\\nBEING ONE CHAPTER KROM THE TAI.K OF THAT TITI.K IN MAIN TRAVE1,I,ED ROADS\\nBY HAMLIN GARLAND\\n(Born at West vSalem, Wis., September 16, :86o)\\nIII.\\nASKINS worked like a fiend, and his wife, like the heroic woman she\\nwas, bore also uncomplainingly the most terrible btirdens. They rose\\nearly and toiled without intermission till the darkness fell on the plain,\\nthen tumbled into bed, every bone and muscle aching- with fatigue,\\nto rise with the sun next morning to the same round of the same\\nferocity of labor.\\nThe eldest boy drove a team all through the Spring, ploughing and seeding,\\nmilked the cows, and did chores innumerable, in most ways taking the place of\\na man.\\nAn infinitely pathetic but common figure this boy on the American farm,\\nwhere there is no law against child labor. To see him in his coarse clothing,\\nhis huge boots, and his ragged cap, as he staggered with a pail of water from the\\nwell, or trudged in the cold and cheerless dawn out into the frosty field behind\\nhis team, gave the city-bred visitor a sharp pang of sympathetic pain. Yet Ras-\\nkins loved his boy, and would have saved him from this if he could, but he\\ncould not.\\nBy June the first year the result of such Herculean toil began to show on the\\nfarm. The yard was cleaned up and sown to grass, the garden ploughed and\\nplanted, and the house mended.\\nCouncil had given them four of his cows.\\nTake em an run em on shares. I don t want a milk s many. Ike s away\\ns much now, Sat d ys an Sund ys, I can t stand the bother, anyhow.\\nOther men, seeing the confidence of Council in the new-comer, had sold\\nhim tools on time and as he was really an able farmer, he soon had round him\\nmany evidences of his care and thrift. At the advice of Council, he had taken\\nthe farm for three years, with the privilege of re-renting or buying at the end of\\nthe term.\\nIt s a good bargain, an y want o nail it, said Council. If you have any\\nkind ov a crop, you c n pay y r debts, an keep seen an bread.\\nThe new hope which now sprang up in the heart of Raskins and his wife", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "158 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\ngrew great almost as a pain by the time the wide field of wheat began to wave\\nand rustle and swirl in the winds of July. Day after day he would snatch a few\\nmoments after supper to go and look at it.\\nHave ye seen the wheat t -day, Nettie? he asked one night as he rose\\nfrom supper.\\nNo, Tim, I ain t had time.\\nWell, take time now. Let s go look at it.\\nShe threw an old hat on her head Tommy s hat and looking almost pretty\\nin her thin sad way, went out with her husband to the liedge.\\nAin t it grand, Nettie? Just look at it.\\nIt was grand. Level, russet here and there, heavy-headed, wide as a lake,\\nand full of multitudinous whispers and gleams of wealth, it stretched away\\nbefore the gazers like the fabled field of the cloth of gold.\\nOh, I think 1 Italic we ll have a good crop. Tim; and oh, how good the\\npeople have been to us!\\nYes; I don t know where we d be t -day if it hadn t been f r Council and\\nhis wife.\\nThey re the best people in the world, said the little woman, with a great\\nsob of gratitude.\\nWe ll be in the field on Monday, sure, said Haskins, griping the rail on the\\nfence as if already at the work of the harvest.\\nThe harvest came, bounteous, glorious, but the winds came and blew it into\\ntangles, and the rain matted it here and there close to the ground, increasing the\\nwork of gathering it threefold.\\nOh, how they toiled in those glorious days Clothing dripping with sweat,\\narms aching, filled with briers, fingers raw and bleeding, backs broken with the\\nweight of heavy bundles, Haskins and his man toiled on. Tommy drove the\\nharvester, while his father and a hired man bound on the machine. In this way\\nthey cut ten acres every day, and almost every night after supper, when the hand\\nwent to bed, Haskins returned to the field, shocking the bound grain in the light\\nof the moon. Many a night he worked till his anxious wife came out at ten\\no clock to call him in to rest and lunch.\\nAt the same time she cooked for the men, took care of the children, washed\\nand ironed, milked the cows at night, made the butter, and sometimes fed the\\nhorses and watered them while her husband kept at the shocking.\\nNo slave in the Roman galleys could have toiled so frightfully and lived, for\\nthis man thought himself a free man, and that he was working for his wife and\\nbabes.\\nWhen he sank into his bed with a deep groan of relief, too tired to change", "height": "3059", "width": "2204", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "TiAMLIN GARLAxXD 159\\nhis grimy, dripping clothing, he felt that he was getting nearer and nearer to\\na home of his own, and pushing the wolf of want a little farther from his door.\\nTlicrc is no despair so deep as the despair of a homeless man or woman. To\\nroam the roads of the country or the streets of the city, to feci there is no rood\\nof ground on which the feet can rest, to halt weary and hungry outside lighted\\nwindows and hear laughter and song within these are the hungers and rebellions\\nthat drive men to crime and women to shame.\\nIt was the memory of this hopelessness, and the fear of its coming again,\\nthat spurred Timothy Ilaskins and Nettie, his wife, to such ferocious labor during\\nthat first year.\\nIV.\\nM, yes m, yes first-rate, said Butler, as his eye took in the neat garden,\\nthe pig-pen, and the well-filled barn-yard. You re git n quite a stock around\\nyeh. Done well, eh?\\nHaskins was showing Butler around the place. He had not seen it for a year,\\nliaving spent the year in Washington and Boston with Ashley, his brother-in-\\nlaw, who had been elected to Congress.\\nYes, I ve laid out a good deal of money during the last three years. I ve\\npaid out three hundred dollars f r fcncin\\nTm h m see, I see, said Butler, while Haskins went on:\\nThe kitchen there cost two hundred the barn ain t cost much in money, but\\nI ve put in a lot o time on it. I ve dug a new well, and I\\nYes, yes. I see! You ve done well. Stawk worth a thousand dollars,\\nsaid Butler, picking his teeth with a straw.\\nAbout that, said Haskins, modestly. We begin to feel s if we was git n\\na home f r ourselves but we ve worked hard. I tell you, we begin to feel it, Mr.\\nButler, and we re goin t begin to ease up purty soon. We ve been kind o plan-\\nnin a trip back t her folks after the fall ploughin s done.\\nEggs-2iCt\\\\y said Butler, who was evidently thinking of something else.\\nI suppose you ve kind o cal c lated on stayin here three years more?\\nWell, yes. Fact is, I think I c n buy the farm this fall, if you ll give me\\na reasonable show.\\nUm m! What do you call a reasonable show?\\nWal, say a quarter down and three years time.\\nButler looked at the huge stacks of wheat, which filled the yard, over which\\nthe chickens were fluttering and crawling, catching grasshoppers, and out of\\nwhich the crickets were singing innumerably. He smiled in a peculiar way as\\nhe said, Oh, I won t be hard on yeh. But what did you expect to pay for the\\nplace", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "i6o BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nW hv, about what you ottered it before, two thousand five lunidrcd, or\\npossibly three thousand dollars, he added (uurkly. as he saw the owner shake his\\nhead.\\nThis farm is worth five thousand an. five hundred dollars, said Butler,\\nin a careless and decided voice.\\nJVhatr almost shrieked the astounded Haskins. What s that? Five\\nthousand? Why, that s double what you offered it for three years ago.\\nOf course and it s worth it. It was all run down then now it s in good\\nshape. You ve laid out fifteen hundred dollars in improvements, according to\\nyour own story.\\nBut yoit had nothin t do about that. It s my work an my money.\\nYou bet it was but it s my land.\\nBut what s to pay me for all my\\nAin t you had the use of em replied Butler, smiling calmly into his face.\\nHaskins was like a man struck on the head with a sandbag; he couldn t\\nthink; he stammered as he tried to say: But I neverid git the use you d rob\\nme More n that you agreed you promised that I could buy or rent at the\\nend of three years at\\nThat s all right. But I didn t say I d let you carry ofif the improvements,\\nnor that I d go on renting the farm at two-fifty. The land is double in value, it\\ndon t matter how it don t enter into the question an now you can pay me five\\nhundred dollars a year rent, or take it on your own terms at fifty-five hundred, or\\ngit out.\\nHe was turning away when Haskins. the sweat pouring from his face, fronted\\nhim, saying again\\nBut youz c done nothing to make it so. You hain t added a cent. I put it\\nall there myself, exceptin to buy. I worked an sweat to improve it. I was\\nworkin for myself an babes\\nWell, why didn t you buy when I offered to sell? What y kickin about?\\nI m kickin about payin you twice f r my own things my own fences, my\\nown kitchen, my own garden.\\nButler laughed. You re too green t eat, young feller. Your improvements\\nThe law will sing another tune.\\nBut I trusted your word.\\nNever trust anybody, my friend. Besides, I didn t promise not to do this\\nthing. Why, man, don t look at me like that. Don t take me for a thief. It s\\nthe law. The reg lar thing. Everybody does it.\\nI don t care if they do. It s stealin jest the same. You take three thou-\\nsand dollars of my money the work o my hands and my wife s. He broke", "height": "3059", "width": "2204", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "HAMLIN GARLAND i6i\\ndown at this point. He was not a strong man mentally. He could face hard-\\nship, ceaseless toil, but he could not face the cold and sneering face of Butler.\\nBut I don t take it. said Butler, coolly. All you ve got to do is to go on\\njest as you ve been a-doin or gi\\\\e me a thousand dollars down, and a mortgage\\nat ten per cent, on the rest.\\nHaskins sat down blindly on a bundle of oats nearby, and with staring eyes\\nand drooping head went over the situation. He was under the lion s paw. He\\nfelt a horrible numbness in his heart and limbs. He was hid in a mist, and there\\nwas no path out.\\nButler walked about, looking at the huge stacks of grain, and pulling now\\nmd again a few handfuls out, shelling the heads in his hands and blowing the\\nchafif away. He hummed a little tune as he did so. He had an accommodating\\nair of waiting.\\nHaskins was in the midst of the terrible toil of the last year. He was walking\\nagain in the rain and the mud behind his plough he felt the dust and dirt of the\\nthreshing. The ferocious husking-time, with its cutting wind and biting, cling-\\ning snows, lay hard upon him. Then he thought of his wife, how she had cheer-\\nfully cooked and baked, without holiday and without rest.\\nWell, what do you think of it? inquired the cool, mocking, insinuating\\nvoice of Butle;.\\nI think you re a thief and a liar! shouted Haskins, leaping up. A black-\\nhearted houn Butler s smile maddened him with a sudden leap he caught\\na fork in his hands and whirled it in the air. You ll never rob another man,\\ndamn ye! he grated through his teeth, a look of pitiless ferocity in his accusing\\neyes.\\nButler shrank and quivered, expecting the blow; stood, held hypnotized\\nby the eyes of the man he had a moment before despised a man transformed\\ninto an avenging demon. But in the deadly hush between the lift of the weapon\\nand its fall there came a gush of faint, childish laughter and then across the range\\nof his vision, far away and dim, he saw the sun-bright head of his baby girl, as,\\nwith the pretty tottering run of a two-year-old, she moved across the grass of the\\ndoor-yard. His hands relaxed the fork fell to the ground his head lowered.\\nMake out y r deed an mor gage, an git of\u00c2\u00a5 n my land, an don t ye never\\ncross my line ag in if y do, I ll kill ye.\\nButler backed away from the man in wild haste, and, climbing into his buggy\\nwith trembling limbs, drove off down the road, leaving Haskins seated dumbly on\\nthe sunny pile of sheaves, his head sunk into his hands.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "WILLIS BROOKS HAWKINS\\n162", "height": "3059", "width": "2204", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 163\\nLANGUAGE THAT NEEDS A REST\\nBY WILLIS BROOKS HAWKINS\\n(Born in Aurora, ]11., 1S52)\\nWAS awakened in the middle of the night by a disturbance in the Hbrary.\\nIt (Hd not seem to be the noise of burglars. It was more like the mur-\\nmuring sound of many tongues engaged in a spirited debate. I listened\\nclosely and concluded it must be some sort of a discussion being held\\nby the words in my big unabridged dictionary. Creeping softly to the\\ndoor, I stood and listened.\\nI don t care, said the little word Of. I may not be very big, but that is\\nno reason why everybody should take advantage of me. I am the most merci-\\nlessly overworked word in the dictionary, and there is no earthly reason for it,\\neither. People say they consider of and approve of and accept of and admit\\nof all sorts of things. Then they say all of us, and both of them, and first of\\nall, and tell about looking out of the window, or cutting a piece of bread off of\\nthe loaf, until I am utterly tired out.\\nPshaw! said the word Up, I am not much bigger than you, and I do twice\\nas much work, and a good deal of it needlessly, too. People wake up in the\\nmorning and get up and shake up their beds and dress up and wash up and\\ndraw up to the table, and eat up and drink up their breakfast. Then they\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0jump up from the table and hurry up to the corner, where the street-car\\ndriver pulls up his horses and the passengers ascend up the steps and go up\\ninto the front seats, and the conductor takes up the tickets. All this is done\\neven before people get up town and take up their day s work. From that\\ntime until they put up their books and shut up their oflfices I do more work\\nthan any two words in this book and even after business hours I am worked until\\npeople lock up their homes and go up to bed and cover themselves up and\\nshut up their eyes for the night. It would take a week to tell what I have to\\nput up with in a day, and I am a good deal worked up over it.\\nI agree that both Up and Of are very much overworked, said the word\\nStated, but I think I, myself, deserve a little sympathy. I am doing not only\\nmy own legitimate work, but also that which ought to be done by my friend Said.\\nNobody says anything nowadays he always states it.\\nYes, chipped in the funny little word Pim, these are very stately times.\\nSome of the words laughed at this, but Humor said Pun is a simpleton.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "i64 BEST THINGS FRcnr AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nXo. answered JJ it: he is a fellow of duplicities.\\nHe makes me tired, said Slang.\\nThen the discussion was resumed.\\nI do a great deal of needless work. said the word But. People say they\\nhave no doubt but that it will rain, anil that they shouldn t wonder but what it\\nwould snow, until I don t know but 1 shall strike.\\nWhat I have most to complain about, said the word As, is that I am\\nforced to associate so much with the word Equally. Only yesterday a man said\\nhe could see equally as well as another man. I don t see what business\\nEqually had in that sentence.\\nWell, retorted Equally, men every day say that something is equally as\\ngood as something else, and I don t see what business As has in that sentence.\\nT think. said Propriety, you two should be divorced by mutual consent.\\nThere was a fluttering sound and a clamor of voices.\\nW^e, too, ought to be granted divorce, was the substance of what they\\nsaid and among the voices I recognized those of the following-named couples\\nCover Over, Enter In, From Thence, Go Fetch, Have Got, Latter End, Continue\\nOn, Converse Together, Neiv Beginner, Old J eteran, Return Back, Rise Up, Si)ik\\nDozvn, They Both, Try And, More Perfect, Seldom Ever, Almost Never, Feel Badly,\\nI nited Together, Tivo First, An One, Over Again, Repeat Again, and many others.\\nWlien quietude had been restored, the word Rest said You words all talk\\nof being overworked as if that \\\\vere the worst thing that could happen to a fellow,\\nbut I tell you it is much worse to be cut out of your own work. Now, look at\\nme. Here I am ready and willing to perform my part in the speech of the day,\\nbut almost everybody passes by me and employs my awkward friend, Balance\\nIt is the commonest thing in the world to hear people say they will pay the bal-\\nance of a debt or will sleep the balance of the night.\\nI sufifer considerably from this same kind of neglect. said the word Deem.\\nNobody ever deems a thing beautiful any more it is always considered beauti-\\nful, when in fact it is not considered at all.\\nTrue, said Irritate; and people talk of being aggravated when th.ey\\nought instead to give me work.\\nAnd me, said Purpose; look at me. I get hardly anything to do be-\\ncause people are always proposing to do this or that when no idea of a propo-\\nsition is involved. AVhy, I read the other day of a man who had proposed to\\nmurder another, when really he had never said a word about it to a living being.\\nOf course he only purposed to commit murder.\\nIf it is my turn, said the word Among, I should like to protest against\\nMr. Betzvccn doing my work. The idea of people saying a man divided an\\norange between his three children It humiliates me.", "height": "3059", "width": "2204", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "WILLIS BROOKS HAWKINS 165\\nIt is no worse, said the word Fczvcr, than to have people say there were\\nless men in one army than in another.\\nNo, added More Than; and no worse than to have them say there were\\nover one hundred thousand men.\\nIt seems to me, said the word Likely, that nobody has more reason for\\ncomplaint than I have. My friend Liable is doing nearly all my work. They\\nsay a man is liable to be sick or liable to be out of town, when the (juestion\\nof liability does not enter into the matter at all.\\nYou re no worse off than I am. said the little word So. That fellow\\n.S //(7/ is doing- all my work. People say there never was such a glorious country\\nas this, when, of course, they mean there never was so glorious a country else-\\nwhere.\\nI saw that there was likely to be no end to this discussion, since half the\\nwords in the dictionary were making efforts to put in their ct)mplaints, so I re-\\nturned to my couch and I will leave it to any person who has read this account\\nwhether I had not already heard enough to make me (M- anybody else sleepy.\\nU^^te^ 0..|i^W^A:M;^", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "HENRY WADSWOKTH LONGFELLOW\\ni66", "height": "3059", "width": "2204", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 167\\nTHE RAINY DAY\\nBY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW\\n(Born at Portland, Me., Feb. 27, 1807; died at Cambridge, Mass., March 24, 1882)\\nThe day is cold and dark and dreary\\nIt rains, and the wind is never weary\\nThe vine still clings to the moldering wall,\\nBut at every gust the dead leaves fall,\\nAnd the day is dark and dreary.\\nMy life is cold and dark and dreary\\nIt rains, and the wind is never weary\\nMy thoughts still cling to the moldering past,\\nBut the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast.\\nAnd the days are dark and dreary.\\nBe still, sad heart! and cease repining;\\nBehind the clouds is the sun still shining\\nThy fate is the common fate of all\\nInto each life some rain must fall,\\nSome days must be dark and dreary.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "CLINTON ROSS\\n168", "height": "3059", "width": "2204", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "JU ST THINGS l k()M y\\\\Ml KlCAN LITERATURE 169\\nTHE DECOY DESPATCH\\nBY CLINTON ROSS\\n(Horn at I5ii)},rli;iiiit()ii, X. V., July ;,i, iS6i)\\nCAX rcnu nil)iT il so well (hat tlic whole scene is bcfofe iiic as vividly as\\nif il well now. and I can l;() over in) own (lucstionings as the inatler\\nwas ptit. It was. indeed, the Jersey prison-ship, the Suj^ar I louse, or\\nthis. It was to he tied, when I, wiio always had been, a^ain nnj^ht be\\nfree. And more, 1 should i;ain some comfort of riches, when 1 and\\nmine always had slaved to poverty. Aroinid me in the place 1 had left\\nwas filth, scurvy; and now, as Ratham pnt il, 1 could be done with this and be\\nfree to go as I wished.\\nWhy, man, it s as easy for you as walking;-. Do you suppose 1 should hesi-\\ntate? Not I.\\nAnd he j^ave me from under his beetlinj;- brows a smile of ;-ood-will that I\\nknew was but cunning show for it was only his eyes that smiled, his face fixed.\\nIt may l)e easy for you, said I, bitterly. You are of the other side.\\nYes, frankly, said he, 1 am for the King, and I should not be asking\\nyou this if I were not. et\\net? said I, gras|)iug at any excuse.\\nI am a man of property; you, abominably poor. If I were in your i)lace\\nI would think twice, for it means a hundred pounds. A hundred pounds is not\\nto be had easily in peace or war.\\nNo, said I, reflecting. With (hat hundred pounds I might ask Peggy.\\nWhat, after all, was all this question to me personally? 1 was sergeant, but the\\n[)ay was poor had no particular prospect, whichever side won, for I ever had\\nsmall wit at trading or saving, and T might with that hundred pounds I might\\nstart a public somewhere, and 1 might have the reason for asking Peggy; and\\nthen, besides, it meant freedom. I, who liked the woods and fields, could not\\nbear being cooped. Why shouldn t I take the chance?\\nWhy shouldn t you? asked Ratham, reading my thought.\\nAh, why shouldn t T? If T were rich or influential 1 should be exchanged,\\nbut as it was T nn ght rot. P.ul could I do (his (hing? My friends were wi(h\\nCongress.\\nE(iually _\\\\our friends are Ioyalis(s, Ratham said, again reading me. aUlu^ugh\\nI had said nothing.", "height": "3059", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "I70 BEST THINGS FROM AMICRICAX LTrKRATURE\\nYes, that might be. Half of New York was Tory, and I had been broug nt\\nup on Ratham s land. I knew him, but not as well as he me his cleverness,\\nhow hard he ever had been with his tenants, how strong he was, how determined\\nfor the King.\\nWell, shall I take you to Sir William?\\nThe chance beckoned.\\nYes, said I sullenly; and then gladly, T ll take it.\\nBut what, said he, eyeing me curiously, if you betray us?\\nI have given my word, said I to the devil.\\nOh, I beg your pardon, Philip, said he. I know you. Yes, he knew\\nme, heart and soul, as he knew all men. Come we ll to Sir William.\\nAnd I followed him out onto Broadway, where the sun was bright and the\\nStreet gay with the crowd. Only the blackened ruins of Trinity showed what war\\nhad done. These gay London and New York gentlemen, these Tory ladies, were\\nas contemptuous of the war with their festivities as if the land were not suffering.\\nAnd I breathed the air. glad of my decision. I should have money, be\\nfree. And the service was easy but to carry a decoy despatch And what,\\nindeed, did it matter? Must not every man aid himself? Is not the first rule self-\\npreservation It s a sorry struggle with the world at the best a sorry fight to\\nkeep one s probity. Everything is fair when the world is against one.\\nWe found Sir W^illiam writing. I felt awe of the great man, who looked me\\nover as he might, in a good humor, a soldier in the ranks.\\nThis is our friend? he asked. He is trustworthy?\\nAt this I liked not my mission so well to be trustworthy to them meant\\nbeing untrustworthy to the others. Therein is the whole complex definition of\\nuntrustworthiness.\\nListen, said the general, as if he were convinced: This letter is addressed\\nto General Burgoyne. It reads: If. according to my expectations, we may suc-\\nceed in getting possession of Boston. I shall without loss of time proceed to co-\\noperate with you in the defeat of the rebel army opposed to you. Clinton is suf-\\nficiently strong to amuse Washington and Putnam. I am now making demon-\\nstrations to the southward, which. I think, will make the full efifect in carrying our\\nplan into execution. I read it. l^ecause you wcnild better know its purport,\\nwhich is to deceive the rebels as to our plans. It s to fall into General Putnam s\\nliaiKls do you understand\\nHe does. Your Excellency. Rathani said for me, when I answered, like a\\npoll-parrot. T understand. Sir William watched me a moment, and then, with\\na gesture, dismissed us.\\nHere s the money. said Ratham. outside, counting a hundred sovereigns", "height": "3059", "width": "2204", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "CLINTON ROSS 171\\nbearing King George s likeness. You never will earn money so easily. I\\nlooked at the gold and at him, whom I loathed.\\nYet, with the glitter of those pieces my last compunction vanished. What\\nis there about gold that the yellow of it burns into the brain? I suddenly held\\nRatham not in such poor esteem. And then I was started, thinking of these\\nthings.\\nAnd exactly according to programme, I fell in with General Putnam s out-\\nposts, when I was taken to the general himself, who chanced to be at that point.\\nHe had known me. Now I thought he would read my soul.\\nYou are turned honest, Philip?\\nI always was, said I, bridling; and, carrying on the show of the thing,\\nI added, but Your Excellency knows that I could not but hand you that dis-\\npatch although I was bribed to the contrary.\\nYou are one of the men who, God helping, will win this fight, the gen-\\neral continued. I could not face his simple directness. He added, Pll send it\\nto General Washington.\\nOutside, where I went as free as the air, I sickened of it all. And then, in\\nthe village, I saw Peggy. What she was like I can t say, save that she was, and is,\\nthe girl for me.\\nWhen we had talked, 1 boasted: I have money, Peggy. Now we can\\nbe married.\\nHow did you come by it, John Philip?\\nI could lie glibly before General Putnam, but not before her eyes. I stam-\\nmered.\\nHad it anything to do with the despatch? said she, anything at all, John\\nPhilip?\\nYes, said I and I could not lie to her, strangely enough. Yes.\\nShe drew back with horror on her face. Talk not to me spy said she.\\nI thought she called to me, but I could not turn back.\\nSpy! The word rang in my ears. Yes, 1 was, plainly enough. She was\\nright. And suddenly I detested myself. I was traitor. I could not help being\\ntraitor to one or the other. But which I felt in my pocket, where the sover-\\neigns jingled. One I took and flung far away from me. And then I paused,\\nlaughing. Twas equall\\\\ sin to throw away good money. I searched in the road\\nfor the piece. But it had gone, and then I sighed at my impulsiveness.\\nBut there were other considerations than these of money in this affair.\\nClearly there was that of honor, which I had lost, whichever way I might turn.\\nThere was only one way. after all I could not disguise it and that was the way\\nPeggy s scorn made imperative.\\nI wish to see the general, I asked of General Putnam s orderly, and in a", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "172 BEST THINGS FROM AMJ-:RICAX LITERATURE\\nfew minutes I was again in the general s presence. He regarded nie with siu\\nprise, I think, which I undcrrtood only too well.\\nAVhat is it, Philip?\\nThe letter! said I, faintly.\\nIt s gone to General Washington. saiil he. his voice not unkind.\\nGeneral. said I, that was a decoy letter.\\nWhat tl ye mean, man?\\nIt was intended to fall into your hands.\\nHe looked as if he thought me mad.\\nD ye know that you risk tieath as a spy?\\nI know it, said 1, and then I fumhloil in my pocket and countetl out the\\nsovereigns. These are properly yours. They gave them to me to carry the\\nletter and to be arrested with it. One I threw away. For a moment he paused\\nfor a moment looked me over from head to toe. It s tliis, said I. answering\\nhis look in kind, and finding I could face him unflinchingly. Tm a poor man,\\nGeneral Putnam. The money and freedom were temptations. I have been\\nprisoner with them so long I wished freedom. I was tempteil thought I could\\ncarry this thing through. But I can t. General Putnam I have told you every-\\nthing.\\nI wondered what he would do then. I knew he was a decided man, to whom\\n1 could talk more easily than to some of the fine gentlemen in our service. I\\ntlon t believe I should have had the heart lieforc another; but to him it was differ-\\nent. He was more of our Northern farmer class could feel my temptation.\\nNow he did a queer thing, for he advanced after looking me over narrowly.\\nPhilip, you have been tempted. 1 understand. 1 suspected the color of the\\ndespatch, which on its face was unreasonable. l)ut 1 shall have to have you put un-\\nder arrest. I m sorry, man, but I honor your confession your attempt to atone\\nfor what you have done.\\nI bowed my heatl, for 1 could not answer. Again I was under arrest, and for\\nthe moment 1 regretted it. and then regret passed. The girl who had scorned\\nme would hear of this. She would know that at least 1 had made a sacrifice to\\natone for what I had done. And it seemed that my conscience approved. I had\\nbeen unfaithful to my employer, Ratham but I had turned over the money, my\\nl)rice, to General Putnam. The general had not mentioned simply had taken\\nit. I supposed that it was contraband of war on my confession.\\nAnd here was 1 prisoner again, on my own confession, with death after the\\ncourt martial before. I could not imagine it turning out dififerently.\\nAnd so six davs passed, and on the morning of the seventh the sentinel came.\\nYou are free. Philip.\\nFree?", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "CLINTON ROSS\\n73\\nYes, said he; here s the order. The court martial decided your confes-\\nsion made up for your deed. You are dismissed the service.\\nI could not understand it as I stumbled out. Free! Could it be? But dis-\\nmissed the service in dishonor\\nOutside was the girl Pegg-y. Would she turn from nie?\\nJohn Philip, said she, and her voice was timid.\\nCan you speak to me? said I.\\nYes, John Philip.\\nYou forgive me?\\nBut I had no need to talk.\\nAnd General Putnam gave me this for you.\\nAnd she showed me a bag with the sovereigns Ratham had obtained for me\\nfrom Sir William Howe lacking the one.\\nHow did you know I l^egan.\\nI went to General Putnam, said she.\\nYou pleaded for me?\\nYes, said she, softly.\\nAnd then I took the bag of gold.\\nI must return this to Ratham. I have not earned it.\\nI like to hear you say that, John Philip.\\nOh, if I were not a dishonored man\\nYou have won back honor, John Philip and me, if you will have me.\\nBut I cannot I began.\\nYou would not have me unhappy? she began.\\nIjut I sent the gold to Ratham. The piece that was lacking I borrowed.\\nAfter a time came his answer\\nFool, you must have had a higher price.\\nI did, I am free to confess Peggy, and some approval of my own conscience,\\non a little farm in the Catskills. But among men I am known still as Philip, the\\nspy, for such a thing you cannot live down.\\nBut I have found tha some self-approval and the approval of those you hold\\ndearest are more than the world s. Still, 1 was cowardly. My repute has been\\nhard for her. For her I was selfish. And I believe now I have been punished,\\nbecause it was really not so much my wish for self-approval that led to my con-\\nfession as the wish for her.\\nAnd it s for my children, too, to bear. I wonder how God s way is? Yet\\nI know I have not earned peace, because I shoidd have borne mv sin alone.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "ROBERT W. CHAMBERS\\n174", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "llIiST THINGS l *ku.\\\\l AMICKICAX MTICKATUKIv 175\\nLE BOURGET\\nBEING A KEMAKKABLK PICTUKK OF THK STOKMINd Ol A SUllUKB OK PARIS IN THK FRANCO-\\nPRUSSIAN WAR, FROM THE ASHES OF EMPIRE\\nROBERT W. CHAMBERS\\n(Born at Brooklyn, N. Y., May 26, 1S65)\\nT (layliglU it l)egan to snow again an hour later torrents of rain swept\\nthe deserted streets of the village. The roar of the wind awoke Hare-\\nwood. A sickly twilight stole through the church, where, rolled in\\nhis blanket, he had slept under the altar among a dozen drenched\\noflficcrs.\\nA cavalr} bugler, swathed to the chin in his dripping cloak, stood\\ninside the chancel, strapping his shako chain with numb fingers. He had hung\\nhis bugle over the arm of the crucifix, and now, as his pinched, sick face turned\\nto the sunken face on the cross, he paused, hand outstretched. After a second s\\nsilence he crossed himself, unhooked the bugle, and, setting it stiffly to his\\nshrunken lips, blew the reveille. A hundred forms stumbled up in the gloom\\nthe vibrating shock of steel filled the church. An artillery of^cer, sabre clashing\\non the stone floor, left the church on a run, pulling on his astrakhan jacket as he\\npassed out into the storm.\\nHarewood stood up, aching in every bone. He shook his blanket, opened\\nhis despatch pouch, counted the papers, snapped back the lock and yawned.\\nAn oflficcr beside him began to shiver and shake, a thin, lantern-jawed fellow,\\nyellow with jaundice and covered from cap to boot with half dry mud.\\nSomebody said: Go to the hospital. The officer turned a ravaged face\\nto Harewood and smiled.\\nOutside the church the infantry bugles were sounding; their thin, strident call\\nset Harewood s teeth on edge. He rolled and strapped his blanket, slung the\\ndespatch pouch from shoulder to hip, and stumbled out to the church door, where\\na dozen horses stood, heads hanging dejectedly in the pouring rain. A mounted\\nhussar, with a lance in his stirrup boots, looked sullenly at Harewood, who called\\nto him: Whose escort is that?\\nGeneral Bellemare s, replied the trooper.\\nIs he going to Paris?\\nYes, monsieur, in half an hour.\\nHarewood glanced down the dismal street. The low stone houses, shabbv\\nCopyright. 1898, by Frederick A. Stokes Company.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "176 15HST THINGS l-RO.M AAIKRICAX LITICRATURE\\nawd deserted, loomed ilark aiul misty tlii-out;li the stiMin everywhere elosed shut-\\nters, elosed doors, (iismantled street lamps, stark trees, rust\\\\ railings on baleony\\nand poreh everyw here the downpour, liereer w hen the wind swept the rain-\\nspears, rank on rank, against the house froiUs. And now, ilown the street,\\nthrough the roaring wind and slanting sheets oi rain, marehetl a regiment a\\nspectral regiment, gaunt drummers ahead, lining the flooded i)avement from gut-\\nter to gutter, sloppy drums vibrating like tlie death rattle ol an army. It was\\nthe One Hundred and Twenty-eighth of the line the relief for the Grand Guard.\\nAfter it. one by one. rumbled four eannon and a mitrailleuse, eseorted by Mobiles\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094the Twelfth Battalion of the Seine.\\nThe hussar backed his horses on to the sidewalk while the infantry were pass-\\ning. Jiarewood leaned from the church steps and touched him on the shoulder.\\nWill you deliver a letter in Paris for me? he asked.\\nThe hussar nodded sulkily and said Are you going to stay here with the\\ntroops?\\nYes, replieil Harewood. sitting down under the porch and begimiing to\\nwrite on a pad with a stump of red pencil.\\nThen you ll not need an answer to your letter, observed the hussar.\\nHarewood raised his eyes.\\nBecause, continued the trooper, with an oath, that damned Trochu won t\\nsend you any cannon, and you ll all die like rats that s why.\\nHarewood thought a moment, then went on writing to Bourke\\nThe sortie was no sortie after all it was a raid on Le Bourget by Bellemare.\\nTrochu isn t inclined to back him up, and here we are wedged into the German\\nlines, able to pierce them if supported from Paris, but in a bad mess if Paris\\nabandons us. Bellemare starts for Paris in half an hour to urge personally the\\ndirection of a supporting colunni. If the Germans come at us while he s gone I\\ndon t know how it will end.\\nIn case of accident you will find iluplicates of all despatches in mv wash-\\nstand drawer. I would go back to Paris if it were not such a shame to risk losing\\nthis chance to get through the hues. If worst comes to worst, I tliink I can get\\nback safely. But in case you don t hear from me\\nHe started to add something about Hilde, but crossed it out. Instead he\\nwrote: God bless you all then scratched that out, for he had a horror of bat-\\ntlefield sentiment and doleful messages from the front.\\nHe raised his head and watched the storm. Swifter and swifter came the\\nrain, dashing itself to smoking mist on the glistening slate roofs. shutter\\nhanging from one twisted hinge swung like an inn sign across the facade of a\\ncottage opposite.\\nHe wTOte again a message to Tlilde. cheerful and optimistic a gay pleas-", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "ROBERT W. CHAMRERvS 177\\nantrv untingfcd with doubt or foreboding and signed his name, James Hare-\\nwood.\\nWlicn he had sealed and (Hrected the letter, he handed it to the hussar, say-\\ning cheerfully\\nThank you, comrade, for your trouble.\\nThe trooper thrust the letter into the breast of his tunic, pocketed the silver\\npiece that Harewood held out to him, and nodded his thanks.\\nA few moments later General Bellemare came out of the house next the\\nchurch and climbed into his saddle, calling sharply to his escort, and ofT they tore\\ninto the teeth of the storm, the hussar s lance flying a crimson guidon that\\nsnapped like a wet whiplash in the tempest.\\nHarewood prowled around the church, picking u]) scraps of information\\nfrom oflficers and men, until he found that he knew quite as much about the situ-\\nation as anybody did, which was really nothing.\\nHe leaned against the Gothic column that supported the west choir, eating\\na bit of bread and drinking from time to time the mixture of wine and rain-water\\nthai stood in a great stone font, where once the good people of Le Bourget had\\nfound holy water. The church swarmed with soldiers at breakfast, some eating\\nravenously, some walking about listlessly, nibbling bits of crust, some sitting\\ncross-legged on the stone-slabbed floors, faces vacant, a morsel of bread untasted\\nin their hands. The}- came to dip their little tni cups nito the basin where the\\nwine and water stood one, forgetful, touched the crimson li(|uid with his fingers\\nand crossed himself. Nobody laughed.\\nAbout seven o clock, without the slightest warning, a violent explosion shook\\nthe street in front of the church. Before Harewood could reach the door three\\nshells fell, one after the other, and exploded in the street, sending cobblestones\\nand pavements into the air.\\nKeep back shouted an officer. Close the doors Harewood ran out\\ninto the street. Far away toward Pont-Iblon the smoke of the Prussian guns\\nInuig heavily in the air.\\nAre you coming back bawled a soldier. We re going to close the church\\ndoors.\\nHarewood came back, calling out to an officer: It s the batteries behind\\nPont Iblon!\\nSome soldiers piled pews and chairs into heaps under the stained-glass win-\\ndows. On each of these heaps an officer climbed, field-glasses leveled. The\\nmen lay down on the floor. Many of them slept.\\nThe cannonade now raged furiously for an hour the wretched village was\\ncovered with bursting shells. Suddenly the tumult ceased, and Harewood, cling-\\ning to a shattered window, heard from the plain to the northward the long roll", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "178 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nof volley firing. A moment later he was in the street, running beside a column\\nof Mobiles. Everywhere the French bugles were ringing the cobblestones\\nechoed with the clatter of artillery dashing past, summoned from Drancy by\\nrocket signal.\\nHarewood, perched astride a stucco wall, looked across the plain and saw\\ndark masses of the Prussian Guard advancing in silence through the rain. The\\nFrench shells went sailing out over the plain, dropping between the Prussian\\nskirmishers and the line of battle the Prussian cannon were silent.\\nIt seemed to him that, after a while, the dark lines ceased to advance, but\\nwere swinging obliquelv toward Blanc-Mesnil. Presently he saw that the Ger-\\nmans were actually retiring and he wondered, while the troops along th.e wall\\nmuttered their misgivings as the Prussian lines faded away in retreat, accom-\\npanied by shotted salutes from the Fortress of the East and the unseen batteries\\nof Aubervilliers.\\nAll day he roamed about the village, trying to form some idea of its defensive\\npossibilities, and at night he returned to the church. The rain had ceased again,\\nbut, through the fog. a fine drizzle still descended, freezing as it fell, until the\\nstreets glistened with greasy slush. There were fires lighted along the main\\nstreet across the red glare silhouettes passed and repassed.\\nHarewood looked up at the Gothic portal of the church, all crimsoned in the\\nfirelight. Above it the rose-window glittered with splendid hues, dyed deep in\\nthe flames glow, and still, above the rose-window, the cross of stone, dark and\\nwet, absorbed the rudd) light till it gleamed like a live cinder. Somewhere in\\nthe village a battalion was marching to quarters he heard the trample of the men,\\nthe short, hoarse commands of the officers, the clatter of a mitrailleuse dragged\\nalong by hand.\\nAll day he had driven thoughts of Hilde from him, but now, at midnight,\\nwhen the lamp of life burns lowest and the eyes close, and death seems very near,\\nhe thought of her and lying down in the street beside the fire, he questioned his\\nsoul. At night, too, the soul, stirring in the bod\\\\ perhaps at the nearness of\\nGod awakens conscience.\\nHe had never before thought seriously of death. Its arrival to himself he\\nhad never pictured in concrete form. In the abstract he had often risked it, never\\nfearing it, because mentally too inert, too lazy, to apply such a contingency to his\\nown familiar body.\\nNow, for the first time in his life, he closed his eyes and saw himself just as\\nhe lay, but still, wet, muddy and horribly silent. He opened his eyes and looked\\nsoberly at the fire. After a little he closed his eyes again, and again he saw him-\\nself lying as he lay, wet, muddy, motionless, as only the dead can lie. He had\\nknown fear, but never before the dull foreboding that now crept into his heart.", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "ROBERT W. CHAMBERS 179\\nTo open his eyes and see the fire was to Hve to shut his eyes was to reflect the\\nimage of death upon his closed hds. At first he disdained to shake it off this\\nmental shadow that passed across his sense. What if it were true? He had\\nlived. It was the old selfishness stifling the sense of responsibility his responsi-\\nbility to the world, to himself, to Hilde. To Hilde?\\nHe sat up in his blanket and stared into the fire. Slowly the comprehension\\nof his responsibility came to him, his duty, all that was due to her from him, all\\nthat he owed her, all that she should claim, one day, claim in life or in the life to\\ncome. Die? He couldn t die yet. There was something to do first! Who\\nspoke of death There was too much to do there were matters of honor to ar-\\nrange first there was a debt to pay that neither death, nor hell, nor hope of para-\\ndise could cancel. Was death about to prevent him from paying that debt?\\nHe was walking now, moving aimlessly to and fro under the porch of the\\nch.urch. A sentry, huddled against a column, regarded him apathetically as he\\npassed out into the street. And always his thoughts ran on\\nIf I have this debt to pay, what am I doing here? What right have I to\\nrisk death until it is paid? And if I die if I die\\nHis thoughts carried him no further. Hilde s pale face rose before him.\\nHe read terrible accusation in her eyes. And he repeated aloud again and again\\nI must go back. For he understood now that his life was no longer his own\\nto risk that it belonged to Hilde. Nor would he ever again have the right to\\nimperil his life until they had risen together from their knees, before the altar, as\\nman and wife. He looked out into the mist, ruddy with the camp-fire glow.\\nWould morning ever come? Why should he wait for morning? At the thought\\nhe caught up his pouch and blanket, rolled, strapped and adjusted them, and stole\\nout into the darkness.\\nAlmost at once he heard somebody following him, but at first he scarcely\\nnoticed it. Down the main street he passed, over the slippery cobblestones,\\neyes fixed on a distant fire that marked the last bivouac in the village before the\\nstreet ends at the ruined bridge across the Mollette. It was as he approached\\nthis camp-fire that he realized somebody had been following him. He paused a\\nmoment in the circle of firelight and turned around. Nothing stirred in the\\ndarkness beyond. He waited, then started on again, crossing the Lille highway\\nto the line of bushes that marked the water s edge. No sentinel challenged him\\nhe waded the ford below the wrecked stone bridge, climbed the bank opposite,\\nand started across a wet meadow, beyond which lay the muddy road to Paris.\\nHalf-way through the meadow he halted again to listen. The unseen person v/as\\nwading the ford he could hear him in the water now he was climbing the bank\\nthe bu ^hes crackled a footstep fell on the gravel.\\nHarewood waited, peering through the gloom. He could see nothing; the", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "i8o lll ST TlllW^S I KOM AMI KICW UTIvU ATrKl-.\\nsilciioo was ahs(iluU\\\\ W hoovor was followiui; him had stopjHHl o\\\\\\\\{ tlioro some-\\nwhere ill iho (larkiK ss,\\nA httlo iiniUM\\\\od, llarowooil tunuHl ai^aiii ami hastonoU throUi;h the iiioailow\\nto [\\\\\\\\c hiL;hwa\\\\. When ho roaohed the road ho oouKl soaroolv soo it, luit ho I oh\\ntho imul and j^iMxol honoath hiv foot, and started on. In a moment ho heard the\\nfootsteps of his follower, not hehind, now, hnt in front between him and Tafis.\\nlie stopped ahrnptK and drew his re\\\\ol\\\\or. A minnto passed in nttor sileneo\\nthen there oame a soft footfall olose in front, a whininj:; oioe\\nMonsionr\\nWho are on said ilarewcnnl, sharply.\\nTho Mouse, monsieur.\\nThe wrotehod oreatuio was nearly star\\\\ed. Ihuowinnl ih ow him into tho\\nthioket beside tho road and _i;a\\\\o him his last morsel of bread and meat.\\nImbeoilel ho whispered, while the Mouse gnawed tho ei-ust, s(|nattin_i; on\\nliis iiuuKh haunehos, thort. ma\\\\ bo rnssian piokots anywhere alon^ the fields.\\n1 tidii t on know it\\nA OS, said tho Mouse. traiupiilK there s a pieket of Lilians just ahead.\\nJMiis was startling; now s lor 1 larowood.\\nWhere? lu- demanded under his breath.\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0\u00e2\u0096\u00a0.\\\\bout a kilometre o\\\\er th.it wa\\\\ replied tho Mouse, jerkins; his thumb to-\\nward the southeast. lie was s^oiuj.; to add somothiui;- more when the sudden\\ntingle of a horse s shod foot strikiiij.;- stones broke out in the ni_i:;iit. They\\nerouehed Kw\\\\ in tho thioket listeniiij;, Tho road was lighter now a L;ray sIkuIow\\npassed, a horseman trailiii!; a lanoo. Others rode up, mouutod on wir\\\\ little\\nhorses, all oarr\\\\in tall lanoos that rattled in their saildlo boots.\\n.\\\\s llarew* od str. lined his o\\\\es. the moon broke out o\\\\orhoad. a battered,\\ndeformed moon, aeross whose pale disk the llNiuq sand whirled like shredded\\nsmoke.\\nA guttural voiee boi^an in r.oruian A\\\\ here ai o tho seouts- eh\\nThen in the uunMilii^ht llarowotul saw v^poxor and Stauller, elad in the uiii\\nform of tho earbiniors, salute the riilan ot lioor aiul hand him a thin paokot of a-\\npers. The Mouse bosiilo him trembled like a tonior at a rat hole; llarowoL d\\nehitohed his arm and stared at tho .^loup in tho road.\\nThere was a brief parlox a word oi oaution, then the Lilians whoelod their\\nhorses and i^alioped baek toward Taris, and the two traitorous earbiniors struck\\noff aeross the meadow toward l.e luMiri^ot, thou made a demi tour and fi tllowed\\nthe bank o\\\\ tho river. oi\\\\ eautionsly 1 larowood oropt out to the road when the\\niXAWo]^ of tho L hlans had died awav.\\nThe Mouse stood beside him. an open elasp.knifo in his list, nostrils ipiixeriiii;-\\nin the froshoninu- wind.", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "Kor.i iri w, ciiAiMr.i .RS\\ni8i\\nI larc wood j;l;iiu-i (I at llu- kiiilo and said: Wlial arc you j^oiiiL;- to do?\\nCui \\\\our \\\\\\\\a\\\\ l* I aris? C oiDi hark to I ,i r.otii\\\\m t, xou I ool\\nMall way l ark across tlic w iM meadow the l\\\\h)usc asked: And if we over-\\ntake Spi .Ner\\nAri \\\\oii thi piihhi- executioner? said 1 larewood, sharply, rul up that\\nknih I ti ll \\\\(.u.\\nThe Mouse closed his kuil e aud plodded on in silence.\\nAlti r a while I larew..o.l asked him ahoul I .ourke and llilde and l\\\\)lette, hut\\nhe kni w little more than llarewood did, l oi- lu had lel t the house on tlu- ramparts\\ntln nioiihn;; after I lar^ wood s di parlui-e, and since then had het u follouint;-\\nMorning- was hrcakiui;- as tlu y lorded the .MolK tte, and answerctl the sentry s\\ncliallenL;e from the ruined lii-;h\\\\\\\\a\\\\. It was Sundav, the l^^lh of )clohi r a\\ndesolate ^^unda\\\\ in a desolate land. Tluw hurric d through the main streel, wlicre\\nsleepN reliefs were marchin;^- to replace the ])iid ets aloui; the ii\\\\i r, and at last\\nllu N reached the church, where a L;|-oup of orfu-ers stooil on the steps in attitudes\\nof deji dion.\\nC olonel Martin, cried llarewood, send a hie of men to arrest two cap-\\ntains of the carhiniers, v^pe\\\\er and v ^taulTer. 1 idiar^e tlu-m with treason! Mere\\nis m\\\\- witness! lie draj;\\\\i;i(| the Monsi u]) the sli ps and la.] him forward. In\\nhalf a do/en sentenci S he told what lu had seen; the Mouse- nodded his corroh-\\noratiou, stealiuL; cunninj; ;lances ahout him and shut llin_L;- his mudd\\\\ shoi s, paitlv\\nto inspii c self coululence, parti hecausi he appreciated the importance of his\\npre-senl position.\\nColonel Martin, now raid^iui; oiVicer in the \\\\illai;e, turned ((uickl\\\\ to llare-\\nwood and saiti\\nIf I live to i^et out of this I ll have the carhiniers hefore a drum-head court\\nmartial. .\\\\re \\\\n\\\\\\\\ L;oin 4 hack to I aris?\\nIf I can, said I hu ewood.\\nIf \\\\ou ,L;e t tlure ha\\\\ e these e-arhinier olTu-ers ari i ste d hy the lu-st patrol.\\nllarewood slartiul a_L;ain to\\\\v;u d the ri\\\\e r, calling; imitalienlly for the Mouse\\nto f..llow.\\nThe homhardmenl from the rrussian r uns had suddi nlv hecome ioIent\\nshells fi ll ewci yw lu re, exploiliui;- on slate roofs, in court-yards, in the uhddle of\\ntill streel.\\nThe Mouse, h;ilf deatl with terror, shrie ked as ln ran, duckin;.;- his head at\\nevery crash, one hand twisti d in Iharewood s coat, oui shie ldiuj; his face.\\nThis won t do, cried ll.newood, draj.;L;in!L;- the Mouse into ;i hallw;i\\\\-\\nwe ve n ot to wait until tlu homhardment stops. Here, hreak in this door!\\nQuick", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "i82 BEST THIXGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nTogether tlioy forced the doov and entered. The house was dark and empty.\\nHarewood clinil.cd tlie stairs, o-rt)j)cd about, unfastened the scuttle and raised him-\\nself to the roof. Xorth, east and west the smoke of the Prussian guns curled up\\nfrom the plain. In the north, vast masses of troops were moving toward Le\\nBourget, cannonaded 1)\\\\ the Fortress of the East at long range.\\nThere was no chance to reach Paris he saw that at the first glance. Ho\\nsaw, too, the I rench pickets being chased back into Le Bourget by I hlans, and\\nhe heard the drunmiing of a mitrailleuse in the west end of the village, where\\ncolumns of smoke arose from a Inirning house. Far away in the gray morning\\nlight the Fortress of the East towered, circled with floating mist, through which\\nthe sheeted flashes of the cannon pla\\\\ed like lightning behind a thunder cloud.\\nAs for the miserable village of Le Bourget, it was already doomed. Black\\nmasses of the Prussian Guard gathered like a tempest in the north, and swept\\nacross the plain in three columns. From Dugney, from Pont Iblon, from Blanc-\\nMesnil, they poured down upon Le Bourget. firing as they came on. Right\\nthrough the main street they burst, hurling back the Mobiles, sweeping the barri-\\ncade, and turning again to batter down doors and w^indows, where, through the\\nblinds, the soldiers of the One Hundred and Twenty-eighth of the Line were fir-\\ning frenziedly. From the slate roof where he crouched Harewood saw the Mo-\\nbiles give way and run. In a minute the interior of the village swarmed with\\npanic-stricken soldiers. The Prussians shot them as thev ran. Shells tore\\nthrough them, and whirled them about as winds whirl gaily-tinted Autunui leaves.\\nHarewood, on the roof, was a mark now for the German riflemen. Bullet\\nafter bullet thwacked against the chimney behind which he clung. He waited\\nhis chance, then crawled along the slates and dropped into the scuttle, where the\\nMouse stood speechless with terror.\\nIt was time that he left. A shell, bursting in the cellar, had ignited some\\nstored fagots, and the first floor of the house had already begun to burn fiercely.\\nCofne, he said; we must make a dash for the church. And he seized\\nthe Mouse, dragged him down the smoking stairs to the street door, and out over\\nthe cobblestones, where a group of ofificers and a couple of dozen X oltigeurs of\\nthe Guard were running toward the church, pursued by Uhlans.\\nUp the steps and into the dark church they stumbled pellmell, Harewood\\nand the Mouse among them. They closed the great doors, bolted and barricaded\\nthem with benches, pews and heavy stone slabs from the floor. Already the\\nVoltigeurs were firing through the stained glass across the street the of^cers\\nclimbed beside them and emptied their revolvers into the masses of Prussians\\nthat surged around the church in a delirium of fury.\\nHarewood, looking over the shoulder of an officer, saw the Prussian pioneers\\ndigging through the walls of the houses across the street, saw the German sol-", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "ROBERT W. CHAMBERS 183\\nI Hers pour into the breach, saw them at the windows bayonetting the remnants of\\nthe One Hundred and Twenty-eighth, and Hinging the wounded from the win-\\ndows. From house to house the pioneers opened the walls. It was necessary to\\nexterminate the garrison of each separate cottage, for none of them surrendered.\\nThe houses that adjoined the church were swarming with Prussian infantry.\\nThey fired into the church windows, shouting Hourra! Hourra Preussen No\\n([uarter\\nThe officer next to Harewood was killed outright two others fell back to\\nthe stone floor below. At the next volley five Voltigeurs were killed or wounded\\na blast of fiame entered the church as a grenade exploded outside a window.\\nThe Mouse, in an agony of fright, was running round and round the church\\nlike a caged creature looking for some chink or cranny of escape. A soldier\\nwas shot dead beside him, and the Mouse stumbled over the dead man with a\\nshriek. That stumble, however, almost pitched him through the back of the\\neast confessional, which, in reality, was a concealed door leading directly to the\\nrear of the church. The Mouse thrust his muzzle out, saw a garden, a dis-\\nmantled arbor, and no Prussians. His first instinct drove him to immediate\\ntiight he crawled through the door on hands and knees and wriggled into the\\narbor. Then came a second instinct to tell Harewood. Why it was that the\\nMouse crept back into the church at the risk of his miserable life nobody perhaps\\ncan tell. It is true that frightened animals, when unmolested, often return to a\\ncompanion in trouble.\\nHarewood was standing b}- a high stained-glass window, doing a thing that\\nmeant death if captured he was firing a rifle at the Germans.\\nHow he, a non-combatant, a cool-headed youth, who seldom needlessly\\nrisked his skin, could do such a thing, might only be explained by himself. In\\ncase of capture he would not have been harmed had he minded his own business\\nbut he knew very well that a swift and merciless justice was served out for those\\ncivilians who fired on German troops. Yet there he stood, firing with the rest\\na mere handful left now out of the thirty-two or three officers still kept their feet,\\nhalf a dozen soldiers were yet firing into the second division of the Prussian\\nGuard Royal, numbering nearly 15,000 men. Outside the shattered windows,\\ndirty fingers clutched the stone coping already helmeted heads bobbed up here\\nand there inflamed Teutonic faces leered into the church there came the scrape\\nof scaling ladders against the wall worse still, the rumble of artillery in the street\\nclose at hand.\\nOne of the half dozen survivors glanced around the church. It was a\\nbutcher s shambles. Then from the street came a shout, Our cannon are here\\nvSurrender\\nSurrender? repeated Harewood, vacantly. Then, as he saw a wounded", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "184 BICS P TlllXt^.S l ROM AM1-:R1CA\\\\ MTl .RATrkl\\n(.-rcalurc statis^or up from the i\\\\ooy hoUViui^ out a wliitc IiautlkcM-ohiof, he roalizcnl\\nwliat 1k had done, v ^luuucd, he stepped back to the ahar as the tiritii;- died away,\\nlie saw the great doors open; he saw the streets outside, wet ami uuuldy, choked\\nw ith throngs of helnieted soldiers, all staring u] at the door he saw a oaimon\\nlimbered up and draggcil away, the mounted cauuoniers U)okmg back at the por-\\ntal where three tlo/.en Im-cucIi soldiers lunl held in check 15,000 (\\\\-rmans.\\nA soldier, streaming with blood, rose frmn the lloor of the church and stum-\\nbled blindlv out to the steps two more carricil a wounded otVicer between them\\non a chair.\\nThen, as the CK-rman troops parted, and the wounded man was borne out\\nand down the steps, llarewood felt a tug at his elbtnv and heard a whine:\\nMonsieur there s a hole!\\nThe next instant he stcppe^l behind the confessional, crawled through the\\ndwarf door, and ran for his life.\\nvc^ Jc/vX v\\\\\\\\3A^c^^^\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0^f^", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "iiEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 185\\nTHE CONSPIRACY\\nFROM COKI-KE AND REl AKTEK\\nBY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS\\n(Born at Yonkers, N. Y., May 27, 1862)\\nHERE was a conspiracy in hand to embarrass the Idiot. The School-\\nmaster and the JJibUomaniac had combined forces to give him a taste\\nof his own medicine. The time had not yet arrived which showed the\\nIcHot at a chsadvantage and the two boarders, the one proud of his\\nlearning, and the other not wholly unconscious of a bookish life, were\\ndistinctly tired of the triumphant manner in which the Idiot always\\nleft the breakfast-table to their invariable discomfiture.\\nit was the School-master s suggestion to put their tormentor into the pit he\\nhad heretofore digged for them. The worthy instructor of youth had of late\\ncome to see that while he was still a prime favorite with his landlady, he had,\\nnevertheless, suffered somewhat in her estimation because of the apparent ease\\nwith which the Idiot had got the better of him on all points. It was necessary,\\nhe thought, to rehabilitate himself, and a deep-laid plot, to whicli the Biblio-\\nmaniac readily lent ear, was th^ result of his rellections. They twain were to in-\\ndulge in a discussion of the great story of Robert Elsmere, which both were\\nconfident the Idiot had not read, and concerning which they felt assured he could\\nnot have an intelligent opinion if he had read it.\\nSo it happened upon this bright Sunday morning that as the boarders sat\\nthem down to partake of the usual restful breakfast, as the Idiot termed it, the\\nl il)lionianiac observed\\n1 have just finished reading Robert Elsmere.\\nHave you, indeed? returned the School-master, with apparent interest.\\nI trust you profited by it?\\nOn the contrary, observed the Bibliomaniac. My views are much un-\\nsettled by it.\\nI prefer the breast of the chicken, Mrs. Smithers, observed the Idiot, send-\\ning his plate back to the presiding genius of the table. The neck of a chicken\\nis graceful, but not too full of sustenance.\\nHe fights shy, whispered the l^ ibliomaniac, gleefully.\\nNever mind, returned the School-master, confidently, we ll land him yet.\\nCopyright by Harper Brothers, through whose courtesy it is here reproduced.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "i86 r.l-.ST THIXOS FR(m AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nThen Ik- cuKlcd. aloud I liscttkHl b\\\\- it? 1 fail to sec how an\\\\- man with bcHcfs\\ntliat arc at all the result of ntature eoinictious can he unsettknl by the stor}- of\\nElsniere. Vov my part, I believe, aiul I have alwaxs said\\n1 never eouUl understand why the neck of a chicken shouUl be allowed on\\na respectable table anyhow, continued the Idiot, ignoring the controversy in\\nwhich his neighbors were engaged, unless for the purpose of showing that the\\ndeceased fowl met with an accidental rather than a natural death.\\nIn what way does the neck demonstrate that point? queried the lUblio-\\nmaniac, forgetting the conspiracy for a moment.\\nBy its twist or by its length, of course, returnetl the Idiot. A chicken\\nthat dies a natural death does not have its neck wrung nor when the head is re-\\nmoved by the use of a hatchet, is it likely that it wdl be cut off so close behind\\nthe ears that those who eat the chicken are confronted with four inches of neck.\\nery entertaining, indeed, interposed the School-master; but we are\\nwandering from the point the LJibliomaniac and 1 were discussing. Is or is not\\nthe story of Robert Elsmere unsettling to one s beliefs? Perhaps you can help\\nus to decide that question.\\nPerhaps I can, returned the Idiot, anil perhaps not. It did not unsettle\\nmy beliefs.\\nlUit don t you think, observed the Pibliomaniac, that to certain minds the\\nbook is more or less unsettling?\\nTo that 1 can contidently say no. The certain mind knows no uncertainty,\\nreplied the Idiot, calmly.\\nVery pretty, indeed. said the School-master, coldly. But what was your\\nopinion of ]\\\\Irs. Ward s handling of the subject? Do you think she was suffi-\\nciently realistic? Aiul if so, and Elsmere weakelicd under the stress of circum-\\nstances, do you think or dt)n t on think the production of such a book harm-\\nful, because being real it must of necessity be unsettling to some minds?\\nI prefer not to express an opinion on that subject. returned the Idiot, be-\\ncause I never read Robert Els\\nNever read it? ejaculated the School-master, a look of triumph in his eyes.\\nWhy, everybody has reatl Elsmere that pretends to have read anything,\\nasserted the Bibliomaniac.\\nOf course, put in the landlady, with a scornful laugh.\\nWell. I didn t, said the Idiot, nonchalantly. The same ground was gone\\nover two years before in Burrows s great story, Is It, or Is it Not? and anybody\\nwho ever read Clink s books on the Xon-Existent as Opposed to What Is,\\nknows where Burrows got his points. Burrows s story was a perfect marvel. I\\ndoni know how many editions it went through in England, and when it was\\ntranslated into French by ^Madame Tournay, it simply set the French wild.", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "JOHN KENDRICK BANGS 187\\nGreat vSooll whispered the Uihlionianiae, desperateh I m afraid we ve\\nbeen barking- up the \\\\\\\\ron tree.\\nYini ve read Chnk, I suppose? asked the I (Hot, turuiui;- to the School-\\nmaster.\\nY yes, returned the School-master, blushing deeply.\\nThe Idiot looked surprised, and tried to conceal a smile by sipping his cofTee\\nfrom a spoon.\\nAnd Burrows\\nNo, returned the School-master, humbly. I never read Burrows.\\nWell you ought to. It s a great book, and it s the one Rol)ert Elsmere is\\ntaken from same ideas all through, I m told; that s why 1 didn t read Elsmere.\\nWaste of time, }c)U know. lUit \\\\-ou noticed yourself, 1 sup])ose. that Clink s\\nground is the same as that covered in l^lsmere?\\nXo; 1 only (hp])e(l lightly intt) Clink, returned the School-master, with\\nsome embarrassment.\\nBut \\\\ou couldn t help noticing a similarity of ideas? insisted the Idiot,\\ncahnly.\\nThe vSchool-master looked beseechingly at the Bibliomaniac, who would\\nhave been glad to ll}- to his co-eouspirator s assistance had he known how, but\\nucwv having heard of Clink, or liurrows either, for that matter, he made up his\\nmind that it was best for his reputation for him to sta}- out ol the controvers}\\nVer}- slight similarity, however, said the School-master, in despair.\\nWhere can I find Clink s books? put in Mr. Whitechoker, very much in-\\nterested.\\nThe Idiot convenientl} had his mouth full of chicken at the moment, and t\\nwas to the School-master who had also read him that they all the landlad\\\\- in-\\ncluded looked for an answer.\\nOh, 1 think, returned that worthy, hesitatingly I think you will lind\\nClink in any of the ]:)ul)lic libraries.\\nWdiat is his full name? persisted Mr. Whitechoker, taking out a memor-\\nandum book.\\nHorace J. Clink, said the Idiot.\\nYes; that s it Horace J. Cliid echoed the School-master. \\\\^ery virile\\nwriter and a clear thinker, he added, with some nervousness.\\nWhat, if any, of his books would you specially recommend? asked the\\nMinister again.\\nThe Idiot had this time risen from the table, and was leaving the room with\\nthe genial gentleman who occasionalh imbibed.\\nThe School-master s reply was not audible.\\nI say, said the genial gentleman to the Idiot, as they passed out into the", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "i88 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nhall, they didn t g^et much the best of you in that matter. But, tell me. who was\\nClink, anyhow\\nNever heard of him before, returnetl the Idiot.\\nAnd Burrows?\\nSame as Clink.\\nKnow anything about Elsmere? chuckled the genial gentleman.\\nNothing, except that it and Pigs in Clover came cnU at the same time, and\\nI stuck to the Pigs.\\nAnd the genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed was so pleased at the\\nplight of the School-master and of the liibliomanic that he invited the Idiot up\\nto his room, where the private stock was kept for just such occasions, and they\\nput in a very pleasant morning together.\\n/r.\\n-7^", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 189\\nAN IVORY MINIATURE\\nBY ARTHUR GRISSOM\\nIf Karl Ihitb wrotii^lit of old with greater grace,\\nUv with a skill more marvelous and rare,\\nTwas not because inspired by one more fair,\\nOr one of more divinity of face.\\nSome cunning master band that thrilled to trace\\nThe beauty of Dubarry and \\\\alliere,\\nWhen VVatteau reigned and iM-ance had not a care.\\nBy this may well have won innnortal place.\\nithin its dainty frame of flcur-de-lys,\\nThe crossed white lilies of the Bourbon lance,\\nIt seems to speak, with dreaming eyes, to me\\nOf all the vanished glories of romance,\\nOf clays when kings held court beneath a tree.\\nAnd nights when Love was conqueror of France!\\n^/C^UO^^g /V\u00c2\u00bb V", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "lyo JJUST TIllXGS i-RU.M A.MKKICAX Ll rLiKATL RL:\\nTHE MOVEMENT CURE FOR RHEUMATISM.\\nBY ROBLRT J. BURDtTTE\\n(Horn at Circcnsbonui.!^!!, I a., J 11110 ^^n, \\\\X.\\\\.\\\\)\\nlNl\\\\ (la\\\\. not a L^rcat while ai^o, Mr. M iiMk-iil) road in liis la\\\\orilo paper\\na paraj^Tapli eopied I rom the -i^v l.iiiul:cii-llischal Ihclirs W ochciibloll\\ni ^Jl J Clennau paper, whieh is an aeeepteil anthciritv o\\\\\\\\ sueh points, statin;^\\nthat Xhv sliiii;- ot a bee was a sine enre lor rlieuniatisni, and eitinj;\\nse\\\\eral reinarkahle inslanees in whieh people had 1 een perleetK enred\\nh\\\\ this ahnipt remedy. Mr. Middlerih ihil not stop to relleet that a\\npaper with sueh a name as that would be ver\\\\- apt to sa\\\\ au\\\\lhin_!;-; he onl\\\\\\nthoui^hl ol the rheumatie twinges that ^lappled his knees i nee in a while and\\nmade lile a hur leu to him.\\nlie read the aitiele sexeral times and i ondered o\\\\er it. lie understtuxl that\\nthe stiuL^iu^ must he done seieulirieallx and thorou^hh. The lee, as he nndei\\nstood the artiele, was to he .^ripped h\\\\ the ears and set d(W\\\\u upon tlie rheumatie\\njoint and held there until it stuu^ itsell stiui^K ss. Me had some misL;i\\\\ini;s ahoul\\nthe matter, lie knew it would hmt. lie ha -dly thought it eould hurt au\\\\- worse\\nthan the rheumalism, and it had been so mau\\\\ years sinee he was stnui^- hy a\\nhee that he had almost I ormitli u what it lell like. lie had, however, a i^eueral\\nfeeliu;;- that it would hurl some. Hut desperate disi-ases re(|uired desperate\\nremedies, and Mr. Middlerih was williu!^ to undergo an\\\\ amount of sulVeriuj; if it\\nwould eure his rheumalism.\\nlie eoulraeted with Master Middlerih for a limited suppK ^A hees. There\\nwere hees and hees, humming; and hu/./iui; ahoul in the summer air, hut Mr.\\nMiddlerih did not know how lo ,L;et them. I le felt, luwvever, that he eould depen l\\nupon the instinets and methods o\\\\ boyhood, lie knew that if there was any wa\\\\\\nill hea\\\\eu or earth wliereb\\\\ the sluest bei that e\\\\er lifted a twd-huudred-pouud\\nmail oiY the eloxer, eould be iudueed to enter a w idi -mouthed j;lass bottle, his\\nsou knew that waw\\nl \\\\)r the small sum of one dime Master Middlerih agreed to proenre several,\\nto wit: v^ix bees, a.i;e not si eeiried but as Mr. Middlerih was K fl in uneertaiut\\\\\\nas to the raee, it was made oblii^aloiN upon the eontraetor lo haw lluee of them\\nlioue\\\\ and three humble, or in the j^enerally aeeepted \\\\eruaeular, bumble In-es.\\n.Mr. Middlerih did not tell his sou what he wauled those bees for and the bo\\\\\\nwent olT oil his mission with his lu-ad so full astonishuu-ul that it fairl\\\\- whirled.", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "K( A r j. lUKDI /rTI 191\\nI Evcniii};- l)riii,i;s all home, and llic lasl rays of tlic (KTliiiiiii;- sun fell upon Master\\n\u00e2\u0096\u00a0Midillcril) with a sliorl, wide mouthed hollle eoiiil ortahlx populated vvilh hot,\\nill iiatmed bees, and Mr. Mi.ldlenh and a dime. The dmie and the bottle ehangcd\\nhands and the l)o\\\\ was happ\\\\\\nMr. Middleiil) pnl the hotlU in his coal ])oeke( and went into tin- house, cyc-\\niuL; evi i\\\\ l)o(ly he met \\\\ciy suspieiousl as though he had inadi np his mind to\\nstin- to death \\\\\\\\\\\\v lirsl person that said bee to him. He eonlided his L;uilty\\nseeret to none of his faniil\\\\. 1 le hid his hees in his bedroom and as he looked at\\ntluMii just befoie putting them awa\\\\, he half wishe(l (he expiTinnMil was safely\\nover. lie wished the nnpiisoned bees didiTl look so hoi an l cross. With e.K-\\n(piisile care, he MibmerL;c(l ihe bottle in a basin of water, and lei a fi W dro])s in\\non the healed ininales, lo vmA them oil.\\nAt the lea table he had a -Teat li-ht. Miss Middlerib, in llie artless sini-\\nplieil) of her romantit- nature, said: I smell lu es. Now the odor brin_i;s\\nnp\\nIhit her fallu-r L;lari (l al her, and said, with su])erlluous harshness and exe-\\ncrable i^ranunai-\\nI lush up! on don t smell uolhin:L;-.\\nWhereupon Mrs. Middlerib asked him if he had ealen anylhino- tiiat dis-\\nagreed widi him, an l .Miss .Middlerib said: \\\\Vli\\\\, pa! and l\\\\iaster Middlerib\\nsnn led as he w mdend.\\nlu (hime came al last, and tin ni^liI was warm and sullr\\\\ I ndc-r various\\nfalsi pictenses, Mr. Middlenb sliolU d about lln liousi milil evi r\\\\bod\\\\ else was\\nin bi d, and then he sought his room, lie turui d ihi ni^ht lamp down until its\\nfeeble rays shone dmdv as a (K alli li-ht.\\nMr. Middlerib .lisrobed slowly- very slowly. When at lasl he was rea ly to\\n^\u00e2\u0096\u00a0o lumberini;- into his pi aceful eoiu li, he heavi d ;i profound si^h, so full of\\napprehension an l -lief that .Mrs. Middlerib, who w;is awakene l b\\\\ il, said if il\\n}4a\\\\ e him so nmcli pain lo come to bed, perhaps \\\\\\\\v had bi tler sit up all nii^ ht.\\nMr. MiddK rib checke l another si,L;h, but sai.l nolhin-- and cri pl into bi d. After\\nI\\\\in,i; still a ivw moments \\\\\\\\r reaidu d out and i;ot his bottle of bees.\\nIl is not an eas\\\\ thiii^ lo do to \\\\uc\\\\ one bee out of a botlleful with his Ihiger.s\\nand not i^tt into trouble. The first bee Mr. Middlerib ^ot was a little brown\\nlionc\\\\ bi e that wouldn t wei^li half an ounce if \\\\du picked him up b\\\\ llie ears,\\nbut if \\\\(iu lifted him by tln^ hind leLjs as Mr. Middlerib did, would weij^h as much\\nas the last end of a l);i\\\\ mule. Mr. MiddK rib could not repress a .L;roan.\\nAN hat s the mallei- with \\\\()U sU cpib aski d his wife.\\nIt was N ery h.-ird for .Mr. Middlerib to sa\\\\ he only knew his tempi ratnre\\nhad risen to eisjlit six all o\\\\er and lo one hundred ;md ninet\\\\-seven on the end", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "192 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nof his thumb. He reversed the bee and pressed the v/arhke terminus of it firmly\\nagainst his rheumatic knee.\\nIt didn t hurt so badly as he thought it would.\\nIt didn t hurt at all\\nThen Mr. Middlerib remembered that when the honey-bee stabs a human\\nfoe it generally leaves its harpoon in the wound, and the invalid knew then the\\nonly thing the bee had to sting with was doing its work at the end of his thumb.\\nHe reached his arm out from under the sheet and dropped this disabled atom\\nof rheumatism liniment on the carpet. Then, after a second of blank wonder, he\\nl)cgan to feel around for the bottle and wished he knew what he had done with it.\\nIn the meantime, strange things had been going on. When he caught hold\\nof the first bee, Mr. Middlerib, for reasons, drew it out in such haste that for the\\ntime he forgot all about the bottle and its remedial contents, and left it lying\\nuncorked in the bed. In the darkness there had been a quiet but general emigra-\\ntion from that bottle. The bees, their wings clogged with the water Mr. Mid-\\ndlerib had poured upon them to cool and tranquillize them, were crawling aim-\\nlessly about over the sheet. While Mr. Middlerib was feeling around for it, his\\nears were suddenly thrilled and his heart frozen by a wikl, piercing scream from\\nhis wife.\\nMurder she screamed, murder Oh, help me Help! Help!\\nMr. Middlerib sat bold upright in bed. His hair stood on end. The night\\nwas very warm, but he turned to ice in a minute.\\nWhere, oh, where, he said, with pallid lips, as he felt all over the bed in\\nfrenzied haste where in the world are those infernal bees?\\nAnd a large bumble, with a sting as pitiless as the finger of scorn, just then\\nlighted between Mr. Middlerib s shoulders and went for his marrow and said\\ncalmly: Here is one of them.\\nAnd Mrs. Middlerib felt ashamed of her feeble screams when Mr. Middlerib\\nthrew up both arms, and, with a howl that made the windows rattle, roared\\nTake him ofif Oh, land of Scott, somebody take him ofif\\nAnd when a little honey-bee began tickling the sole of Mrs. Middlerib s foot\\nshe shrieked that the house was bewitched and immediately went into spasms.\\nThe household was aroused by this time. Miss Middlerib and Master Mid-\\ndlerib and the servants were pouring into the room, adding to the general con-\\nfusion by howling at random and asking irrelevant questions, while they gazed at\\nthe figure of a man a little on in years pawing fiercely at the unattainable spot\\nin the middle of his back, while he danced an unnatural, weird, wicked-looking\\njig by the dim religious light of the night lamp.\\nAnd while he danced and howled and while they gazed and shouted a navy\\nl)lue wasp that Master Middlerib had put in the bottle for good measure and", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "ROBERT J. BURDETTE\\n193\\nvariety, and to keep the menagerie stirred up, had dried his legs and wings with\\na corner of the sheet, after a prehminary circle or two around the bed to get up\\nhis motion and settle down to a working gait, fired himself across the room, and\\nto his dying day Mr. Middlerib will always believe that one of the servants mis-\\ntook him for a burglar and shot him.\\nNo one, not even Mr. Middlerib himself, could doubt that he was, at least\\nfor the time, most thoroughly cured of rheumatism. His own son could not have\\ncarried himself more lightly or with greater agility. But the cure was not per-\\nmanent and Mr. Middlerib does not like to talk about it.\\n(y\\\\!(rlf^ /djunrlz/MlL.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "HOWARD FIELDING (CHARLES W. HOOKE)\\n194", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "BEST THlxNGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 195\\nA MATTER OF INSTINCT\\nBY HOWARD FIELDING\\n(Born at Casline, Me., Dec. 23, 1861)\\nX^ATE was a cat and Leonard Herrick was a mouse. There had been\\nsome rare sport, but Herrick was of the opinion that it could not last\\nmuch longer. He had run this way and that way, and a thousand\\ntimes he had fancied that he was going to escape. But always the\\nvelvet paws with the long, sharp claws springing out of them, had\\ncaught him just in time. So at last he lay still, panting, not knowing\\nwhich way to turn.\\nHe was in a big city, all alone. The people who rushed by him were like\\nthe thoughts that whirled through his brain they were shadows, and the ever-\\nlasting train of them had no beginning nor end. He could not distinguish the\\nreal men and women whom he saw from those whom he merely remembered.\\nNow and again there appeared in the throng the faces of the dead he did not\\nmind those, but there were others that he shrank from.\\nHe stood with his back against the iron fence in front of Trinity Church.\\nThere was just light enough in the western sky to give the pile of stone a shadow\\nwhich fell upon hurrying thousands who did not notice it.\\nHerrick s hands were in his pockets. He crumpled a crackling piece of\\npaper which meant that he could live several days longer, if he cared to do so.\\nAs to a more extended future, he could not picture it. All the lines of his life\\nseemed to end in a knot which could by no means be untied, but must merely\\nbe dropped. He remembered that there were miracles, but he could not think\\nof one to wish for.\\nFrom three o clock till four the crowd in that part of Broadway is rich and\\nprosperous from four till five it boasts of wealthy connections and takes a strong\\ninterest in life after five, it loses caste rapidly, and by six it is a lot of weary\\npeople going home to supper. Herrick felt the degeneracy of the throng without\\nreally seeing it. If a whole street full of people could get shabby in an hour, was\\nit any wonder that he had done it in five years\\nHe crossed Broadway and walked down Wall Street, slowly and with hesita-\\ntion, for he had no errand. A voice cried: Cab, sir! almost in his ear. He\\nturned and looked up at the man on the box.\\nIs it possible, he said to himself, that I still look like a gentleman?", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "196 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nHe felt toward the cabman as toward one who had given him a helping hand.\\nWhy not pay the debt To do so would cost him only a day of his life. He had\\na five-dollar bill in his pocket.\\nYes, he said take me up to the Fifth Avenue Hotel.\\nIt was the first place that had come into his mind. He got into the cab and\\nsnapped the door. The cushioned seat and the comfortable support for his head\\nwere very refreshing. A fancy came to him that he would dine decently and then\\ngo to a theatre. The extravagance would be trifling, for it was really of small\\nimportance whether he starved to death on Sunday or the following Wednesday.\\nHe was in a mood to make a jest of it all.\\nA strong glare from an electric light struck down into the carriage, and made\\nvisible to him a package in brown paper that looked as if it might be a sandwich.\\nThe object protruded from under the seat. He thought it must be the cabman s\\nsupper which had been hidden in some small locker and had fallen upon the floor.\\nThe idea that the food should be spoiled was disagreeable to Herrick, and so he\\npicked up the little brown bundle.\\nIt was smaller than he had supposed, and it did not feel like bread. But had\\nit been food, and he at the last pang of starvation, the touch of it would not have\\nsent such a thrill through all his frame.\\nHe knew that the contents of that package was money. It felt like a mass\\nof bills, folded awkwardly wrapped up and fastened with elastic bands. Through\\nthe brown covering Herrick could feel the crispness of the government paper.\\nThe amount might be a poor man s monthly wages, or a rich man s profit on a\\ngreat transaction.\\nAs to his own conduct in this matter, Herrick had no doubt whatever. Fate\\nhad thrown this money into his hands, and fate might take it away, but not if he\\ncould hold on tightly enough. His fingers trembled as he picked at the elastic\\nbands. Suddenly, and without his knowing why, the rubber strings vanished\\nwith a loud snap that startled him and the package sprang open on his knees.\\nHe caught a flash of green color, and then the cab rolled out of light into shadow.\\nIt seemed a long time before another light struck in upon him. At the\\nmoment when it did so he saw a face close to the cab door and he dodged back,\\ncovering the bills with his hands. But the chance passenger on the street saw\\nnothing he was thinking of his own afifairs, no doubt, and had no inkling of the\\nstrange thing that passed so close to his eyes.\\nHerrick was himself again in a moment, and he bent forward, eagerly\\nscanning the bills in his hands and counting them feverishly. Tliere were forty\\nof them, and each was of the denomination of one thousand.\\nThroughout the latter period of the young man s misfortunes, he had had\\nsubstantially but one wish to rest. Rest has many forms, suited to a vast", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "HOWARD FIELDING 197\\nvariety of individual tastes. To Herrick in his day-dreams it had always taken\\nthe form of travel without care. All paths lie open for a man who has forty\\nthousand dollars, and there is no reason why care should sit behind him as he rides.\\nHerrick had only the most shadowy thought for the person who had lost\\nthis money. He did not even speculate upon the manner of its loss. It had\\npassed into the control of one who needed it, and that was enough.\\nHe disposed the notes in his pockets, in the best interests of comfort and\\nsafety. Then he folded up the brown paper and pocketed that also, with a dim\\nconsciousness that if it were left in the cab it might get the driver into trouble.\\nThe fellow was honest, no doubt, and Herrick did not wish that he should suffer\\na wrong. He preferred to keep the wrapper himself and take the risk until he\\ncould find some means of disposing of it that should be safer than chrowing it\\nout of the cab window.\\nHow he himself should leave the cab was a question which concerned him\\nnearly. He did not wish to confront the driver again, for there might be an\\ninvestigation and a question of identification might arise, in which case it would\\nbe well to have the man know as little as possible of Herrick s personal appear-\\nance. He reflected with satisfaction that the spot on Wall Street where he had\\nentered the carriage had been rather dark.\\nThe cab stopped suddenly, its path being blocked by a tangle of vehicles.\\nHerrick softly put his hand upon the catch of the door. It yielded noiselessly\\nthe door swung open.\\nHerrick stepped out. Turning back for an instant he perceived the cabman\\nsitting upon his box in entire unconsciousness of the fraud that was being prac-\\ntised upon him. He was a poor man and doubtless worked hard for all the money\\nthat he received. Still, it was reckless to attract his attention again especially\\nso, after having left the cab in that strange manner.\\nThere was a way to the sidewalk through the press of vehicles. Herrick saw\\nit from the corner of his eye, and was about to take advantage of it. Instead, to\\nhis surprise, he found himself turning toward the cabman, and immediately he\\nheard his own voice saying\\nI have decided to get out here. How much do I owe vou?\\nThe cabman named his price and Herrick paid him with the five dollar bill\\nwhich had been the sum of his wealth, and the end of it, so far as he could see,\\nso short a time before. He counted his change carefully, remembering tkat he\\nwould probably have to wait until the next day before he could break one of the\\nthousands. Enough remained to him from the bill for a supper, a bed and a\\nbreakfast.\\nWhen he had found a restaurant he ordered a meal and ate it with relish.\\nIt was enchanted food. It was the fare of an Atlantic liner, the delicacies of Euro-", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "198 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\npean hotels and the fruits of the tropics. His drink was the wine of all the cafes in\\nthe world where there are lights and laughter and pretty women.\\nHe cared little for his bed. It would be no more than a place where he\\nmight lie and think of the future. It was many a night since he had really slept.\\nCertainly with so much upon his mind he would not sleep this night even if he\\nshould try. So when he had been shown to his room in a hotel he piled his\\npillows against the headboard of the bed and reclined upon them fully dressed.\\nHe was very happy. No (juestion of right or wrong in what he had done or what\\nhe expected to do, came to torment him. For a long time he had borne his life\\nlike a tremendous burden. It had suddenly slipped from his shoulders, leaving\\nliis natural powers benumbed.\\nIn the midst of his first vision of a new life he was aroused by a knocking at\\nthe door. He started up his legs would hardly support him he had no voice\\nwith which to ask who was there. But one explanation was possible he must\\nhave been watched by the police.\\nHe tottered to the door and gave utterance to a hoarse, inarticulate sound.\\nEight o clock, sir, cried a voice without. You asked to be called, sir.\\nHe rushed to the window and flung open the shutters. Day stream.ed in,\\nstrong and beautiful. The gas flame paled. He knew that he had slept as not\\nbefore in years. In the mysterious depths of his life he felt a new strength stirring,\\nbut it was only nascent as yet.\\nA bath and a breakfast revived him still more. He felt the exhilaration of\\na busy day upon which he was entering. He scanned the papers, but so far as he\\ncould see they had no news of the money that had been lost. He was not con-\\nscious of any excitement in searching for that news. The fear of detection had\\nquite left him. Of all stolen goods money is the hardest to recover.\\nPresently he found himself riding downtown in an elevated railroad train.\\nHe was going to a steamship ofBce to arrange for his journey then to a banker s\\nfor a traveler s check book.\\nHis pockets were bulging with money, but there was something in one of\\nthem that he could not remember to have put there. He pulled it out and found\\nit to be the brown paper wrapper that had inclosed the money. As he held it in\\nhis hand it was concealed by his newspaper. No fellow-passenger could see it\\nand that was doubly fortunate because in plain sight upon the paper was a name\\nand address: Herbert L. Graham, 40 Wall street.\\nThe train was just stopping at Rector street. That was the station nearest\\nto the steamship ofBce. Thrusting the brown paper back into his pocket he left\\nthe car and went with the throng down to the street. He was thinking about the\\naccommodations he would choose on the steamer. He continued to think of that\\nand kindred subjects, yet he turned north on Broadway instead of south. Pres-", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "HOWARD FIELDING\\n199\\nently he was conscious of asking an elevator boy in a big building if he knew\\nwhere Mr. Graham s office was.\\nMr. Graham happened to be in his outer office when Herrick entered. He\\nwas pouring a story into the ear of another gray-haired Wall Street man and\\nHerrick heard a few words of it how Mr. Graham was sure he didn t do this and\\npositive he didn t do that in fact, like other men in the same situation, he was\\nable to prove that the obvious truth was an impossibility.\\nI have found the money that you lost, said Herrick. Here it is.\\nZion! cried the banker, clutching the bills in his fingers. My dear fellow,\\ntell me all about it.\\nThere s nothing to tell, replied the young man. I merely found it in the\\ncab.\\nMr. Graham eyed him a moment in surprise.\\nYou take it coolly, he said.\\nI couldn t take it at all, responded Herrick with a feeble smile. I don t\\nknow why. It was instinct, I suppose. My ancestors must have been honest\\nmen.\\nUpon my word, you must take one of these notes, said the banker. I ve\\noffered it in an ad. and\\nI can t do it, said Herrick. I don t feel it to be right.\\nBut, my dear boy! exclaimed the old man, kindly. I must do something\\nfor you. I want to believe me. At least come back and take lunch with me.\\nShall we say one o clock?\\nIt will give me great pleasure, said Herrick; and, bowing, he turned away\\nand walked out of the office.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "200 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nTHE HEART OF NEW ENGLAND\\nBY EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN\\n(Born at Hartford, Conn., Oct. 8, 1S33)\\nOh long are years of waiting, when lovers hearts are bound\\nBy words that hold in life and death, and last the half-world round\\nLong, long for him who wanders far and strives with all his main,\\nBut crueller yet for her who bides at home and hides her pain\\nAnd lone are the homes of New England.\\nTwas in the mellow Sunmier I heard her sweet reply\\n^he barefoot lads and lasses a-berrying went by\\nThe locust dinned amid the trees the fields were high with corn\\nThe white-sailed clouds against the sky like ships were onward borne-\\nAnd blue are the skies of New England.\\nHer lips were like the raspberries her cheek was soft and fair,\\nAnd little breezes stopped to lift the tangle of her hair\\nA light was in her hazel eyes, and she was nothing loath\\nTo hear the words her lover spoke, and pledged me there her troth\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nAnd true is the word of New England.\\nWhen September brought the golden-rod, and maples burned like fire,\\nAnd bluer than in August rose the village smoke and higher,\\nAnd large and red among the stacks the ripened pumpkins shone,\\nOne hour, in which to say farewell, was left to us alone\\nAnd sweet are the lanes of New England.\\nWe loved each other truly Hard, hard it was to part\\nBut my ring was on her finger, ai J her hair lay next my heart,\\nTis but a year, my darling, I said in one short year.\\nWhen my Western home is ready, I shall seek my Katie here\\nAnd brave is the hope of New England.\\nI went to gain a home for her. and in the Golden State\\nWith head and hand I planr :d and toiled, and early worked and late;", "height": "3059", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN 201\\nBut luck was all against me, and sickness on me lay,\\nAnd ere I got my strength again twas many a weary day\\nAnd long are the thoughts of New England.\\nAnd many a day, and many a month, and thrice the rolling year,\\nI bravely strove, and still the goal seemed never yet more near.\\nMy Katie s letters told me that she kept her promise true.\\nBut now, for very hopelessness, my own to her were few\\nAnd stern is the pride of New England.\\nBut still she trusted me, though sick with hope deferred\\nNo more among the village choir her voice was sweetest heard\\nFor when the wild northeaster of the fourth long Winter blew.\\nSo thin her frame with pining, the cold wind pierced her through\\nAnd chill are the blasts of New England.\\nAt last my fortunes bettered, on the far Pacific shore,\\nAnd I thought to see old Windham and my patient love once more\\nWhen a kinsman s letter reached me: Come at once, or come too late!\\nYour Katie s strength is failing if you love her, do not wait\\nCome back to the elms of New England.\\nOh, it wrung my heart with sorrow I left all else behind.\\nAnd straight for dear New England I speeded like the wind.\\nThe day and night were blended till I reached my boyhood s home,\\nAnd the old clififs seemed to mock me that I had not sooner come\\nAnd gray are the rocks of New England.\\nI could not think twas Katie who sat before me there\\nReading her Bible twas my gift and pillowed in her chair.\\nA ring, with all my letters, lay on a little stand\\nShe could no longer wear it, so frail her poor, white hand\\nBut strong is the love of New England.\\nHer hair had lost its tangle and was parted off her brow\\nShe used to be a joyous girl but seemed an angel now.\\nHeaven s darling, mine no longer yet in her hazel eyes\\nThe same dear love-light glistened, as she soothed my bitter cries\\nAnd pure is the faith of New England.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nA month I watched her dying, pale, pale as any rose\\nThat drops its petals one by one and sweetens as it goes.\\nMy life was darkened when at last her large eyes closed in death.\\nAnd I heard my own name whispered as she drew her parting breath-\\nStill, still was the heart of New England.\\nIt was a woful funeral the coming Sabbath day\\nWe bore her to the barren hill on which the graveyard lay,\\nAnd when the narrow grave was filled, and what we might was done,\\nOf all the stricken group around I was the loneliest one\\nAnd drear are the hills of New England.\\nI gazed upon the stunted pines, the bleak November sky,\\nAnd knew that buried deep with her my heart henceforth would lie\\nAnd waking in the solemn nights my thoughts still thither go\\nTo Katie, lying in her grave beneath the Winter snow\\nAnd cold are the snows of New England.", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 203\\nA NEW ENGLAND SUNDAY\\nBY HENRY WARD BEECHER\\n(Born at Litchfield, Conn., June 24, 1813; died at Brooklyn, N. Y., March 8, 1887)\\nIME waits for no man, and least of all for story writers. Our readers\\nmust move six years forward at a step, and rest for one Sunday in\\nNorwood, where traveling on Sunday is yet against the law.\\nIt is worth all the inconveniences arising from the occasional over-\\naction of New England Sabbath observance to obtain the full flavor\\nof a New England Sunday. But, for this, one should have been born\\nthere should have found Sunday already waiting for him, and accepted it with\\nimplicit and absolute conviction, as if it were a law of Nature, in the same way\\nthat night and day. Summer and Winter, are parts of Nature. He should have\\nbeen brought up by parents who had done the same thing, as they were by parents\\neven more strict, if that were possible until not religious persons peculiarly, but\\neverybody, not churches alone, but society itself and all its population those who\\nbroke it as much as those who kept it were stained through with the color of\\nSunday nay, until Nature had adopted it, and laid its commands on all birds and\\nbeasts, on the sun and winds, and upon the whole atmosphere so that, without\\nmuch imagination, one might imagine in a genuine New England Sunday of the\\nConnecticut river valley stamp that God was still on that day resting from all the\\nwork which he had created and made, and that all his work rested with, him.\\nOver all the town rested the Lord s peace. The saw was ripping away yes-\\nterday in the carpenter s shop, and the hammer was noisy enough to-day there\\nis not a sign, of life there. The anvil makes no music to-day. Tommy Taft s\\nbuckets and barrels give forth no hollow, thumping sound. The mill is silent\\nonly the brook continues noisy. Listen In yonder pine-woods, what a cawing\\nof crows Like an echo in a wood still more remote, other crows are answering.\\nBut even a crow s throat to-day is musical. Do they think, because they have\\nblack coats on, that they are parsons, and have a right to play pulpit with all the\\npine-trees Nay, the birds will not have any such monopoly they are all sing-\\ning, and singing all together and no one cares whether his song rushes across\\nanother s or not. Larks and robins, blackbirds and orioles, sparrows and blue-\\nbirds, mocking catbirds and wrens, were furrowing the air with such mixtures as\\nno other day but Sunday, when all artificial and human sounds cease, could ever\\nhear. Every now and then, a bobolink seemed impressed with the duty of bring-", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "HENRY WARD BEECHER\\n204", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "lll^NRY WARD r,lCl :ClIKR 205\\ning- these jangling- birds into more regularity; and, like a country singing-master,\\nho Hew down the ranks, singing all the parts himself in snatches, as if to stimulate\\nand helj) the lagg;ards. In vain. Sunday is the birds day, and they will have\\ntheir own democratic worship.\\nThere was no sound in the village street. Look cither way, not a vehicle,\\nnot a human being. The smoke rose up soberly and quietly, as if it said, It is\\nSmiday. The leaves on the great elms hung motionless, glittering in dew,\\nas if they too, like the people who dwelt under their shadow, were waiting for the\\nbell to ring for meeting. P)ees sung and tlew as usual but honey-bees have a\\nSunday way with them all the week, and coidd scarcely change for the better\\non the seventh day.\\nlUit, oh, the sun It had sent before, and cleared every stain out of the sky.\\nThe blue heaven was not dim and low as on secular days, but curved and deep,\\nas if on Sunday it shook ofif all encuml)rance which during the week had lowered\\nand flattened it, and sprang back to the arch and synmictry of a dome. All\\nordinary sounds caught the spirit of the day. The shutting of a door sounded\\ntwice as far as usual. The rattle of a bucket in a neighbor s yard, no longer\\nmixed with heterogeneous noises, seemed a new sound. The hens went silently\\nabout, and roosters crowed in psalm-tunes. And, when the first bell rang. Na-\\nture seemed overjoyed to find something that it might do without breaking Sun-\\nda\\\\-, and rolled the sound over and over, and pushed it through the air, and raced\\nwith it over field and hill twice as far as on week-days. There were no less than\\nseven steeples in sight from the belfry and the sexton said, On still Sundays\\nTve heard the bell, at one time and another, when the day was fair, and the air\\nmoving in the right way, from every one of them steeples; and 1 guess likely\\nthey ve all heard our n.\\nCome, Rose, said Agate Rissell, at an even earlier hour than when Rose\\nusually awakened. come. Rose, it is the Sabbath. We must not be late Sun-\\nday morning of all days in the week. It is the Lord s day.\\nThere was little preparation recjuired for the day. Saturday night, in some\\nparts of New England, was considered almost as sacred as Sunday itself. After\\nsundown on Saturday night, no play, and no work, except such as is immediately\\npreparatory to the Sabbath, were deemed becoming in good Christians. The\\nclothes had been laid out the night before. Nothing was forgotten. Phe best\\nfrock was ready; (he hose and shoes were waiting. Every articl(;,of linen, every\\nruflle and ribbon, were selected on Saturday night. Every one in the house\\nwalked mildly every one spoke in a low tone: yet all were cheerful. The mother\\nhad on her kindliest face, and nobody laughed but everybody made it up in\\nsmiling. The nurse smiled, and the children held on to keep down a giggle\\nwithin the lawful bounds of a smile and the doctor looked rounder and calmer", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "2o6 BEST THIXGS FROM AMKRICAX LITERATURE\\ntlian ever; and the dog tiappcd his tail on the floor with a softened sonnd, as if he\\nhad fresh wrapped it in hair for that ver\\\\- day. Annt Toodie, the eook (so the\\neliikh-en had ehanged ]\\\\Irs. Sarah Gooil s name), was blaeker tlian ever and\\nshinier than ever, and the eotifee better, and the ereani rieher, and the broiled\\nehiekens jneier and more tender, and the biseuit whiter, and the cornbread more\\nbrittle and sweet.\\nWhen the good tloetor read the Scriptnres at family prayer, the infection of\\nsilence had snbdued everything except the clock. Out of the witle hall could be\\nhearil in the stillness the oUl clock, that now lifted up its voice with unwonted\\nemjihasis, as if, unnoticed through the bustling week, Sunday was it;; vantage-\\nground to proclaim to mortals the swift flight of time and, if the old pedant\\nperformed the task with something of an ostentatious precision, it was because\\nin that house nothing else put on official airs, and the clock felt the responsibility\\nof doing it for the whole mansion.\\nAnd now came mother and catechism for Mrs. Wentw^orth followed the\\nold custom, and declared that no child of hers should grow up without catechism.\\nSecretly, the doctor was tpiite willing; though openly he i)layed off upon the\\npractice a world of gootl-natured discouragement, and tleclared that there should\\nbe an opposition set up a catechism of nature, with natural laws for decrees,\\nand seasons for Providence, and flowers for graces. The younger children were\\ntaught in simple catechism l)ut Rose, having reachetl the mature age of twelve,\\nwas now manifesting her power over the Westminster Shorter Catechism and\\nas it was simply an achievement of memory, and not o\\\\ the understanding, she had\\nthe book at great advantage, and soon subduetl every t|uestion and answer in it.\\nAs much as possible, the doctor was kept aloof on such occasions. His grave\\nquestions were not to edification and often they caused Rose to stumble, and\\nbrought down sorely the exultation with which she rolled forth, They that are ef-\\nfectually called do in this life partake of justification, adoption, sanctification, and\\nthe several benefits which in this life do either accompany or tiow from theni.\\nWhat do those words mean. Rose?\\nWhich words, pa?\\nAdoption, sanctification, and justification.\\nRose hesitated, and looked at her mother for rescue.\\nDoctor, whv do you trouble the child? C^f cinn-se, she don t know yet all\\nthe meaning: but that will come to her when she grows older.\\nYou make a nest of her memory, then, and put wtM ds there, like eggs, for\\nfuture hatching?\\nYes. that is it exactly. Birds do not hatch their eggs the minute they lay\\nthem thev wait.", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "HENRY WARD JJEECllER 207\\nLayinn;- e^^s at twelve to be hatched at twenty is subjcctinj:^ them to some\\nrisk, is it not\\nIt mijj^lit l)e so with cij^-j^s, but not with catechism. That will keep, without\\nspoi]int,^ a hundred years.\\nliecause it is so dry?\\nIk cause it is so jji ood. P ut do, dear husband, i^o away, and not put no-\\ntions in the children s heads. It s hard enout^h alrea ly to get them through their\\ntasks. Here s poor Arthur, who has been two Sundays on one (|uestion, and\\nhas not got it yet.\\nArtlun-, aforesaid, was sharp and bright in anything addressed to his reason:\\nhut he had no verbal memory, and he was therefore wading jiainfully through\\ntlie catechism like a man in a deep, muddy road; with this difference, that the\\nnian carries tocj much clay with him, while nothing stuck to poor Arthur. Great\\nwas the lad s ])ride and exultation (jii a f(jrmer occasion when his mother ad-\\nvanced him fr(jm the Smaller Catechism to the dignity of the Westminster\\nCatechisrn. He c(juld hardly wait for Sunday to begin his conquests. He was\\nnever known after the first Sunday to show any further impatience. He had been\\nfour weeks in reaching the fourth cjuestion and two weeks already had he laid be-\\nfore that luminous answer, beating on it like a ship too deeply laden, and unable\\nto cross the bar.\\nWhat is God, Arthur? said his mother.\\nGod is is a God is and God God is a\\nHaving got safely so far, the mother suggests spirit at which he gasps\\neagerly, God is a spirit.\\nInfinite, says the mother.\\nInfinite, says Arthur.\\nAnd then blushing, and twisting in his chair, he seemed unable to extract\\nanything more.\\nEternal, says the mother.\\nEternal, says the boy.\\nWell, go on. God is a spirit, infinite, eternal what else?\\nGod is a spirit, eternal, infinite: what else?\\nNonsense! says the startled mother.\\nNonsense! goes on the boy, supposing it to be a part of the regular\\nanswer.\\nArthur, stop! What work you are making!\\nTo stop was the very exercise in catechism at which he was most proficient\\nand he stopped so fully and firmly, that nothing more could l)e got out of him\\nor into him during the exercise. But his sorrow soon fled; for the second bell\\nhad rung, and it was just time to walk and everybody was going, the servant", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "2o8 BEST THIXGS FROM AMKRICAX IJTKRATl RE\\nreported. The doctor had been called away and his wife and the children moved\\ndown the yard Rose with demure propriety. Tind Arthur and his eight -year-old\\nbrother, Charles, with less piety manifest in deportment, but. on the whole, with\\ndecent demeanor. The beauty of the day. the genial season of the year, brought\\nforth every one old men and their feebler old wives, young- and hearty men and\\ntheir plump and ruddy companions. Young men ami girls and children, thick\\nas punctuation points in Hebrew text, filled the street. In a low voice, they\\nspoke to each other in single sentences.\\nThere was something striking in the outflow of people into the street that till\\nnow ha(.l seemed utterly deserted. There wa^ no fevered hurry, no negligent or\\npoorly-dressed people. Every family came in groups, old folks and young chil-\\ndren and every member blossomed forth in his best apparel, like a rose-bush\\nin June. Do you know that man in a silk hat and new black coat Probably\\nit is some stranger. Xo: it is the carpenter. Mr. r aggs. who was racing about\\nyesterday with his sleeves rolled up. and a dust-and-business look in his face.\\nI knew yoti would not know him. Adams Gardner, the blacksmith does he\\nnot look every inch a Judge, now that he is clean-washed, shaved, and dressed?\\nHis eyes are as bright as the sparks that fly from his anvil.\\nAre not the folks proud of their children See what groups of them How\\nruddy and plump are most Some are roguish, and cut clandestine capers at\\nevery chance. Others seem like wax figures, so perfectly proper are they. Little\\nhands go slyly through the pickets to pluck a tempting flower. Other hands\\ncarry hymn-books or Bibles. But carry what they mav, dressed as each parent\\ncan afford, is there anything the sun shines upon more beautiful than these\\ntroops of Sunday children?\\nThe old bell had it all its own way up in the steeple. It was the licensed\\nnoise of the day. In a long shed behind the church stootl a score and half-score\\nof wagons and chaises and carryalls the horses already beginning the forenoon s\\nwork of stamping, and whisking the flies. More were coming. Hiram Beers\\nhad hitched up. and brought two loads with his new hack and now. having\\nsecured the team, he stood with a few admiring young fellows about him. re-\\nmarking on the people as they came up.\\nThere s Trowbridge: he ll git asleep afore the first prayer s over. I don t\\nb lieve he s heerd a sermon in ten years. I ve seen him asleep standin up in\\nsingin\\nHere comes Deacon Marble! Smart old feller, ain t he? Wouldn t think\\nit jest to look at him L Face looks like an ear of last summer s sweet-corn all\\ndried up but I tell ye he s got the juice in him yit Avmt Polly .s gittin old, ain t\\nshe? They say she can t walk half the time; lost the use of her limbs: but it s", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "HENRY WARD BEECHER 209\\nall gone to her tongue. That s as good as a razor, and a sight better n mine, for\\nit never needs sharpenin\\nStand away, boys ther s Biah Cathcart. Good horses not fast, but\\nmighty strong just like the owner.\\nAnd with that Hiram touched his new Sunday hat to Mrs. Cathcart and\\nAlice and, as he took the horses by the bits, he dropped his head, and gave the\\nCathcart boys a look of such awful solemnity, all except one eye, that they lost\\ntheir sobriety. Barton alone remained sober as a judge.\\nHere comes Dot-and-Go-One and his wife. They re my kind o Chris-\\ntians. She is a saint, at any rate.\\nHow is it with you. Tommy Taft?\\nFair to middlin thankee. Such weather would make a handspike blossom,\\nHiram.\\nDon t you think that s a leetlc strong. Tommy, for Sunday? P r aps you\\nmean afore it s cut?\\nSartin: that s what I mean. But you mustn t stop me, Hiram. Parson\\nDuel] 11 be lookin for me. He never begins till I git there.\\nYou mean you always git there fore he begins?\\nNext Hiram s prying eyes saw Mr. Turfmould, the sexton and undertaker,\\nwho seemed to be in a pensive meditation upon all the dead that he ever buried.\\nHe looked upon men in a mild and pitying manner, as if he forgave them for\\nbeing in good health. You could not help feeling that he gazed upon you with\\na professional eye, and saw just how you would look in the condition which was\\nto him the most interesting period of a man s earthly state. He walked with a\\nsoft tread, as if he was always at a funeral and, when he shook your hand, his\\nleft hand followed his right, as if he were about beginning to lay you out.\\nHe was one of the few men absorbed by his business, and who unconsciously\\nmeasured all things from its standpoint.\\nGood morning, Mr. Turfmould! How s your health? How s business\\nwith you?\\nGood, the Lord be praised I ve no reason to complain.\\nAnd he glided silently and smoothly into the church.\\nThere comes Judge Bacon, white and ugly, said the critical Hiram.\\nI wonder what he comes to meetin for. Lord knows he needs it sly, slippery\\nold sinner Face s as white as a lily his heart s as black as a chimney-flue afore\\nit s cleaned. He ll get his flue burned out if he don t repent, that s certain. He\\ndon t believe the Bible: they say he don t believe in God. Wal, I guess it s\\n])retty even between em. Shouldn t wonder if God didn t believe in him,\\nneither.\\nHiram s prejudices were perhaps a little too severe. The Judge was very", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "210 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nselfish, but not otherwise bad. He would not do a positively bad deed if he could\\nhelp it but he neglected to do a great many good ones which other men with\\nwarm hearts would have done. But he made up in manner whatever he lacked in\\nfeeling. Dressed with unexceptionable propriety, his whole bearing was digni-\\nfied and kind. No man in the village spoke more musically and gently no one\\nmet you with a greater cordiality. His expressions of kind wishes, and his anx-\\niety to serve you, needed only a single instance of hearty fulfillment to make\\nJudge Bacon seem sincerely and unusually kind. But those who had most to do\\nwith him found that he was cold and selfish at heart, inflexible and unfeeling when\\nseeking his rights or interests and his selfishness was the more ghastly as it\\nclothed itself in the language and manners of gentle good-will.\\nHe talks to you, said Hiram, just as Black Sam lathers you. A kind\\nof smooth rubbing goes on, and you feel soft and satisfied with yourself, and sort\\no lean to him, when he takes you by the nose, and shaves and shaves and shaves;\\nand it s so smooth that you don t feel the razor. But I tell you, when you git\\naway, your skin smarts. You ve been shaved.\\nHere come the Bages and the Weekses, and a whole raft from Hardscrab-\\nble, said Hiram, as five or six one-horse wagons drove up. At a glance, one\\ncould see that these were farmers who lived to work. They were spare in figure,\\nbrown in complexion everything worn off but bone and muscle like ships with\\niron masts and wire rigging. They drove little nubbins of horses, tough and\\nrough, that had never felt a blanket in Winter, or known a leisure day in\\nSummer.\\nThem fellers, said Hiram, is just like stones. I don t believe there s any\\nblood or innards in em more n in a crowbar. They work early, and work aH\\nday, and in the night, and keep workin and never seem to get tired except\\nSunday, when they ve nothin to do. You know, when Fat Porter was buried,\\nthey couldn t get him into the hearse, and had to carry him with poles and\\nWeeks was one of the bearers. And they had a pretty heavy time of it. nigh\\nabout three hours, what with liftin and fixin him at the house, and fetchin him\\nto the church door, and then carry in him to the graveyard and Weeks said he\\nhadn t enjoyed a Sunday so much he couldn t tell when.\\nHiram, sez he, I should like Sunday as well as week-days if I could\\nwork on it but I git awful tired doin nothin\\nThey say, said Hiram, that they never do exactly die up in Hardscrabble.\\nThey work up and up, and grow thinner and thinner like a knife-blade, till they\\ngit so small, that some day they accidentally git misplaced or dropped, and\\nnobody misses em so that they die ofif in a general way like pins, without any\\none of em making a particular fuss about it. But I guess that ain t so, added\\nHiram with a grave air, as if fearing that he might mislead the young folks about", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "HENRY WARD BEECHER 211\\nhim. Then, with demure authority, he said, Boys, go in: the bell s done tollin\\nand meetin s goin to begin. Go in, and don t make a noise and see you tell\\nme where the text is. I ve got to look after these horses, or they ll get\\nmixed up.\\nThis remark was called forth by a squeal and a rattle and backing of wagons,\\nwhich showed that mischief was already brewing.\\nHaving got the people all safely into church, Hiram bestowed his attention to\\nthe horses. The whole green was lined with horses. Every hitching-post, and\\nthe railing along the sidewalk and at the fronts of the stores were closely oc-\\ncupied.\\nSeeing Pete leaning on Dr. Wentworth s gate, Hiram beckoned him over,\\nand employed him in his general tour of inspection, as a bishop might employ\\nhis chaplain. Here the reins had been pulled under a horse s feet next a horse\\nhad got his bridle ofT another had backed and filled till the wagon-wheels were\\ncramped and at each position Hiram issued orders to Pete, who good-naturedly,\\nand as a matter indisputable, did as he was ordered. If Hiram had told Pete to\\nshoulder one of the horses, he would have made the attempt.\\nIt was curious to see Pete s superiority to Hiram in the matter of dogs. In\\nseveral wagons lay the master s dog; and Hiram was not permitted to approach\\nwithout dispute but there was not a dog, big or little, cross or affectionate, that\\ndid not own the mysterious power that Pete had over animals. Even dogs in\\nwhom a sound conscience was bottomed on an ugly temper practised a surly\\nsubmission to Pete s familiarity.\\nIt was nearly twelve o clock when Dr. Wentworth, returning from his\\nround of visits, found Hiram sitting on the fence, his labors over, and waiting for\\nDr. Buell to finish.\\nNot in church, Hiram? I m afraid you ve not been a good boy.\\nDon t know. Somebody must take care of the outside as well as inside of\\nchurch. Dr. Buell rubs down the folks, and I rub the horses he sees that their\\ntacklin is all right in there, and I do the same out here. Folks and animals are\\npretty much of a muchness and they ll bear a sight o takin care of.\\nWhose nag is that one, Hiram the roan?\\nThat s Deacon Marble s\\nWhy, he seems to sweat standing still.\\nHiram s eye twinkled.\\nYou needn t say nothin doctor but I thought it a pity so many horses\\nshouldn t be doin anything. Of course, they don t know anything about Sunday\\n(it ain t like workin a creatur that reads the Bible) so I just slipped over to\\nSkiddy s widder (she ain t been outdoors this two months, and I knew she ought", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "212\\nBEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nto have the air), and I gave her about a mile. She was afraid twould be breakiu\\nSunday. Not a bit, says I. Didn t the Lord go out Sundays, and set folks otY\\nwith their beds on their backs and didn t he pull oxen and sheep out of ditches,\\nand do all that sort of thing? If she d knew that I took the deacon s team, she d\\nbeen worse afraid. But I knew the deacon would like it and if Polly didn t, so\\nmuch the better. I like to spite those folks that s too particular There, doctor,\\nthere s the last hymn.\\nIt rose upon the air, softened by distance and the inclosure of the building\\nrose and fell in regular movement. Even Hiram s tongue ceased. The vireo\\nin the tops of the elm hushed its shrill snatches. Again the hymn rose, and this\\ntime fuller and louder, as if the whole congregation had caught the spirit. Men s\\nand women s voices, and little children s, were in it. Hiram said, without any of\\nhis usual pertness\\nDoctor, there s somethin in folks singin when you are outside the church\\nthat makes you feel as though you ought to be inside. Mebbe a fellow will be\\nleft outside up there when they re singin if he don t look out.\\nWhen the last verse had ended, a pause and silence ensued. Then came a\\ngentle bustle, a sound of pattering feet. Out shot a boy, and then two or three\\nand close upon them a bunch of men. The doors were wide open and thronged.\\nThe whole green was covered with people, and the sidewalks were crowded.\\nTommy Taft met the minister at the door, and put out his great rough hand to\\nshake.\\nThankee, doctor thankee very well done. Couldn t do it better myself.\\nIt ll do good know it. Feel better myself. I need just such preachin moldy\\nold sinner need a scourin about once a week. Drefful wicked to hev such\\ndoctrine, and not be no better; ain t it, doctor?", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 213\\nSMOKE-SIGNIFYING DOUBT\\nFROM THE REVERIES OF A BACHELOR\\nBY DONALD 0. MITCHELL\\n(Born at Norwich, Conn., April, 1S22)\\nWIFE thought I yes, a wife\\nAnd why\\nI l And pray, my dear sir, why not why Why not doubt why\\nnot hesitate why not tremble\\nDoes a man buy a ticket in a lottery a poor man, whose whole\\nearnings go in to secure the ticket without trembling, hesitating,\\nand doubting\\nCan a man stake his bachelor respectability, his independence and comfort,\\nupon the die of absorbing, unchanging, relentless marriage, without trembling\\nat the venture\\nShall a man who has been free to chase his fancies over the wide world,\\nwithout let or hindrance, shut himself up to marriageship, within four walls\\ncalled Home, that are to claim him, his time, his trouble, and his thought, thence-\\nforward forevermore, without doubts thick, and thick-coming as smoke?\\nShall he who has been hitherto a mere observer of other men s cares and\\nbusiness moving ofif where they made him sick at heart, approaching whenever\\nand wherever they made him gleeful shall he now undertake administration of\\njust such cares and business without qualms? Shall he, whose whole life has\\nbeen but a nimble succession of escapes from trifling difficulties, now broach\\nwithout doubtings that matrimony where if difficulty beset him, there is no\\nescape? Shall this brain of mine, careless-working, never tired with idleness,\\nfeeding on long vagaries and high gigantic castles, dreaming out beatitudes hour\\nby hour turn itself at length to such dull task-work as thinking out a livelihood\\nfor wife and children?\\nWhere thenceforward will be those sunny dreams in which I have warmed\\nmy fancies and my heart, and lighted my eye with crystal This very marriage,\\nwhich a brilliant working imagination has invested time and again with brightness\\nand delight, can serve no longer as a mine for teeming fancy all, alas will be\\ngone reduced to the dull standard of the actual. No more room for intrepid\\nforays of imagination no more gorgeous realm-making all will be over!\\nWhy not, I thought, go on dreaming?", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "DONALD G. MITCHELL\\n214", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "DONALD G. MITCHELL 215\\nCan any wife be prettier than an after-dinner fancy, idle and yet vivid, can\\npaint for you? Can any children make less noise than the little, rosy-cheeked\\nones, who have no existence except in the omniuin gatherum of your own brain?\\nCan any housewife be more unexceptionable than she who goes sweeping daintily\\nthe cobwebs that gather in your dreams Can any domestic larder be better\\nstocked than the private larder of your head dozing on a cushioned chair-back\\nat Delmonico s Caii any family purse be better filled than the exceeding plump\\none you dream of, after reading such pleasant books as Munchausen, or Typee?\\nBut if, after all, it must be duty, or what-not, making provocation what\\nthen And I clapped my feet hard against the fire-dogs, and leaned back, and\\nturned my face to the ceiling, as much as to say And where on earth, then, shall\\na poor devil look for a wife\\nSomebody says Lyttleton or Shaftesbury, I think that marriages would\\nbe happier if they were all arranged by the Lord Chancellor. Unfortunately,\\nwe have no Lord Chancellor to make this commutation of our misery.\\nShall a man then scour the country on a mule s back, like Honest Gil Bias\\nof Santillane? or shall he make application to some such intervening providence\\nas Madame St. Marc, who, as I see by the Prcsse, manages these matters to one s\\nhand for some five per cent, on the fortunes of the parties?\\nI have trouted, when the brook was so low, and the sky so hot, that I might\\nas well have thrown my fly upon the turnpike and I have hunted hare at noon,\\nand woodcock in snow-time, never despairing, scarce doubting but for a poor\\nhunter of his kind, without traps or snares, or any aid of police or constabulary,\\nto traverse the world, where are swarming, on a moderate computation, some\\nthree hundred and odd millions of unmarried women, for a single capture ir-\\nremediable, unchangeable and yet a capture which, by strange metonymy not\\nlaid down in the books, is very apt to turn captor into captive, and make game of\\nhunter all this, surely, surely may make a man shrug with doubt\\nThen, again there are the plaguey wife s relations. Who knows how many\\nthird, fourth, or fifth cousins will appear at careless complimentary intervals, long\\nafter you had settled into the placid belief that all congratulatory visits were at\\nan end How many twisted-headed brothers will be putting in their advice, as a\\nfriend to Peggy?\\nHow many maiden aunts will come to spend a month or two with their dear\\nPeggy, and want to know every tea-time if she isn t a dear love of a wife?\\nThen, dear father-in-law will beg (taking dear Peggy s hand in his) to give a little\\nwholesome counsel and will be very sure to advise just the contrary of what\\nyou had determined to undertake. And dear mamma-in-law must set her nose\\ninto Peggy s cupboard, and insist upon having the key to your own private locker\\nin the wainscot.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "2i6 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nThen, perhaps, there is a little bevy of dirty-nosed nephews who come to\\nspend the holidays, and eat up your East India sweetmeats and who are forever\\ntramping over your head, or raising the old Harry below, while you are busy\\nwith your clients. Last, and worst, is some fidgety old uncle, forever too cold or\\ntoo hot, who vexes you with his patronizing airs, and impudently kisses his little\\nPeggy\\nThat could be borne, however for perhaps he has promised his fortune\\nto Peggy. Peggy, then, will be rich (and the thought made me rub my shins,\\nwhich were now getting comfortably warm, upon the fire-dogs). Then, she will\\nbe forever talking of Jicr fortune and pleasantly reminding you, on occasion of\\na favorite purchase, how lucky that she had the means and dropping hints about\\neconomy and buying very extravagant Paisleys.\\nShe will annoy you by looking over the stock-list at breakfast-time and\\nmention quite carelessly to your clients that she is interested in such or such a\\nspeculation.\\nShe will be provokingly silent when you hint to a tradesman that you have\\nnot the money by you for his small bill in short, she will tear the life out of you,\\nmaking you pay in righteous retribution of annoyance, grief, vexation, shame,\\nand sickness of heart, for the superlative folly of marrying rich.\\nBut if not rich, then poor. Bah the thought made me stir the coals\\nbut there was still no blaze. The paltry earnings you are able to wring out of\\nclients by the sweat of your brow will now be all our income you will be pestered\\nfor pin-money, and pestered with your poor wife s relations. Ten to one she\\nwill stickle about taste Sir Visto s and want to make this so pretty, and that\\nso charming, if she only had the means and is sure Paul (a kiss) can t deny his\\nlittle Peggy such a trifling sum, and all for the common benefit.\\nThen she, for one, means that Jicr children sha n t go a-begging for clothes\\nand another pull at the purse. Trust a poor mother to dress her children in\\nfinery\\nPerhaps she is ugly not noticeable at first, but growing on her, and (what\\nis worse) growing faster on you. You wonder why you didn t see that vulgar\\nnose long ago and that lip it is very strange, you think, that you ever thought\\nit pretty. And then, to come to breakfast with her hair looking as it does, and\\nyou not so much as daring to say, Peggy, do brush your hair! Her foot, too\\nnot very bad when decently chaussc but now since she s married she does wear\\nsuch infernal slippers And yet, for all this, to be prigging up for an hour when\\nany of my old chums come to dine with me\\nBless your kind hearts, my dear fellows. said I, thrusting the tongs into the\\ncoals, and speaking out loud, as if my voice could reach from Virginia to Paris,\\nnot married yet", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "DONALD G. xMITCHELL 217\\nPerhaps Peggy is pretty enough, only shrewish.\\nNo matter for cold coffee you should have been up before.\\nWhat sad, thin, poorly cooked chops to eat with your rolls\\nShe thinks they are very good, and wonders how you can set such an\\nexample to your children.\\nThe butter is nauseating.\\nShe has no other, and hopes you ll not raise a storm about butter a little\\nturned. I think I see myself, ruminated I, sitting meekly at table, scarce daring\\nto lift up my eyes, utterly fagged out with some quarrel of yesterday, choking\\ndown detestably sour muffins, that my wife thinks are delicious, slipping in\\ndried mouthfuls of burnt ham off the side of my fork tines, slipping off my chair\\nsideways at the end, and slipping out, with my hat between my knees, to business,\\nand never feeling myself a competent, sound-minded man till the oak door is be-\\ntween me and Peggy.\\nHa, ha! not yet, said I and in so earnest a tone that my dog started\\nto his feet, cocked his eye to have a good look into my face, met my smile of tri-\\numph with an amiable wag of the tail, and curled up again in the corner.\\nAgain, Peggy is rich enough, mild enough, only she doesn t care a fig for\\nyou. She has married you because father or grandfather thought the match elig-\\nible, and because she didn t wish to disoblige them. Besides, she didn t positively\\nhate you, and thought you were a respectable enough young person she has told\\nyou so repeatedly at dinner. She wonders you like to read poetry she wishes\\nyou would buy her a good cook book, and insists upon your making your will at\\nthe birth of the first baby.\\nShe thinks Captain So-and-So a splendid looking fellow, and wishes you\\nwould trim up a little, were it only for appearance s sake.\\nYou need not hurry up from the office so early at night she, bless her dear\\nheart does not feel lonely. You read to her a love-tale she interrupts the pa-\\nthetic parts with directions to her seamstress. You read of marriages she sighs,\\nand asks if Captain So-and-So has left town. She hates to be mewed up in a\\ncottage, or between brick walls she does so love the Springs\\nBut, again, Peggy loves you at least she swears it, with her hand on the\\nSorrows of Werther. She has pin-money which she spends for the Literary\\nWorld and the Friends in Council. She is not bad-looking, save a bit too\\nmuch of forehead nor is she sluttish, unless a neglige till three o clock and an\\nink stain on the forefinger be sluttish but then she is such a sad blue\\nYou never fancied, when you saw her buried in a three-volume novel, that it\\nwas anything more than a girlish vagary and when she quoted Latin, you\\nthought innocently that she had a capital memory for samplers.\\nBut to be bored eternallv about divine Dante and funnv Goldoni, is too bad.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "2l8\\nBEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nYour copy of Tasso, a treasure print of 1680, is all bethumbed and dog s-eared,\\nand spotted with baby gruel. Even your Seneca an Elzevir is all sweaty with\\nhandling. She adores La Fontaine, reads Balzac with a kind of artist scowl, and\\nwill not let Greek alone.\\nYou hint at broken rest and an aching head at breakfast, and she will fling\\nyou a scrap of Anthology in lieu of the camphor-bottle, or chant the aiai, aiai of\\nthe tragic chorus.\\nThe nurse is getting dinner you are holding the baby Peggy is read-\\ning Bruyere.\\nThe fire smoked thick as pitch, and puffed out little clouds over the chimney-\\npiece. I gave the fore-stick a kick at the thought of Peggy, baby, and Bruyere.\\nSuddenly the flame flickered bluely athwart the smoke, caught at a twig\\nbelow, rolled round the mossy oak stick, twined among the crackling tree-limbs,\\nmounted, lit up the whole body of Smoke, and blazed out cheerily and bright.\\nDoubt vanished with Smoke, and Hope began with Flame.\\n^^^J^jiiUi+A.", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nRUDGIS AND GRIM\\nBY MAURICE THOMPSON\\n(Bom at airfield, Intl., September 9, 1S44)\\n^HE Rudgis farm was the only one in Lone Ridge Pocket, a secluded\\nnook of the North Georgia mountain region, and its owner, Eli\\nRudgis, was, in the ante-bellum time, a man among the simple and\\nhonest people who dwelt beside the little crooked highway leading\\ndown the valley of the Pine-log Creek. He owned but one negro,\\nas was often the case with them, and he had neither wife nor chil-\\ndren. His slave was his sole companion of the human kind, sharing with cer-\\ntain dogs, pigs, horses and oxen a rude, democratic distribution of favors and\\nfrowns. As a man this negro was an interesting specimen of the genuine Afri-\\ncan short, strongly built, but ill-shapen, with a large head firmly braced by a\\nthick, muscular neck on broad, stooping shoulders a skin as black as night\\nsmall deep-set eyes a protruding, resolute jaw, and a nose as fiat as the head of\\nan adder. As a slave he was, perhaps, valuable enough in his way but both as\\nman and thrall he did no discredit to his name, which was Grim. He, too, was\\na familiar figure along the Pine-log road, as he drove an old creaking ox-cart to\\nand from the village.\\nWhen the war broke out, master and slave had reached the beginning of the\\ndownward slope of life, and, having spent many years together in their lonely\\nretreat at the Pocket, had grown to love each other after the surly, taciturn fash-\\nion of men who have few thoughts aiid a meagre gift of expression.\\nEli Rudgis was tall, slim, cadaverous, slow of movement, and sallow but he\\nhad a will of his own, and plenty of muscle to enforce it withal.\\nGrim, said he one day, them derned Northerners air a-goin ter set ye\\nfree.\\nThe negro looked up from the hickory-bark basket he was mending, and\\nscowled savagely at his master.\\nWat yo say, Mars Rudgis he presently inquired.\\nThem Yankees air a-goin ter gi ye yer freedom poorty soon.\\nGrim s face took on an expression of dogged determination, his shoulders\\nrose almost to the level of his protruding ears, and his small, wolfish eyes gleamed\\nfiercely.\\nWho say dey gwine ter do dat? he demanded, with slow, emphatic enun-\\nciation.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": ".WAi Kir.ii riio.wrsoN", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "M/MIKIC I niOMI SON 221\\nI say hit, an vv cii I .sa\\\\s hit, hc^^an the inastc-r; hut Orim hroke in with:\\nDcy cayii t do iiiilhir vviil me. I (Idik maile u] in v mind (hs chil cayn t be\\nfo c-cd. Yo yah dat, Mars kiidgis?\\nkiidgis grinned dryly, and walked away, sniokinj^- his c( \\\\)i\\\\)v with tlie air lA\\na phil().s()])lier who bides his time.\\nI he Kndgis cabin was a Ujw, ncjndescript lo^ strncturt; of three or four r(jonis\\nand a wide rnlry hall, set in the midst oi a thick, luxuriant orchard of peach,\\n])hini and a])])le trees crowninj^ a small c(jnical focjtiiill, which, seen from a little\\nilistance, ap])(arcd lo rest aj^ainst Ihe rocky breast of the mountain that stood\\nover against the nioutn of the I ocket. h rijm the rickety veranda, where Rudgis\\nnow sought a scat, there was a line view of the little farm, whose angular but roll-\\ning patches of tillable land straggled away to the foothills on the other side of the\\nI ocket, beyond which the wall of cliffs rose, gray and brown, to a great height.\\nl\\\\ecently i ,li Rndgis had been thinking a good deal about Grim; for, as the\\nwar continued, it grew in his mind that the South was going to lose the fight.\\nMe had only recently heard (jf President Lincoln s Emancipation Proclamation;\\nand with the far-seeing prudence characteristic of a certain (jrder of provincial in-\\nteileel, he was considering how best to forestall the effect of freedom if it should\\ncome, as he feared it would. Grim was his property, valued at about eight hun-\\ndred dollars in good nujney, or in Confederate scri])t at perhaps two or three\\nthousand dollars, more or less, lie shrank from selling the negro, for in his dry,\\npeculiar way he was fond of him but, on the other hand, he could not consent to\\nlose so much money on the outcome of an issue not of his own making. It can\\nicadily be imagined how, with ample leisure for reflectic^n, and with no other\\nproblem to share his attenti(jn, l^udgis gradually buried himself, so to speak, in\\nthis desire to circmnvent and nnllify c nianei])ation (insofar as it would affect his\\nownt rsliip of (jrimj when it slujuld c(jnie.\\nGrim was far more knowing, far better informed, and much more of a phil-\\nosoi)her than his master gave him credit for being. J y some means, as occult\\nas reliable, he had kept perfectly abreast of the progress of the great weltering,\\nthmidering, death-dealing tem])est of the war, and in his heart he felt the coming\\noi deliverance, the jubilee of eternal freedom for his race. Incapable, perhaps,\\nof seeing clearly the true aspect of what was probably in store for him, he yet\\nexperienced a change of prospect that affected every fibre of his imagination, and\\nopened wide every pore of his sensibility. Naturally wary, suspicious, and quick\\nto observe signs, he had been aware that his master was revolving some scheme,\\nwhich in all probability would effect a change in their domestic relations, to the\\nextent, possibly, of severing the tie which for so long had bound together the\\nlord and the thrall of I^one Ridge l^ockct.\\nHe studyin bout er-sellin me, he solilociuizcd, as he lingered over his", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "222 I l-.ST nil\\\\H;S l-KOM AMI IKICAN MTKkA n Kl\\ntask of basket iiKMidinj; alUT l\\\\iul.i;is had k* ^m x- or-i;\\\\viiU icv fot)l\\n(lis ok i-ooii. Wi-ll. loir (Ir l, \u00c2\u00abi mckkr lie wilk\\nWhat w iiuitti i ill thar, (aim? caUod the master tVom his scat o\\\\\\\\ the \\\\cr-\\naiuki. What \\\\e i^rouhii htmt. Idk or puj) ovit er ham bone?\\nNulVm sah 1 jes trviii io tor ktich ikil elume w at 1 he n or-kariiin\\nThen U) eliMuh the false statement, (dim he^aii lumimiii};\\nHe eoon he hah er eejit wile.\\nI loe o eo ii. honey\\nI )e eoon lie hah er eejit wife.\\nAn slu iiehher eoinh her hah in er Hfe,\\nKi-ep er hoein yo eo ii, lu)ne\\\\.\\nAn de eoon sa\\\\ 1 knows w at I ll do\\n1 li e o eo ii, luMiey\\nAn his wife she s(|nall out, 1 does too!\\nAn she snateli im poorty ni_i;li in two,\\nKi-ep cv luH in \\\\o eo n, honey.\\nSo dat eoon he allns rieollec\\n1 loe o eo n. honey\\nk .f he talk too loml he nins expee\\nShe serateh he eyes an wrim; he neck;\\nKeei er hoein yo eo n, honey.\\nl\\\\ndi;is listcnetl stoieall\\\\ enonj^h. so far as facial expression went Init when\\nthe low, soflK melodions soni; was done, he sluH k his head, and sniilcil aridly.\\nI .ot more sense an er riiiladelplu lawxcr. he nintteied niuler his breath,\\nan he s j;ol scmiic nndertakin intei- that noi^i^in er liis n. pect T he\\\\ ter (\\\\o\\nsomethin er iioiher wi him, er he s I r i^oin ter _i;it the best o me.\\nlie drew awa\\\\ at his whee/iiij; pipe, leaniiii; his chin, thinl\\\\ frin^cti with\\ntirizzleil beard, in his left hand, and proppins;- that arm with his knee. His t\\\\pi-\\ncal mountain face wore a pn//led, half-worried, half-anntseil expression.\\nDern is black jiictur he CiMilinncd. inandibly, thoui^li his lips moved; lie\\nair a-eonsiderin freediMii rii^lit now.\\nW hi man Ink me fer ei fool,\\n1 loe o ci^ n, honey\\nk nie like er \\\\eller mule,\\n.\\\\n never s.^i me time ter cool\\nKeep er-hoein \\\\-o eo n, luMiey,", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "MAUR1CI-: TIIOiVirSON 223\\nluinuncd Grim in that tender falsetto of his. Tiierc was a haze in the air, a May-\\ntime shimmer over the Pocket and up the terraced slopes of the mountains.\\nSuddenly a heavy booming, like distant thunder, tumbled as if in long, throbbing\\nwaves across the peaks, and fell into the little drowsy cove.\\nWat dat, Mars Rudgis? Fore de Lor w at dat? cried the negro, leaping\\nto his feet, and staring stupidly, his great mouth open, his long arms akimbo.\\nEli Rudgis took his pipe-stem from his mouth, and sat in a hearkening atti-\\ntude. Hit s thet air war er-comin he presently said, and resumed his smok-\\ning and reflections.\\nDe good Lor Mars Rudgis, w at we gwine ter do? stammered Grim, his\\nheavy countenance growing strangely ashen over his corrugated blackness.\\nShet erp, an mend that thcr basket, growled the master. Goin ter mek\\nye wo k like the devil er-beatin tan-bark while I kin, fer thct s yer frien s er-com-\\nin ter free ye. Grim, shore s shootin\\nThe African bowed his head over his light task, and remained thoughtfully\\nsilent, while the dull pounding in the far distance increased to an incessant roar,\\nvague, wavering, suggestive, awful.\\nRudgis thought little of the wider significance accompanying that slowly\\nrolling tempest of destruction his mental vision was narrowed to the compass of\\nthe one subject which lately had demanded all his powers of consideration. Was\\nit possible for him to hold Grim as his slave despite the Proclamation of Emanci-\\n|)ation, and notwithstanding the triumph of the Federal armies?\\nEf I try ter take im down the country ter sell im, they ll conscrip me inter\\nthe war, he argued to himself, an ef I stays yer them fernal Yankees ll set im\\nfree. Seem lak it air pow ful close rubbin an dern ef I know what ter do. I air\\nkind o twixt the skillet an the coals.\\nDay after day he sat smoking and cogitating, while Grim pottered at this or\\nthat bit of labor. He had an unconquerable aversion to going into the army, a\\nthing he had avoided, partly by reason of his age and partly by one personal shift\\nor another, after the exigencies of the Confederacy had led to the conscription of\\nable-bodied men regardless of age. lie felt that things were growing to des-\\n]K rate straits in the low country, and he ftarcd to sliow himself outside his moun-\\ntain fastness lest a conscript officer might nab him and send him to the front.\\nNot that he was a coward but in the high, dry atmosphere of the hill country\\nthere lingered a sweet and inextinguishable sense of loyalty to the old flag, which\\ntouched the minds of many mountaineers with a vague intimation of the enormity\\nof rebellion against the Government of Washington and Jackson. And yet they\\nwere Southerners, good fighters, Yankee-haters, and clung to the right of prop-\\ncrtv in their negroes with a tenacity as tough as the sinews of their hardy limbs,\\ni hcy were, indeed, far more stubborn in this last regard than any of the great", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "224 BEST THIXGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nslave owners of the low country, owing, no doubt, to their narrow, provincial no-\\ntions of personal independence, which felt no need for aid, or for the interference\\nof the law in their private concerns.\\nGrim was not a typical slave, but he w^as a legitimate instance of the slavery\\nknown in the secluded region of the Southern mountain country. He was as\\nfree, in all but name, as were most illiterate laborers of that day, barring that his\\nskin and the Southern traditions set him on a plane far below and quite detached\\nfrom that of the lowest white men. He had no bonds that galled him personally\\nplenty to eat, just enough work to keep him robust, a good bed. sufficient cloth-\\nmg, and unlimited tobacco what more could he want\\nHis master, however, observed that he was doing a great deal of thinking;\\nthat lately he was busying his mind with some absorbing problem, and from cer-\\ntain signs and indications the fact appeared plain that Grim was making ready to\\nmeet the day of freedom. Rudgis saw this with a dull, deep-seated sentimental\\npang mixed with anger and resentment. Years of companionship in that lonely\\nplace had engendered a fondness for his slave of which he was not fully aware,\\nand out of which was now issuing a sort of bewilderment of mind and soul.\\nWould Grim indeed forsake him, desert him to go away to try the doubtful\\nchances of a new order of things? This question was supplemented by another\\non a different stratum of human selfishness. Rudgis, like all mountain men, had\\na narrow eye to profit and loss. The money represented by Grim as his slave\\npossessed a powerful influence it was the larger part of his fortune.\\nGrim, on his part, watched his master as the tide of war flowed on through\\nthe mountain gaps far to the west of the Pocket his calculations were simpler and\\nmore directly personal than those of his master. Of course things could not re-\\nmain in this situation very long. Grim was the first to speak straight to the\\nsubject.\\nMars Rudgis, said he one day, yo be n siderin erbout sellin me.\\nThis direct accusation took the master unawares.\\nWha wha what s that air ye air er-sayin ye ol whelp? he spluttered,\\nalmost dropping his pipe.\\nYo be n er-finkin at I s gittin close outer de freedom line, an ye s pose\\nyo d better git w at ye kin fo me, yah-yah-yah-ee-ocrp and the black rascal\\nbroke forth with a mighty guffaws bending himself almost double, and slapping\\nhis hands vigorously. But yo s feared dey git ye an mek yo tote er gun, an\\nat yo d git de stufifin shot outen yo ef yo try take me down de country, yah-\\nyah-yah-ee-oorp\\nShet erp What ye mean? Stop thet air sq allin er I ll\\nYah-yah-yah-ee-eep I done cotch outer yo ca c lation. Mars Rudgis, fo\\nde Lor I has, oh Yah-yah-yah-yah-ha-eep An yo fink I se er eejit all dis", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "MAURICE THOMPSON 225\\ntime, yah-yah-yah Oh, gi long, Mars Rudgis, yo cayn t fool dis chicken, yah-\\nha-yah-ha-ha-ha-ee-eer-pooh\\nRudgis tried several times to stop this flow of accusative mirth, but at last,\\nquite confused, he stood tall and gaunt, with a sheepish grin on his dry, wrinkled\\nface, gazing at the writhing negro as he almost screamed out his sententious but\\nfluent revelation.\\nI done be n er-watchin yo like er sparrer-hawk watchin er peewee, Mars\\nRudgis, an I say ter myself: ]es see im er-figerin how much I s wo f, an how\\nmuch he gwine ter lose w en I goes free. An I done be n jes er-bustin over it\\nall dis time, yah-yah-yah-ee-ee\\nGrim, said Rudgis, presently, with slow, emphatic expression, I air er-\\ngoin mejitly ter give ye one whirpin at ye ll ricomember es long es they s breath\\nin yer scurby ol body.\\nThey were standing on the veranda at the time. Rudgis turned into the en-\\ntry, and immediately came out with a ramrod in his hand.\\nNow fer yer sass ye air er-goin ter ketch hit, he said, in that cold, rasping\\ntone which means so much. Stan erp yer an take yer med cine.\\nGrim went down on his knees and began to beg his mirth had vanished he\\nwas trembling violently. Rudgis had never whipped him.\\nFo de Lor sake. Mars Eli, don w irp de po ol chil I war jes funnin\\nMars Rudgis I jes want ter see w at yo gwine say. I\\nx\\\\t that moment there was a great clatter of iron-shod hoofs at the little yard\\ngate the next, three or four horses bounded over the low fence and dashed up to\\nthe veranda.\\nPlease. Mars Rudgis, don w irp me! I didn mean no harm, Mars Rudgis;\\ndeed I didn Oh, fo de Lor sake\\nHa! there stop that commanded a loud, positive voice. What the devil\\ndo you mean?\\nRudgis had already looked that way. He saw some mounted soldiers, wear-\\ning blue uniforms and bearing bright guns, glaring at him.\\nOh, Mars Rudgis, I never gwine do so no mo don w irp me! don w irp\\nme continued Grim, paying no heed to the soldiers. Le me ofif dis yer time,\\nfo de goo Lor sake And he held up his hands in dramatic beseechment.\\nIf you strike that negro one blow, I ll shoot a hole through you quicker than\\nlightning roared one of the men, who appeared to be an officer, at the same time\\nleveHng his pistol.\\nRudgis dropped the ramrod as if he had been suddenly paralyzed. Grim\\nsprang to his feet with the agility of a black cat.\\nWhat does this mean demanded the ofiicer, showing a gleam of anger in\\nhis eyes, his voice indicating no parleying mood.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "226 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nRudgis stood there, pale, stolid, silent, his mouth open, his arms akimbo.\\nLor sah, we jcs er-foolin said Grim, seeing that his master could find\\nnot a word to say. We s er-playin hoky-poky.\\nThe officer leaned over his saddle-bow, and looked from one to the other of\\nthe culprits.\\nYes, sah, it war hony-hokus at we s er-playin\\nPlaying what? grimly inquired the officer.\\nRokus-pokus, sah.\\nYou lying old scamp, cried the officer, glaring at him. you re trying to\\ndeceive me\\nAx Mars Rudgis. now ax him, sah.\\nHumph and the l deral officer turned to the master. What do you say,\\nsir?\\nTell im, Mars Rudgis, bout w at we s er-playin pleaded Grim.\\nRudgis moved his lips as if to speak, but they were dry and made no sound.\\nHe licked them with his furred, feverish tongue. Never before had he been so\\nthoroughly frightened.\\nAre you dumb? stormed the officer, again handling his weapon. Can t\\nyou speak?\\nHit were hoky-poky, gasped Rudgis.\\nDah, now! Mebbe yo s sat sfied, sah. Wa d I tol you? cried Grim,\\nwagging his head and gesticulating. We s jes er-playin dat leetle game.\\nThe officer wanted some information about a road over the mountain, so he\\nmade Grim saddle a undo and go with him to siiow the way. As ho rode off he\\ncalled back to Rudgis\\nThis man s as free as you are. and he needn t come back if he don t want to.\\nWhen they were quite gone, and the last sound of their horses feet had died\\naway down in the straggling fringe of trees at the foot of the hill. Rudgis picked\\nup his ramrod and looked at it quizzically, as if he expected it to speak. Slowly\\nhis face relaxed, and a queer smile drew it into leathery wrinkles.\\nHit were hoky-poky. by gum! he muttered. The dern ol scamp!\\nPresently he filled his pipe, and lighted it, grinning all the while, and saying\\nThe triflin ol rooster, he hed half er dozen dif ent names for it but hit were\\nhoky-poky jes the same. The dern old coon\\nThe day passed, likewise the night, but Grim did not return. A week, a\\nmonth, six months; no Grim, no mule. Sherman had swept through Georgia,\\nand on up through the Carolinas Johnston and Lee had surrendered. Peace\\nhad fallen like a vast silence after the awful din of war. The worn and weary\\nsoldiers of the South were straggling back to their long-neglected homes to re-\\nsume as best they could the broken threads of their peaceful lives.", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": ".MAURICE THOMPSON\\n22^\\nRudgis missed Grim more as a companion than as a slave. He mourned\\nf(jr him, in a way, rccaUing his pecuHaritics, and musing over that one superb\\nstroke of wit by which, perhaps, his hfe had been .saved. Never did he fail, at the\\nend of such reverie, to repeat, more sadly and tenderly each time, Hit war hoky-\\npoky, blame his ol hide The humor of this verbal reference was invariably\\nindicated by a peculiar rising inflection in pronouncing were, by which he\\nmeant to accentuate lovingly Grim s prompt prevaricati(jn.\\nEarly one morning Rudgis was smoking in his accustomed seat on the ver-\\nanda. In his shirt-sleeves, bareheaded and barefooted, his cotton shirt open wide\\nat throat and bosom, he looked like a bronze statue of Emancipation, so collapsed,\\nwrinkled and sear was he. His Roman nose was the only vigorous feature of his\\nunkcni])t and retrospective face.\\nThe sound of mule s feet trotting up the little stony road did not attract his\\ncuriosity, albeit few riders passed that way but when Oim came suddenly in\\nsight, it was an apparition that relaxed every fibre of Rudgis s frame. He\\ndropped lower in the old armchair, his arms fell limp, and his mouth opened\\nwide, letting fall the cob-pipe. He stared helplessly.\\nYah I is. Mars Rudgis got back at las How ye do, Mars Rudgis\\nThere was a ring of genuine delight in the negro s voice, the timber of loyal\\nsentiment too sweet for expression in written language. He slid from the mule s\\nback not the same mule that he had ridden away, but an older and poorer one\\nand scrambled through the lopsided gate.\\nWell, by dad was all Rudgis could say well, by dad His lower jaw\\nwabbled and sagged.\\nTol yo dey couldn t sfjl dis niggah free, didn 1? cried Grim, as he made\\na dive for both his old master s hands. I s Cfjme back ter long ter yo same lak\\n1 alius did. Yah, sah yah, sah.\\nRudgis arose slowly from his seat and straightened up his long, lean form\\nso that he towered above the short, sturdy negro. He looked down at him in si-\\nlence for some moments, his face twitching strangely. Slowly the old-time ex-\\npression bcgon to ap])ear around his mouth and eyes. With a quick step he went\\ninto the house, and returned almost instantly, bearing a ramrod in his hand.\\nWell, Grim, he said, with peculiar emphasis, cf ye air still my prop ty, an\\nye don t objec s posin we jes finish up that air leetle game er hoky-poky what\\nwe was er playin w en them Yankees kem an bothered us.\\nrwyv.^.^^", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "tOVVARD W. TOWNSEND\\n228", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 229\\nTHE DOG ON THE ROOF\\nBY EDWARD W. TOWNSEND\\n(Corn at Cleveland, O., February lo, 1S55)\\nES, I stole the dog. Maybe it s the only thing I ever stole, and maybe\\nit isn t. That s nothing to you, is it? You asked me for the story\\nand I ll tell it to you. I don t suppose you re a Headquarters detective.\\nI know you are not. Why? Perhaps I know them all. Perhaps it\\ncomes handy in my graft to know them. That s nothing to you, is it?\\nT had a friend Marty. He was dead square. He was educated,\\ntoo, and had the brains to turn a trick that would make the town talk about him\\nfor a month, but he wouldn t do it. He was just square all the way through,\\nbut he was my friend.\\nYou asked me for the story, and I ll tell it to you if you ll print his name\\nright and say that he was square. Never mind me it was him I was thinking of\\nalways thinking of. Whether I had all I wanted to eat or not, or whether I\\nhad a place to sleep or not, it wasn t myself I was thinking of it was him.\\nWell, you saw the dog on the roof, you say. You know he was well bred,\\neh You know a thing about dogs, then. He took first prize in his class up at\\nMadison Square Garden. That s right. He sold for a thousand the next day,\\nand I stole him.\\nMy friend s name was Marty Martin Borden. We went to school to-\\ngether on Broome street. Yes, they call that part of town Poverty Hollow, and\\nthat s right, too, I guess. He went longer than me he was educated. He went\\nup to fractions but I left when my mother died and my father was sent away. I\\nguess I was about eight, something like eight, but I m not^quite sure. They ve\\ngot it at Headquarters with my picture. You can look there, if you like.\\nMarty s father earned good wages in a foundry down by Corlears Hook,\\nand Marty was kept in school until he was twelve, I think.\\nHe was always looking me up and taking me home with him for grub and\\na place to sleep, and even when he was a little kid, was always giving me straight\\ntips and telling me I d do better if I was square. But what could I do? I had\\nto live. I had a right to live, even if I couldn t get work. Isn t that right?\\nWell, when Marty s old man died, Tvlarty got work down in the foundry do-\\ning little jobs a kid could do.\\nOne day he d been there a few years while I was doing time an iron", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "j^^o r.i .sT riiixt^.s i-KOM amI :i :ica:\\\\ urnUxA iHKK\\nUoam tell on liiin aiul did soinclhiuL; i\\\\m\\\\ v to liis hack. Xi I ilon t know what it\\nwas. The iKu-tors at I .oUcviic had a lot of lon^ names for it. hut thov iliihi t do\\nMait\\\\ s hack an\\\\ l;ooi1. 1 was calliui; on him ovory ilay and fctchinj;- him things\\nwhat 1 cinild j;\\\\i. until tlu-\\\\ said Mart\\\\ shouUl go to tho Island.\\nThat near hioko his heart, cause he knew it meant he never was to he\\ncured, and was to li\\\\e there in the lu siMtal all his life. 1 saw him crying one da\\\\-\\nwhen I went to I .ellevne, and it near set me cra/\\\\.\\nell, 1 went to the boss doctor of the hospital ami asks why had IMarly to\\ngo to the Island, and he says because he luid no lu me to go to. That set me\\nthinking. 1 got something that day never n\\\\ind how and I rented a room and\\nwent to the boss and saiil I d take Marty home with me. I showed him the\\nroom-rent receipt, and showed him the money to hire a carriage to take Marty\\nhome in. and they let me have him.\\nIt was a httle room just under the roof, with a stepdadder nnuiing up to a\\nglass skyUght which had a sliding window.\\nI toUl Mart\\\\ 1 was working, and lied about what my job was. an^i all about\\nit. If he knew how it was it would have made him feel terrible bad. cause, you\\nsee. he was so square. The worst of it was. that even when i had money F\\ncouldn t sta\\\\ home with him. cause then he d see 1 wasn t working, antl that\\nwoiUd make him feel terrible bad. 1 waiUed to stay home. too. cause 1 knew\\nhe was lonel\\\\, laying there on his back all day. so weak he couldn t hoUl up a\\nbook or jiaper to read.\\n1 was on iMflh Avenue one day. away up by the Park, kind o{ looking\\nround to see it anything would come my way. when a young swell comes along\\nwith a bull terrier. The dog was a beauty. 1 saw the swell hadn t owned him\\nlong, for the dog wasn t friendly with him. 1 don t know just how it was. but all\\nof a sudden it strikes me what good company the dog would be for Marty, and T\\nsneaks up and grabs it. 1 made the chase all right, for I don t think the swell\\nmissed the ilog until 1 was out of sight.\\nI waited until it was time for me to be home from work. and 1 goes to our\\nroom and puts the dog on Mart) s bed.\\nC^f course, dogs are better than most men. but Marty was as good as a dog.\\nand those two took to each other from the time they looked straight into each\\nother s eyes. Honest, it is a wonder the way they were chums from the first\\nminute 1 put the dog on the bcil. I told Marty I d found the dog and would\\nlook out Un an advertisement tor it. and return it. Well, the advertisement came\\nall right, and there were pieces in the paper about the prize winner the swell had\\npaid a thousand for. being lost. The reward kept jumping up every day until it\\nwas $250 ami no questions.\\nThe day that happened. I only had enough money to get the cheapest kind", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "EDWARD W. TOWNSEND 231\\nof food for Marty a. id tlu do[^, and I made up my mind Fd return the doj; and\\nIj^ct a lot of nice things for Marty.\\nDl tell you why I didn t. When I went to our room I thought first Marty\\nhad gone crazy, for he was laughing like nothing was the matter with his back,\\nand there was no pains in his head.\\nComfort that was the name Marty give the dog, for Marty was educated\\nand knew a lot of words Comfort was on the bed doing all the tricks you ever\\nheard of. Marty told me Comfort could climb the ladder, slide back the window\\nand go on the rof)f.\\nIlonest, while Marty was telling this the dog was looking at him with his\\nhead on one side and his eyes cocked up knowing, and when Marty stopped, the\\ndog ran up the ladder and was doing all his stunts on the skyliglit. Every once\\nin a while Comfort would stop his tricks and stand with his for? feet on the edge\\nof the skylight, grinning, and his ears cocked, like he was saying: How do you\\nUkv that, Marty?\\nThen he d dance all over the tin roof and make a noise like it was raining.\\nWhen it was terrible hot up there, Marty would say Let s have a rainstorm,\\nComfort, and the dog would go up on the roof and patter around with his claws\\non the tin till Marty would call him down.\\nSo I didn t take the dog back for the reward.\\nThat was the way it was till Marty till the end.\\nWhen I could get the money I d have a paid doctor, but Marty said not to.\\nHe knew it was coming, but he never showed he was getting punishment. Com-\\nfort seemed to know, too, and I guess he stopped sleeping at all, for if Marty\\nwould make a move at night that wouldn t frighten a fly, Comfort would be at his\\nside as ({uick as me; kind of kissing his hand and making little talks to him, you\\nknow, the way dogs do.\\nWell, Marty quit one night; one hand in mine and one on Comfort s neck.\\nThe wagon came for him I hadn t any money that time for a hearse and when\\nthe men took him out of the room Comfort went up on the roof. I was standing\\non the sidewalk while they were putting Marty in the wagon, when some people\\nsaid: IvOok at the dog!\\nComfort was on the edge of the roof looking down, and as the men shut\\nthe door of the wagon on Marty the dog jumped. I broke my arm here trying\\nto catch him, but he struck the sidewalk. He licked my hand when I picked\\nhim up, and tried to tell me he did it on purpose to die and then he died.\\nThe ofBcer who came up for the crowd recognized the dog, and I ll get six\\nmonths to-day for stealing him. Well, I did steal him, and I ll say so now; for\\nMarty s gone and he never knew.", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "2Z2 I .EST THINGS FRO^I AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nTHE NIGHT ELEVATOR MAN S STORY\\nBY E. W. TOWNSEND\\nOU seen her here, eh? She was a pretty kid, too, for sure. Lots of\\npeople asked me why 1 had her in the elevator here with me. No,\\nnot lots, you know, cause there ain t lots what ride in this elevator\\nbut nearly every one what tlid wanted to know all about the kid. I\\ndidn t tell them, mostlw cause when she was asleep I didn t like tO\\ntalk and wake her up. so I just didn t say nothing-.\\nIt was like this that I first fetched her in the elevator: I was passing by\\nher floor and heard her cry. Well, I took my passenger up to the door above,\\nand coming down I heard her cry again. It wasn t a cry like the kid was hurted,\\nor I d gone in the room right away. It was, you know, like the kid was scared,\\nsee? Well, I came down to the ground lloor landing and tried to read my\\npaper, but all I could do was just to hear that kid a-crying. I couldn t hear it\\nfor fair, you know I couldn t hear it right, 1 mean, but I could hear it just the\\nsame. Kind of in my mind I could hear it, you know.\\nW^ell, I kept making a bluff at reading my paper, but all the time I wasn t\\ndoing a thing but just hearing in my mind that kid up there on the fifth fioor,\\ncrying like it was scared frightened, you know.\\nAfter a bit I couldn t stand for it no longer, as I just pulled up to the fifth\\nand listened, and there was the kid crying sobbing, you know and for sure,\\njust as I heard it in my mind, see?\\nSay, it wasn t my business all right, but I just let myself in with the pass-\\nkey, and I goes to the crib where the kid was, and I gives it a jolly, see? What s\\nthe matter with us, kiddie? says I; and say, she catches my hand with one of\\nher soft little hands, and says, you know, with her little kid kind of talk, she says\\nthat the bogy man was after her.\\nSo I savs, What bogy man? and she says the bogy man her mamma told\\nher would catch her if she wasn t a good little girl, and kept still all the time her\\nmamma was away.\\nT had to leave her then, for some one was ringing up the elevator but when\\nI d took the passenger to his floor I goes back to the kid. and she was crying\\nworse than before, so I grabs her up with a blanket and takes her out in the\\nelevator with me.", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "EDWARD W. T(3W\\\\SEXD 233\\nSay, she liked that up to the hmit. We talked with each other to beat the\\nband, and I told her stories till she went to sleep on the long seat there.\\nI got her to bed and all tucked in before her mother come home, and it\\nwasn t very early at that.\\nPeople in this kind of apartment house don t always come home early, and\\nthere ain t much talk about it when they do particular the women.\\nWell, the next night I heard the kid crying again and, say, honest, she was\\ncalling my name.\\nDannie. she was saying; Dannie, tum take me, Dannie. Say, you know,\\nthat fetches me quick. It was the same story again her mother had told her the\\nbogy man would come and bite her hands off ef she made any noise, and she was\\ncrying because she thought the bogy man was there.\\nI took her out in the elevator again, wrapped up in the blanket, and then\\nshe says-, comfy as a bull-pup on a fur rug, Tell me a story, Dannie, says she.\\nWell, I never thought I could make up so many yarns as I did for that kid.\\nYou know, yarns about fairies what are in books printed for kids. I never read\\nany of these books myself until I bought one for her and she never had none\\nuntil I bought that one. I read the stories all day until I knew them for fair,\\nand they were not so bad, even for me, at that. Then I d tell her the stories and\\nmake up others about the mugs the folks, I mean what were in the book.\\nThat was because I got to taking her out to the elevator every night. The\\nliousekeeper told me that the mother mostly slept all day, and, to keep the kid\\nquiet, the mother would make her dopey in the daytime, and that v, as the reason\\nshe couldn t sleep at night.\\nI wasn t minding it, cause I got to want the kid with me as much as the\\nkid wanted to come.\\nWe was getting great chums. We near wore out that fairy book, and she\\nknew all the stories in it for fair, as well as me and ever} night in the long hours\\nwhen nobody, almost, used the elevator, I d make up new yarns till she d go to\\nsleep as quiet as a kitten, there on the seat where you seen her.\\nOne night I showed her a picture in a paper, and it was about a little kid\\nwhat was playing with a doll you know, a little kid about her size. She looks\\nat the picture a long time, and when I d told her about a hundred stories about it\\nshe says, Dannie, what s a doll?\\nHonest, that breaks me all up. I wasn t brought up too fine myself, but\\nfor sure I seen plenty of dolls, even in our tenement, which this house would\\nbuy twenty of them.\\nWell, the next day I bought a doll, and some dresses for it, and, say, you\\nshould seen the kid that night She wouldn t go to sleep, and my stories wasn t", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "234 i i -S r riii\\\\(;s i-ki^m amI .ukvw i.iti K rii :i\\nill il n litlK- lut. v^^lu- dri-ssod and uiuli osm-iI that (loll a million linu-s, and \\\\o\\\\Ci\\\\\\nit lill 11 was lUMi l)n stt. il lo piiH i s.\\nThai kiiiil ol U-I\u00c2\u00ab,iirs nu-, wui know kiiul ot Irlclirs u\\\\c sill\\\\, 1 wiuulorod\\nwlial kind ol woman tlu kid s mollicr (.-onld lu Init 1 luwrr lonnd out. v ^lic\\nskipprd Init Iril tiio kid in hind.\\nI was lor lakiiiL; tlu- kid lionu- with nu\\\\ canso, on scr, slu- didn t scoin to\\ncaio ahonl hrr niotluM In-inL; i;oiu\\\\ so Ion-; as she i.-onld rido np and down it])\\nand down the rU vator with Canine, and pla\\\\ with tlu- doll, and lu\\\\n- ni\\\\ stoiios\\nvon know, tlu- _L;anu-s I d m.ikr np loi her ahont the lair\\\\ folks in the hook\\nr.nt the eo]) on this heat he,nd ol tlu- ease and ri ii(Mti d it to the v^oeietv.\\nA (u-ir\\\\ am iil e.mie and tools tlu- kid. lie had .i paper yon know, a papei\\nfiom tlu L omt House, so 1 li.id to lei lu-r j;o.\\nv ^Iu- eiii-d a i;ood hit, hut 1 ,i;a\\\\e her the ra.L^i^y doll and the worn htiok, ai\\\\(l\\nand say. it s kind ol lonesome ridiiiL; np and down lu-re al nii^ht without lu-r,\\ncause 1 ean heai her er\\\\ not tor lair. on know, Imt my mind eaii hear her when\\nI tries (o read m\\\\ p.ipei and ean t.", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "lil .S l^ rillN(;S I UOM AMI .KKVW I.ITI .KATI KI-: -,^5\\nIT IS NOT nrATii TO m\\nhY (.lOKCil WA.SIIINCilON hllllUNI\\n(Horn in Nrw \\\\niU, N. i,Sn,s; dicl in 1 l..i.iu-c, lUi\\\\\\\\ l ^h^)\\nIt is not (U-alh to .lu\\\\\\nTo U AW tills \\\\\\\\IMI\\\\ r(..i.l,\\nAn. I, nn.lst tlic lu ollin li.uul on lu-li,\\nTo l.r ;il homo witli ^.d.\\nIt is not (Iriitli to closi-\\nThr r\\\\i- lono dinuncd l)\\\\ trais,\\nAnd wake in idoiions icposc,\\nTo sprnd i-li-rnal vrars.\\nh is not death to l.rai\\nThe w I rnth I lial sets ns Ivcv\\niMoni .hni-ron .hail, to l.icalh the air\\nU Ix.nndirss hl.cil\\\\.\\nIt is not death to iliii.t;\\nAside this sinliil .hist.\\n/\\\\nd rise on sti. n exnhini; wiiii;\\n1\\\\. \\\\\\\\\\\\c am. .lit; the just.\\nJesus, th. ii I riiu-e I ,ile.\\nTh\\\\ eh.iseii .-aniiot .he\\nl.ik. Thee, the\\\\ .\u00e2\u0096\u00a0on\u00c2\u00ab|iu-i in the sirifi\\nT.I n-iqn with Tlie.- .in hii;h.\\n^^-.-^tT^.\\n-Vwfc.-*,", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "GEORGH WASHINGTON BHTHUNE\\n236", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 237\\nJOHN BROWN OF OSSAWATOMIE\\nHIS LAST SPEECH IN THE COURT HOUSE OK CHAKLESTOWX, VA., NOVEMBER 2d, 1859\\n(Born in Torrington, Conn., 1800; executed at Charlestown. Va., 1859\\nHAVE, may it please the Court, a few words to say.\\nIn the first place, I deny everything but what all along- was ad-\\nmitted the design on my part to free the slaves. I intended certainly\\nto have made a clean thing of that matter, as I did last Winter when I\\nwent into Missouri and there took slaves without the snapping of a gun\\non either side, moved them through the country, and finally left them\\nin Canada. I designed to have done the same tiling on a larger scale. That was\\nall I intended. I never did intend murder, or treason, or the destruction of\\nproperty, or to excite or incite slaves to rebellion, or to make insurrection.\\nI have another objection and that is, it is unjust that I should suffer such\\na penalty. Had I interfered in the manner which I admit, and which I admit\\nhas been fairly proved (for I admire the truthfulness and candor of the greater\\nportion of the witnesses who have testified in this case) had I so interfered in\\nbehalf of the rich, the powerful, the intelligent, the so-called great, or in behalf\\nof any of their friends either father, mother, brother, sister, wife or children, or\\nany of that class and suffered and sacrificed what I have in this interference,\\nit would have been all right and every man in this court would have deemed it\\nan act worthy of reward rather than punishment.\\nThis court acknowledges, as I suppose, the validity of the law of God. I see\\na book kissed here which I suppose to be a Bible, or at least the New Testament.\\nThat teaches me that all things whatsoever I would that men should do to me,\\nI should do even so to them. It teaches me, further, to remember them that\\nare in bonds, as bound with them. I endeavor to act up to that instruction. I\\nsay, I am yet too young to understand that God is any respecter of persons. I\\nbelieve that to have interfered as I have done as I have always freely admitted\\nI have done in behalf of His despised poor, was not wrong, but right. Now, if\\nit is deemed necessary that I should forfeit my life for the furtherance of the ends\\nof justice, and mingle my blood further with the blood of my children and with\\nthe blood of millions in this slave country whose rights are disregarded by wicked,\\ncruel and unjust enactments, I submit so let it be done.\\nLet me say one word further.\\nI feel entirely satisfied with the treatment I have received on my trial. Con-", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "JOHN BROWN\\n238", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "JOHN liROWN OI-^ OSvSAWATOMlK 239\\nsidcring- all the circumstances, it has been more generous than I expected. But\\n1 feel no consciousness of guilt. 1 have stated from the first what was my inten-\\ntion and what was not. I never had any design against the life of any person,\\nnor any disposition to c(Mnniit treason, or excite slaves to rebel, or make any gen-\\neral insurrection. I never encouraged any man to do so, but always discouraged\\nany idea of that kind.\\nLet me say, also, a word in regard to the statements made by some of those\\nconnected with me. I hear it has been stated by s(jme of them that I have in-\\nduced them to join me. lint the contrary is true. T do not say this to injure\\nthem, but as regretting their weakness. There is not one of them but joined me\\nof his own accord, and the greater part of them at their own expense. A num-\\nber of them I never saw, and never had a word of conversation with, till the day\\nthey came to me, and that was for the purpose I have stated.\\nA^\\nmm", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "EDGAR ALLAN POE\\n240", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "BEST THIXGS FROM AMERICAX LITERATURE 241\\nIN THE MOUTH OF THE SEA\\nBEING A PART OF THE THRILLING TALE ENTITLED A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM\\nBY EDGAR ALLAN POE\\n(Born at Boston, Mass., Feb. 19, 1809; died at Baltimore, Md., Oct. 7, 1849)\\n^Y this time the first fury of the tempest had spent itself, or perhaps we\\ndid not feel it so much as we scudded before it, but at all events the\\nseas, which at first had been kept down by the wind and lay flat and\\nfrothing, now got up into absolute mountains. A singular change, too,\\nhad come over the heavens. Around in every direction it was still as\\nblack as pitch, but nearly overhead there burst out, all at once, a\\ncircular rift of clear sky as clear as I ever saw, and of a deep bright blue and\\nthrough it there blazed forth the full moon, with a lustre that I never before knew\\nher to wear. She lit up everything about us with the greatest distinctness but,\\nO God, what a scene it was to light up\\nI now made one or two attempts to speak to my brother, but in some\\nmanner which I could not understand, the din had so increased that I could not\\nmake him hear a single word, although I screamed at the top of my voice in his\\near. Presently he shook his head, looking as pale as death, and held up one of his\\nfingers as if to say, Listen!\\nAt first I could not make out what he meant; but soon a hideous thought\\nflashed upon me. I dragged my watch from its fob. It was not going. I\\nglanced at its face by the moonlight, and then burst into tears as I flung it far\\naway into the ocean. It had run down at seven o clock! We zvere behind the time\\nof the slack, and the zvhirl of the Strom zvas in full fury!\\nWhen a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and not deep laden, the waves\\nin a strong gale, when she is going large, seem always to slip from beneath\\nher which appears very strange to a landsman and this is what is called riding,\\nin sea-phrase. Well, so far we had ridden the swells very cleverly, but presently\\na gigantic sea happened to take us right under the counter, and bore us with it\\nas it rose up up as if into the sky. I would not have believed that any wave\\ncould rise so high. And then down we came with a sweep, a slide, and a plunge,\\nthat made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from some lofty mountain-\\ntop in a dream. But while we were up I had thrown a quick glance around and\\nthat one glance was all-sufficient. I saw our exact position in an instant. The\\nMoskoe-strom whirlpool was about a quarter of a mile dead ahead, but no more", "height": "3068", "width": "2224", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "242 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nlike the every-day Moskoe-strom than the whirl as you now see it is like a mill-\\nrace. If I had not known where we were, and what we had to expect, I should\\nnot have recognized the place at all. As it was, I involuntarily closed my eyes\\nin horror. The lids clenched themselves together as if in a spasm.\\nIt could not have been more than two minutes afterward until we suddenly\\nfelt the waves subside, and were enveloped in foam. The boat made a sharp half-\\nturn to larboard, and then shot off in its new direction like a thunderbolt. At the\\nsame moment the roaring noise of the water was completely drowned in a kind of\\nshrill shriek such a sound as you might imagine given out by the waste-pipes\\nof many thousand steam vessels letting off their steam all together. We were\\nnow in the belt of surf that always surrounds the whirl and I thought, of course,\\nthat another moment would plunge us into the abyss, down which we could\\nonly see indistinctly on account of the amazing velocity with wdiich we were\\nborne along. The boat did not seem to sink into the water at all, but to skim\\nlike an air-bubble upon the surface of the surge. Her starboard side was next\\nth.e whirl, and on the larboard arose the world of ocean we had left. It stood like\\na huge writhing wall between us and the horizon.\\nIt may appear strange, but now, when we were in the very jaws of the gulf,\\nI felt more composed than when we were only approaching it. Having made up\\nmy mind to hope no more, I got rid of a great deal of that terror which unmanned\\nme at first. I suppose it was despair that strung my nerves.\\nIt may look like boasting, but what I tell you is truth. I began to reflect\\nhow magnificent a thing it was to die in such a manner, and how foolish it was\\nin me to think of so paltry a consideration as my own individual life in view of\\nso wonderful a manifestation of God s power.\\nThere was another circumstance which tended to restore my self-possession,\\nand this was the cessation of the wind, which could not reach us in our present\\nsituation for, as you saw yourself, the belt of surf is considerably lower than the\\ngeneral bed of the ocean, and this latter now towered above us, a high, black,\\nmountainous ridge. If you have never been at sea in a heavy gale you can form\\nno idea of the confusion of mind occasioned by the wind and spray together.\\nThey blind, deafen and strangle you, and take away all power of action or reflec-\\ntion. But we were now, in a great measure, rid of these annoyances just as\\ndeath-condemned felons in prison are allowed petty indulgences, forbidden them\\nwhile their doom is yet uncertain.\\nHow often we made the circuit of the belt, it is impossible to say. We\\ncareered round and round for perhaps an hour, flying rather than floating, get-\\nting gradually more and more into the middle of the surge, and then nearer and\\nnearer to its horrible inner edge. All this time I had never let go of the ring-\\nbolt. My brother was at the stern, holding on to a small empty water-cask,", "height": "3151", "width": "2155", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "EDGAR ALLAN POE 243\\nwhich had been securely lashed under the coop of the counter, and was the only\\nthing on deck that had not been swept overboard when the gale first took us.\\nAs we approached the brink of the pit he let go his hold upon this, and made for\\nthe ring, from which, in the agony of his terror, he endeavored to force my hands,\\nas it was not large enough to afford us both a secure grasp. I never felt deeper\\ngrief than when I saw him attempt this act although I knew he was a madman\\nwhen he did it a raving maniac through sheer fright. I did not care, however,\\nto contest the point with him. I knew it could make no difference whether\\neither of us held on at all, so I let him have the bolt, and went astern to the cask.\\nThis there was no great difficulty in doing, for the smack flew round steadily\\nenough, and upon an even keel, only swaying to and fro with the immense\\nsweeps and swelters of the whirl. Scarcely had I secured myself in my new\\nposition when we gave a wild lurch to starboard, and rushed headlong into the\\nabyss. I muttered a hurried prayer to God, and thought all was over.\\nAs I felt the sickening sweep of the descent I had instinctively tightened\\nmy hold upon the barrel, and closed my eyes. For some seconds I dared not\\nopen them, while I expected instant destruction, and I wondered that I was not\\nalready in my death-struggles with the water. But moment after moment\\nelapsed. I still lived. The sense of falling had ceased, and the motion of the\\nvessel seemed much as it had been before while in the belt of foam, with the\\nexception that she now lay more along. I took courage, and looked once again\\nupon the scene.\\nNever shall I forget the sensations of awe, horror, and admiration with\\nwhich I gazed about me. The boat appeared to be hanging, as if by magic, mid-\\nway down, upon the interior surface of a funnel vast in circumference, prodigious\\nin depth, and whose perfectly smooth sides might have been mistaken for ebony\\nbut for the bewildering rapidity with which they spun around, and for the gleam-\\ning and ghastly radiance they shot forth, as the rays of the full moon, from that\\ncircular rift amid the clouds which I have already described, streamed in a flood of\\ngolden glory along the black walls, and far away down into the inmost recesses\\nof the abyss.\\nAt first I was too much confused to observe anything accurately. The\\ngeneral burst of terrific grandeur was all that I beheld. When I recovered my-\\nself a little, however, my gaze fell instinctively downward. In this direction I\\nwas able to obtain an unobstructed view from the manner in which the smack\\nhung on the inclined surface of the pool. She was quite upon an even keel\\nthat is to say, her deck lay in a plane parallel with that of the water but this\\nlatter sloped at an angle of more than forty-five degrees, so that we seemed to\\nbe lying upon our beam-ends. I could not help observing, nevertheless, that I\\nhad scarcely more difficulty in maintaining my hold and footing in this situation", "height": "3132", "width": "2155", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "244 BEST TM I \\\\GS FROM AMERICAX LITERATURE\\nthan if we had been upon a dead level, and this, 1 suppose, was owing- to the\\nspeed at whieh we revolved.\\nThe rays of the moon seemed to search the very bottom of the profound\\ngulf but still I could make out nothing distinctly, on account of a thick mist in\\nwhieh everything there was enveloped, and over which there hung a magnificent\\nrainbow, like that narrow and tottering bridge which Mussulmans say is the only\\npathway between Time and Eternity. This mist or spray was no doubt occa-\\nsioned by the clashing of the great walls of the funnel as they all met together at\\nthe bottom, but the yell that went up to the heavens from out of that mist I dare\\nnot attempt to describe.\\nOur first slide iiUo the al\\\\vss itself, from the belt of foam above, had carried\\nus a great distance down the slope, but our farther descent was by no means\\nproportionate. Round and round we swept not with any uniform movement,\\nbut in dizzying swings and jerks, that sent us sometimes only a few hundred\\nyards, sometimes nearly the complete circuit of the whirl. Our progress down-\\nward at each revolution was slow, but very perceptible.\\nLooking about me upon the wide waste of liciuid ebony on which we were\\nthus borne. I perceived that our boat was not the only object in the embrace of\\nthe whirl. Both above and below us were visible fragments of vessels, large\\nmasses of building timber and trunks of trees, with many smaller articles, such as\\npieces of house furniture, broken boxes, barrels, and staves. I have already de-\\nscribed the unnatural curiosity which had taken the place of my original terrors.\\nIt appeared to grow upon me as I drew nearer and nearer to my dreadful doom.\\n1 now began to watch, with a strange interest, the numerous things that floated\\nin our company. 1 iiiust have been delirious, for I even sought amusement in\\nspeculating upon the relative velocities of their several descents toward the foam\\nbelow. This fir-tree, I found myself at one time saying, will certainly be the\\nnext thing that takes the awful plunge and disappears, and then I was disap-\\npointed to find that the wreck of a Dutch merchant ship overtook it and went\\ndown before. At length, after making several guesses of this nature and being\\ndeceived in all, this fact the fact of my invariable miscalculation set me upon a\\ntrain of reflection that made my limbs again tremble and my heart beat heavily\\nonce more.\\nIt was not a new terror that thus affected me. but the dawn of a more excit-\\ning This hope arose partly from memory and partly from present observa-\\ntion. I called to mind the great variety of buoyant matter that strewed the coast\\nof Lofoden, having been absorbed and then thrown forth by the Moskoe-strom.\\nBy far the greater number of the articles were shattered in the most extraordinary\\nway so chafed and roughened as to have the appearance of being stuck full of\\nsplinters but then T distinctly recollected that there were some of them which", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "EDGAR ALLAN POE 245\\nwere not disfigured at all. Now I could not account for this difference except by\\nsupposing that the roughened fragments were the only ones which had been\\ncompletely absorbed that the others had entered the whirl at so late a period of the\\ntide, or, for some reason, had descended so slowly after entering, that they did not\\nreach the bottom before the turn of the flood came, or of the ebb, as the case\\nmight be. I conceived it possible, in either instance, that they might thus be\\nwhirled up again to the level of the ocean, without undergoing the fate of those\\nwhich had been drawn in more early, or absorbed more rapidly. I made also\\nthree important observations. The first was that, as a general rule, the larger\\nthe bodies were, the more rapid their descent the second that, between two\\nmasses of equal extent, the one spherical and the other of any other shape, the su-\\nperiority in speed of descent was with the sphere the third, that, between two\\nmasses of equal size, the one cylindrical and the other of any other shape, the\\ncylinder was absorbed more slowly. Since my escape I have had several con-\\nversations on this subject with an old schoolmaster of the district, and it was from\\nhim that I learned the use of the words cylinder and sphere. He explained to\\nme although I have forgotten the explanation how wdiat I observed was in\\nfact the natural consequence of the forms of the floating fragments, and showed\\nme how it happened that a cylinder swimming in a vortex offered more resist-\\nance to its suction, and was drawn in with greater difficulty than an equally bulky\\nbody of any form whatever.\\nThere was one startling circumstance which went a great way in enforcing\\nthese observations and rendering me anxious to turn them to account, and this\\nwas that at every revolution we passed something like a barrel, or else the yard\\nor the mast of a vessel, while many of these things which had been on our level\\nwhen I first opened my eyes upon the wonders of the whirlpool, Avere now high\\nup above us, and seemed to have moved but little from their original station.\\nI no longer hesitated what to do. I resolved to lash myself securely to the\\nwater-cask upon which I now held, to cut it loose from the counter, and to throw\\nmyself with it into the water. I attracted my brother s attention by signs,\\npointed to the floating barrels that came near us, and did everything in my power\\nto make him understand what I was about to do. I thought at length that he\\ncomprehended my design, but, whether this was the case or not, he shook his\\nhead despairingly and refused to move from his station by the ring-bolt. It was\\nimpossible to reach him the emergency admitted of no delay and so, with a\\nbitter struggle, I resigned him to his fate, fastened myself to the cask by means of\\nthe lashings which secured it to the counter, and precipitated myself with it into\\nthe sea without another moment s hesitation.\\nThe result was precisely what I had hoped it might be. As it is myself\\nwho now tell you this tale as you see that I did escape and as you are already", "height": "3132", "width": "2155", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "246 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nin possession of the mode in which this escape was effected, and must therefore\\nanticipate all that I have further to say, I will bring my story quickly to a con-\\nclusion. It might have been an hour or thereabout after my quitting the smack\\nwhen, having descended to a vast distance beneath me, it made three or four wild\\ngyrations in rapid succession, and, bearing my loved brother with it. plunged\\nheadlong and forever into the chaos of foam below. The barrel to which I was\\nattached sunk very little farther than half the distance between the bottom of the\\ngulf and the spot at which I leaped overboard, before a great change took place\\nin the character of the whirlpool. The slope of the sides of the vast funnel be-\\ncame momently less and less steep. The gyrations of the whirl grew gradually\\nless and less violent. By degrees the froth and the rainbow disappeared, and\\nthe bottom of the gulf seemed slowly to uprise. The sky was clear, the winds had\\ngone down, and the full moon was setting radiantly in the west, when I found\\nmyself on the surface of the ocean, in full view of the shores of Lofoden. and\\nabove the spot where the pool of the Moskoe-strom had been. It was the hour\\nof the slack, but the sea still heaved in mountainous waves from the effects of\\nthe hurricane. I was borne violently into the channel of the Strom, and in a few\\nminutes was hurried down the coast into the grounds of the fishermen. A boat\\npicked me up. exhausted from the fatigue and (now that the danger was removed)\\nspeechless from the memory of its horror. Those who drew me on board were\\nmy old mates and daily companions, but they knew me no more than they would\\nhave known a traveler from the spirit-land. My hair, which, had been raven-\\nblack the day before, was as white as you see it now. They say. too. that the\\nwhole expression of my countenance had changed. I told them my story they\\ndid not believe it. I now tell it to you, and I can scarcely expect you to put more\\nfaith in it than did the merrv fishermen of Lofoden.\\n^at^^f", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "BUST OF\\nEDGAR ALLAN POE\\n247", "height": "3132", "width": "2155", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "248 BEST THINGS FROAl AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nTHE TELL-TALE HEART\\nBY EDGAR ALLAN POE\\nRUE nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am but\\nwhy zcill you say that I am mad? The disease has sharpened my\\nsenses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense\\nof hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth.\\nI heard many things in hell How, then, am I mad? Harken and\\nobserve how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.\\nIt is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once con-\\nceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there\\nwas none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never\\ngiven me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye Yes, it\\nwas this One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture a pale blue eye with a\\nfilm over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and so by degrees,\\nvery gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid\\nmyself of the eye forever.\\nNow this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But\\nyou should have seen inc. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded with\\nwhat caution, with what foresight, with what dissimulation I went to work I\\nwas never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him.\\nAnd every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh,\\nso gently And then when I had made an opening sufftcient for my head I put\\nin a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust\\nin my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in\\nI moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man s\\nsleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that\\nI could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha would a madman have been so wise\\nas this And then when my head was well in the room I undid the lantern cau-\\ntiouslv oh, so cautiously cautiously (for the hinges creaked). I undid it just\\nso much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven\\nlong nights, every night just at midnight but I found the eye always closed, and\\nso it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me,\\nbut his evil eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the\\nchamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone,\\nand inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a", "height": "3123", "width": "2199", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "EDGAR ALLAN POE\\n?49\\nvery profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked\\nin upon him while he slept.\\nUpon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the\\ndoor. A watch s minute-hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never be-\\nfore that night had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could\\nscarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was opening the\\ndoor little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I\\nfairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he moved on the bed\\nsuddenly as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back but no. His\\nroom was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (for the shutters were close\\nfastened through fear of robbers), and so I knew that he could not see the open-\\ning of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.\\nI had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped\\nupon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out, Who s\\nthere?\\nI kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a\\nnuiscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up\\nin bed, listening just as I have done night after night hearkening to the death\\nwatches in the wall.\\nPresently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal\\nterror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief oh, no! It was the low stifled\\nsound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I\\nknew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept,\\nit has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the ter-\\nrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt,\\nand pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying\\nawake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears\\nhad been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them\\ncauseless, but could not. He had been saying to himself, It is nothing but the\\nwind in the chimney, it is only a mouse crossing the floor, or It is merely a\\ncricket which has made a single chirp. Yes, he has been trying to comfort\\nhimself with these suppositions but he had found all in vain. x\\\\ll in vain, be-\\ncause Death in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him\\nand enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unper-\\nceived shadow that caused him to feel although he neither saw nor heard to\\nfed the presence of my head within the room.\\nWhen I had waited a long time, very patiently without hearing him lie down,\\nI resolved to open a little a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened\\nit you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily until at length a single dim", "height": "3132", "width": "2155", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "250 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nrav like the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the\\nvulture eye.\\nIt was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw\\nit with perfect distinctness all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled\\nthe very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the old man s face\\nor person, for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned\\nspot.\\nAnd now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-\\nacuteness of the senses? Now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick\\nsound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound\\nwell, too. It was the beating of the old man s heart. It increased my fury, as the\\nbeating of a drum stimulates the soldier to courage.\\nBut even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the\\nlantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye.\\nMeantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker,\\nand louder and louder, every instant. The old man s terror must have been ex-\\ntreme It grew louder. I say, louder every moment do you mark me well\\nI have told you that I am nervous so I am. And now at the dead hour of the\\nnight, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this ex-\\ncited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet. for some minutes longer I refrained\\nand stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder I thought the heart\\nmust burst. And now a new anxiety seized me the sound would be heard by\\na neighbor The old man s hour had come With a loud yell, I threw open the\\nlantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once once only. In that in-\\nstant I dragged him to the floor and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then\\nsmiled gaily to find the deed so far done. But for many minutes the heart beat\\non with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me it would not be heard\\nthrough the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the\\nbed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my\\nhand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation.\\nHe was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.\\nIf still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the\\nwise precaution I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and\\nI worked hastily, but in silence. I took up three planks from the flooring of the\\nchamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards\\nso cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye not even his could have detected\\nanything wrong. There was nothing to wash out no stain of any kind, no blood\\nspot whatever. I had been too wary for that.\\nWhen I had made an end of these labors it was four o clock still dark as\\nmidnisfht. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking: at the street", "height": "3147", "width": "2218", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "EDGAR ALLAN POE 251\\ndoor. I went down to open it with a light heart for what had I now to fear?\\nThere entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as\\nofficers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbor during the night\\nsuspicion of foul play had been aroused information had been lodged at the\\npolice office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.\\nI smiled for zvhat had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The\\nshriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in\\nthe country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search search\\nwell. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure,\\nundisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the\\nroom, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the\\nwild audacity of my perfect trimph, placed my own seat upon the very spot be-\\nneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.\\nThe officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was sin-\\ngularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily they chatted of familiar\\nthings. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My\\nhead ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears but still they sat, and still chatted.\\nThe ringing became more distinct it continued and became more distinct I\\ntalked more freely to get rid of the feeling but it continued and gained definite-\\nness until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.\\nNo doubt I now grew very pale but I talked more fluently, and with a\\nheightened voice. Yet the sound increased and what could I do? It was a\\nlow, dull, quick sound much such a sound as a zvatch makes zvhcn enveloped in\\ncotton. I gasped for breath and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more\\nquickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued\\nabout trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations but the noise steadily\\nincreased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with\\nheavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men but the noise\\nsteadily increased. O God what could I do I foamed, I raved, I swore I\\nswung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards,\\nbut the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder, louder,\\nlouder! And still the men chatted pleasantly and smiled. Was it possible they\\nheard not? Almighty God! no, no! They heard! they suspected! they knezv!\\nthey were making a mockery of my horror! this I thought, and this I think.\\nBut anything was better than this agony Anything was more tolerable than\\nthis derision I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer I felt that I\\nmust scream or die and now again hark louder louder louder louder!\\nVillains I shrieked, dissemble no more I admit the deed Tear up\\nthe planks here, here It is the beating of his hideous hearj;", "height": "3132", "width": "2155", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "RICHARD HENRY STODDARD\\n252", "height": "3139", "width": "2052", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 253\\nTHE SKY\\nBY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD\\n(Born at Hingham, IMass., July 2, 1825)\\nThe sky is a drinking cup\\nThat was overturned of old,\\nAnd it pours in the eyes of men\\nIts wine of airy gold.\\nWe drink that wine all day,\\nTill the last drop is drained up,\\nAnd are lighted to our bed\\nBy the jewels in the cup.\\nit. It-CGji).:)", "height": "3132", "width": "2155", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\\n254", "height": "3156", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "BEST THIXGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 255\\nTHE REVELATION\\nFROM THE SCARL,ET I^ETTER\\nBY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\\nBorn at Salem, Mass., Jul} 4, 1804 died at Plymouth, N. H,, May 18, 1864\\n(74^^ m Y this time the preHminary prayer had been offered in the meeting-\\nhouse, and the accents of the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale were heard\\ncommencing his discourse. An irresistible feeHng kept Hester near\\nthe spot. As the sacred edifice was too much thronged to admit\\nanother auditor, she took up her position close beside the scaffold of\\nthe pillory. It was in sufficient proximity to bring the whole sermon\\nto her ears, in the shape of an indistinct but varied murmur and flow of the\\nminister s very peculiar voice.\\nThis vocal organ was in itself a rich endowment insomuch that a listener,\\ncomprehending nothing of the language in which the preacher spoke, might still\\nhave been swayed to and fro by the mere tone and cadence. Like all other music,\\nit breathed passion and pathos, and emotions high or tender, in a tongue native\\nto the human heart, wherever educated. Muffled as the sound was by its passage\\nthrough the church walls; Hester Prynne listened with such intentness, and sym-\\npathized so intimately, that the sermon had throughout a meaning for her, en-\\ntirely apart from its indistinguishable words. These, perhaps, if more distinctly\\nheard, might have been only a grosser medium, and have clogged the spiritual\\nsense. Now she caught the low undertone, as of the wind sinking down to repose\\nitself then ascended with it, as it rose through progressive gradations of sweet-\\nness and power, imtil its volume seemed to envelope her with an atmosphere of\\nawe and solemn grandeur. And yet, majestic as the voice sometimes became,\\nthere was forever in it an essential character of plaintiveness. A loud or low ex-\\npression of anguish, the whisper, or the shriek, as it might be conceived, of suf-\\nfering humanity, that touched a sensibility in every bosom At times this deep\\nstrain of pathos was all that could be heard, and scarcely heard, sighing amid a\\ndesolate silence. But even when the minister s voice grew high and command-\\ning when it gushed irrepressibly upward when it assumed its utmost breadth\\nand power, so overfilling the church as to burst its way through the solid walls\\nand diffuse itself in the open air, still, if the auditor listened intently, and for the\\npurpose, he could detect the same cry of pain. What was it? The complaint of\\na human heart, sorrow-laden, perchance guilty, telling its secret, whether of guilt", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "256 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nor sorrow, to the great heart of mankind, beseeching its sympathy or forgiveness,\\nat every moment, in each accent, and never in vain It was this profound and\\ncontinual undertone that gave the clergyman his most appropriate power.\\nDuring all this time Hester stood, statue-like, at the foot of the scafifold. If\\nthe minister s voice had not kept her there, there would nevertheless have been\\nan inevitable magnetism on that spot, whence she dated the first hour of her life\\nof ignominy. There was a sense within her too ill-defined to be made a\\nthought, but weighing heavily on her mind that her whole orb of life, both be-\\nfore and after, was connected with this spot, as with the one point that gave it\\nunity.\\nLittle Pearl, meanwhile, had quitted her mother s side, and was playing at\\nher own will about the market-place. She made the sombre crowd cheerful by\\nher erratic and glistening ray even as a bird of bright plumage illuminates a\\nwhole tree of dusky foliage by darting to and fro, half seen and half concealed\\namid the twilight of the clustering leaves. She had an undulating, but, often-\\ntimes, a sharp and irregular movement. It indicated the restless vivacity of her\\nspirit, which to-day was doubly indefatigable in its tiptoe dance, because it was\\nplayed upon and vibrated with her mother s disquietude. Whenever Pearl saw\\nanything to excite her ever-active and wandering curiosity, she flew thitherward,\\nand, as we might say, seized upon that man or thing as her own property, so far\\nas she desired it, but without yielding the minutest degree of control over her\\nmotions in requital. The Puritans looked on, and, if they smiled, were none the\\nless inclined to pronounce the child a demon offspring, from the indescribable\\ncharm of beauty and eccentricity that shone through her little figure, and sparkled\\nwith its activity. She ran and looked the wild Indian in the face, and he grew\\nconscious of a nature wilder than his own. Thence, with native audacity, but still\\nwith a reserve as characteristic, she flew into the midst of a group of mariners, the\\nswarthy-cheeked wild men of the ocean, as the Indians were of the land and\\nthey gazed wonderingly and admiringly at Pearl, as if a flake of the sea-foam had\\ntaken the shape of a little maid, and were gifted with a soul of the sea-fire, that\\nflashes beneath the prow in the night-time.\\nOne of these seafaring men the shipmaster, indeed, who had spoken to Hes-\\nter Prynne was so smitten with Pearl s aspect that he attempted to lay hands\\nupon her, with purpose to snatch a kiss. Finding it as impossible to touch her\\nas to catch a humming-bird in the air, he took from his hat the gold chain that\\nwas twisted about it, and threw it to the child. Pearl immediately twined it\\naround her neck and waist with such happy skill that, once seen there, it became\\na part of her, and it was difficult to imagine her without it.\\nThy mother is yonder woman with the scarlet letter, said the seaman.\\nilt thou carry a message from me?", "height": "3156", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\\n25;\\nIf the message pleases me I will, answered Pearl.\\nThen tell her, rejoined he, that I spake again with the black-a-visaged,\\nhump-shouldered old doctor, and he engages to bring his friend, the gentleman\\nshe wots of, aboard with him. So let thy mother take no thought, save for her-\\nself and thee. Wilt thou tell her this, thou witch-baby\\nMistress Hibbins says my father is the Prince of the Air! cried Pearl, with\\na naughty smile. If thou callest me that ill name I shall tell him of thee, and he\\nwill chase thy ship with a tempest\\nPursuing a zigzag course across the market-place, the child returned to her\\nHAWTHORNE S BIRTHPL.\\\\CE\\nmother, and communicated what the mariner had said. Hester s strong, calm,\\nsteadfastly enduring spirit almost sank at last on beholding this dark and grim\\ncountenance of an inevitable doom, which at the moment when a passage\\nseemed to open for the minister and herself out of their labyrinth of misery\\nshowed itself, with an unrelenting smile, right in the midst of their path.\\nWith her mind harassed by the terrible perplexity in which the shipmaster s\\nntelligence involved her, she was also subjected to another trial. There were", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "258 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nmany people present, from the country round about, who had often heard of the\\nscarlet letter, and to whom it had been made terrific by a hundred false or exag-\\ngerated rumors, but who had never beheld it with their own bodily eyes. These,\\nafter exhausting other modes of amusement, now thronged about Hester Prynne\\nwith rude and boorish intrusiveness. Unscrupulous as it was, however, it could\\nnot bring them nearer than a circuit of several yards. At that distance they ac-\\ncordingly stood, fixed there by centrifugal force of the repugnance which the\\nmystic symbol inspired. The whole gang of sailors, likewise, observing the press\\nof spectators, and learning the purport of the scarlet letter, came and thrust their\\nsunburnt and desperado-looking faces into the ring. Even the Indians were af-\\nfected by a sort of cold shadow of the white man s curiosity, and, gliding through\\nthe crowd, fastened their snake-like eyes on Hester s bosom, conceiving, per-\\nhaps, that the wearer of this brilliantly embroidered badge must needs be a per-\\nsonage of high dignity among her people. Lastly, the inhabitants of the town\\n(their own interest in this worn-out subject languidly reviving itself, by sympathy\\nwith what they saw others feel) lounged idly to the same quarter, and tormented\\nHester Prynne, perhaps more than all the rest, with their cool, well-acquainted\\ngaze at her familiar shame. Hester saw and recognized the self-same faces of\\nthat group of matrons, who had awaited her forthcoming from the prison-door,\\nseven years ago all save one. the youngest and only compassionate among them,\\nwhose burial robe she had since made. At the final hour, when she was so soon\\nto fling aside the burning letter, it had strangely become the centre of more re-\\nmark and excitement, and was thus made to sear her breast more painfully than\\nany time since the first day she put it on.\\nWhile Hester stood in that magic circle of ignominy, where the cunning\\ncruelty of her sentence seemed to have fixed her forever, the admirable preacher\\nwas looking down from the sacred pulpit upon an audience whose very inmost\\nspirits had yielded to his control. The sainted minister in the church The\\nwoman of the scarlet letter in the market-place What imagination would have\\nbeen irreverent enough to surmise that the same scorching stigma was on them\\nboth\\nsj; :p Jjc\\nThe eloquent voice, on which the souls of the listening audience had been\\nborne aloft as on the swelling waves of the sea, at length came to a pause. There\\nwas a momentary silence, profound as what should follow the utterance of oracles.\\nThen ensued a murmur and half-hushed tumult, as if the auditors, released from\\nthe high spell that had transported them into the region of another s mind, were\\nreturning into themselves, with all their awe and wonder still heavy on them. In\\na moment more the crowd began to gush forth from the doors of the church.\\nNow that there was an end, they needed other breath, more fit to support th e", "height": "3156", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 259\\ngross and earthly life into which they relapsed, than that atmosphere which the\\npreacher had converted into words of flame, and had burdened with the rich fra-\\ngrance of his thought.\\nIn the open air their rapture broke into speech. The street and the market-\\nplace absolutely babbled, from side to side, with applauses of the minister. His\\nhearers could not rest until they had told one another of what each knew better\\nthan he could tell or hear. According to their united testimony, never had man\\nspoken in so wise, so high and so holy a spirit as he that spake this day nor had\\ninspiration ever breathed through mortal lips more evidently than it did through\\nhis. Its influence could be seen, as it were, descending upon him, and possessing\\nhim, and continually lifting him out of the written discourse that lay before him,\\nand filling him with ideas that must have been as marvelous to himself as to his\\naudience. His subject, it appeared, had been the relation between the Deity\\nand the communities of mankind, with a special reference to the New England\\nwhich they were here planting in the wilderness. And, as he drew towards the\\nclose, a spirit as of prophecy had come upon him, constraining him to its purpose\\nas mightily as the old prophets of Israel were constrained, only with this differ-\\nence that, whereas the Jewish seers had denounced judgments and ruin on their\\ncountry, it was his mission to foretell a high and glorious destiny for the newly\\ngathered people of the Lord. But, throughout it all, and through the whole dis-\\ncourse, there had been a deep, sad undertone of pathos, which could not be inter-\\npreted otherwise than as the natural regret of one soon to pass away. Yes, their\\nminister whom they so loved and who so loved them all that he could not depart\\nheavenward without a sigh had the foreboding of untimely death upon him, and\\nwould soon leave them in their tears This idea of his transitory stay on earth\\ngave the last emphasis to the effect which the preacher had produced it was as if\\nan angel, in his passage to the skies, had shaken his bright wings over the people\\nfor an instant, and had shed down a shower of golden truths upon them.\\nThus, there had come to the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale as to most men,\\nin their various spheres, though seldom recognized until they see it far behind\\nthem an epoch of life more brilliant and full of triumph than any previous one,\\nor than any which could hereafter be. He stood, at this moment, on the very\\nproudest eminence of superiority, to which the gifts of intellect, rich lore, prevail-\\ning eloquence, and a reputation of whitest sanctity, could exalt a clergyman in\\nNew England s earliest days, when the professional character was of itself a lofty\\npedestal. Such was the. position which the minister occupied, as he bowed his\\nhead forward on the cushions of the pulpit, at the close of his Election Sermon.\\nMeanwhile Hester Prynne was standing beside the scafTold of the pillory, with the\\nscarlet letter still burning on her breast\\nNow was heard again the clangor of music, and the measured tramp of the", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "26o BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nmilitary escort, issuing from the church door. The procession was to be mar-\\nshalled thence to the town-hall, where a solemn banquet would complete the cere-\\nmonies of the day.\\nOnce more, therefore, the train of venerable and majestic fathers was seen\\nmoving through a broad pathway of the people, who drew back reverently, on\\neither side, as the Governor and magistrates, the old and wise men, the holy min-\\nisters, and all that were eminent and renowned advanced into the midst of them.\\nWhen they were fairly in the market-place, their presence was greeted by a shout.\\nThis though doubtless it might acquire additional force and volume from the\\nchildlike loyalty which the age rewarded to its rulers was felt to be an irrepress-\\nible outburst of enthusiasm kindled in the auditors by that high strain of elo-\\nquence which was yet reverberating in their ears. Each felt the impulse in him-\\nself and, in the same breath, caught it from his neighbor. Within the church it\\nhad hardly been kept down beneath the sky it peaied upward to the zenith.\\nThere were human beings enough, and enough of highly-wrought and symphoni-\\nous feeling, to produce that more impressive sound than the organ tones of the\\nblast, or the thunder, or the roar of the sea even that mighty swell of many\\nvoices, blended into one great voice by the universal impulse which makes like-\\nwise one vast heart out of the many. Never, from the soil of New England, had\\ngone up such a shout Never, on New England soil, had stood the man hon-\\nored by his mortal brethren as the preacher\\nHow fared it with him then Were there not the brilliant particles of a halo\\nin the air about his head? So etherealized by spirit as he Avas, and so apotheo-\\nsized by worshiping admirers, did his footsteps, in the procession, really tread\\nupon the dust of earth\\nAs the ranks of military men and civil fathers moved onward all eyes were\\nturned towards the point where the minister was seen to approach among them.\\nThe shout die-d into a murmur, as one portion of the crowd after another obtained\\na glimpse of him. How feeble and pale he looked, amid all his triumph The\\nenergy or say, rather, the inspiration which had held him up until he should\\nhave delivered the sacred message that brought its own strength along with it\\nfrom Heaven was withdrawn, now that it had so faithfully performed its office.\\nThe glow, which they had just before beheld burning on his cheek, was extin-\\nguished, like a flame that sinks down hopelessly among the late-decaying embers.\\nIt seemed hardly the face of a man alive, with such a deathlike hue it was hardly\\na man with life in him that tottered on his path so nervelessly, yet tottered, and\\ndid not fall.\\nOne of his clerical brethren it was the venerable John Wilson observing\\nthe state in which Mr. Dimmesdale was left by the retiring wave of intellect and\\nsensibility, stepped forward hastily to ofifer his support. The minister tremu-", "height": "3156", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\\n261\\nlously, but decidedly, repelled the old man s arm. He still walked onward, if that\\nmovement could be so described, which rather resembled the wavering effort of\\nan infant with its mother s arms in view, outstretched to tempt him forward.\\nAnd now, almost imperceptible as were the latter steps of his progress, he had\\ncome opposite the well-remembered and weather-darkened scaffold, where, long\\nsince, with all that dreary lapse of time between, Hester Prynne had encountered\\nthe world s ignominious stare. There stood Hester, holding little Pearl by the\\nhand And there was the scarlet letter on her breast The minister here made\\nTHE MANSK\\na pause, although the music still played the stately and rejoicing march to which\\nthe procession moved. It summoned him onward onward to the festival but\\nhere he made a pause.\\nBellingham for the last few moments had kept an anxious eye upon him.\\nHe now left his own place in the procession, and advanced to give assistance,\\njudging, from Mr. Dimmesdale s aspect, that he must otherwise inevitably fall.\\nBut there was something in the latter s expression that warned back the magis-\\ntrate, although a man not readily obeying the vague intimations that pass from", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "262 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\none spirit to another. The crowd, meanwhile, looked on with awe and wonder.\\nThis earthly faintness was, in their view, only another phase of the minister s\\ncelestial strength nor would it have seemed a miracle too high to be wrought\\nfor one so holy, had he ascended before their eyes, waxing dimmer and brighter,\\nand fading at last into the light of heaven.\\nHe turned towards the scafifold, and stretched forth his arms.\\nHester, said he, come hither! Come, my little Pearl!\\nIt was a ghastly look with which he regarded them but there was some-\\nthing at once tender and strangely triumphant in it. The child, with the bird-like\\nmotion which was one of her characteristics flew to him, and clasped her arms\\nabout his knees. Hester Prynne slowly, as if impelled by inevitable fate, and\\nagainst her strongest will, likewise drew near, but paused before she reached him.\\nAt this instant old Roger Chillingworth thrust himself through the crowd or,\\nperhaps, so dark, disturbed, and evil, was his look, he rose up out of some nether\\nregion to snatch back his victim from what he sought to do Be that as it\\nmight, the old man rushed forward and caught the minister by the arm.\\nMadman, hold! What is your purpose? whispered he. Wave back tliat\\nwoman Cast off this child I All shall be well Do not blacken your fame,\\nand perish in dishonor I I can yet save you Would you bring infamy on your\\nsacred profession?\\nHa, tempter! Methinks thou art too late! answered the minister, en-\\ncountering his eye, fearfully, but firmly. Thy power is not what it was With\\nGod s help, I shall escape thee now!\\nHe again extended his hand to the woman of the scarlet letter.\\nHester Prynne, cried he, with a piercing earnestness, in the name of Hmi,\\nso terrible and so merciful, who gives me grace at this last moment to do what,\\nfor my own heavy sin and miserable agony, I withheld myself from doing seven\\nyears ago come hither now and twine thy strength about me! Thy strength,\\nHester, but let it be guided by the will which God hath granted me This\\nwretched and wronged old man is opposing it with all his might! with all his\\nown might and the fiend s. Come, Hester, come Support me up yonder scaf-\\nfold\\nThe crowd was in a tumult. The men of rank and dignity, who stood more\\nimmediately around the clergyman, were so taken by surprise, and so perplexed\\nas to the purport of what they saw unable to receive the explanation which most\\nreadily presented itself, or to imagine any other that they remained silent and\\ninactive spectators of the judgment which Providence seemed about to work.\\nThey beheld the minister, leaning on Hester s shoulder, and supported by her\\narm around him, approach the scafifold, and ascend its steps, while still the little\\nhand of the sin-born child was clasped in his. Old Roger Chillingworth fol-", "height": "3156", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 263\\nlowed, as one intimately connected with the drama of guilt and sorrow in which\\nthey had all been actors, and well entitled, therefore, to be present at its closing\\nscene.\\n?Iadst thou sought the whole earth over, said he, looking darkly at the\\nclergyman, there was no place so secret, no high place nor lowly place, where\\nthou couldst have escaped me, save on this very scaffold\\nThanks be to Him who hath led me thither answered the minister.\\nYet he trembled and turned to Hester with an expression of doubt and anx-\\niety in his eyes, not the less evidently betrayed, that there was a feeble smile upon\\nhis lips.\\nIs not this better, murmured he, than what we dreamed of in the forest?\\nI know not! I know not! she hurriedly replied. Better? Yea; so we\\nmay both die, and little Pearl die with us\\nFor thee and Pearl, be it as God shall order, said the minister and God is\\nmerciful Let me now do the will which He hath made plain before my sight.\\nFor, Hester, I am a dying man. So let me make haste to take my shame upon\\nme\\nPartly supported by Hester Prynne, and holding one hand of little Pearl s,\\nthe Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale turned to the dignified and venerable rulers to the\\nholy ministers, who were his brethren to the people, whose great heart was\\nthoroughly appalled, yet overflowing with tearful sympathy, as knowing that\\nsome deep life-matter which, if full of sin, was full of anguish and repentance\\nlikewise was now to be laid open to them. The sun, but little past its meridian,\\nshone down upon the clergyman, and gave a distinctness to his figure, as he stood\\nout from all the earth, to put in his plea of guilty at the bar of Eternal Justice.\\nPeople of New England! cried he, with a voice that rose over them, high,\\nsolemn and majestic, yet had always a tremor through it, and sometimes a shriek,\\nstruggling up out of a fathomless depth of remorse and woe, ye that have loved\\nme ye that have deemed me holy behold me here the one sinner of the world\\nAt last! at last! I stand upon the spot where, seven years since, I should have\\nstood here, with this woman, whose arm, more than the little strength where-\\nwith I have crept hitherward, sustains me, at this dreadful moment, from grovel-\\nling down upon my face Lo, the scarlet letter which Hester wears Ye have\\nall shuddered at it Wherever her walk hath been wherever, so miserably bur-\\ndened, she may have hoped to find repose it hath cast a lurid gleam of awe and\\nhorrible repugnance round about her. But there stood one in the midst of you,\\nat whose brand of sin and infamy ye have not shuddered\\nIt seemed at this point as if the minister must leave the remainder of his\\nsecret undisclosed, but he fought back the bodily weakness, and, still more, the\\nfaintness of heart that was striving for the mastery with him. He threw off all", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "264 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nassistance, and stepped passionately forward a pace before the woman and the\\nchild.\\nIt was on him he continued, with a kind of fierceness, so determined was\\nhe to speak out the whole. God s eye beheld it The angels were forever\\npointing at it The devil knew it well, and fretted it continually with the touch\\nof his burning finger But he hid it cunningly from men, and walked among you\\nwith the mien of a spirit mournful, because so pure in a sinful world and sad,\\nbecause he missed his heavenly kindred Now, at the death-hour, he stands up\\nbefore you He bids you look again at Hester s scarlet letter He tells you\\nthat, with all its mysterious horror, it is but the shadow of what he bears on his\\nown breast, and that even this, his own red stigma, is no more than the type of\\nwhat has seared his inmost heart Stand any here that question God s judgment\\non a sinner? Behold Behold a dreadful witness of it\\nith a convulsive motion, he tore away the ministerial band from before his\\nbreast. It was revealed But it were irreverent to describe that revelation.\\nFor an instant the gaze of the horror-stricken multitude was concentred on the\\nghastly miracle, while the minister stood, with a flush of triumph in his face, as\\none who, in the crisis of acutest pain, had won a victory. Then, down he sank\\nupon the scaffold. Hester partly raised him, and supported his head against her\\nIjosom. Old Roger Chillingworth knelt down beside him. with a blank, dull\\ncountenance, out of which the life seemed to have departed.\\nThou hast escaped me he repeated more than once. Thou hast es-\\ncaped me\\nMay God forgive thee said the minister. Thou, too. hast deeply sinned\\nHe withdrew his dying eyes from the old man, and fixed them on the woman\\nand the child.\\n^ly little Pearl, said he. feebly, and there was a sweet and gentle smile over\\nliis face, as of a spirit sinking into deep repose; nay, now that the burden was re-\\nmoved, it seemed almost as if he would be sportive with the child, dear little\\nPearl, wilt thou kiss me now? Thou wouldst not, yonder, in the forest, but now\\nthou wilt\\nPearl kissed his lips. A spell was broken. The great scene of grief, in\\nwhich the wild infant bore a part, had developed all her sympathies and as her\\ntears fell upon her father s cheek, they were the pledge that she would grow up\\namid human joy and sorrow, nor forever do battle with the world, but be a woman\\nin it. Towards her mother, too. Pearl s errand as a messenger of anguish was all\\nfulfilled.\\nHester, said the clergyman, farewell!\\nShall we not meet again? whispered she, bending her face close to his.\\nShall we not spend our immortal life together? Surely, surely, we have ran-", "height": "3156", "width": "2135", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE\\n265\\nsomed one another, with all this woe Thou lookest far into eternity, with those\\nbright dying eyes! Then tell me what thou seest.\\nHush, Hester, hush said he, with tremulous solemnity. The law we\\ni)roke the sin here so awfully revealed! Let these alone be in thy thoughts! I\\nfear I fear It may be that, when we forgot our God, when we violated our\\nreverence each for the other s soul, it was thenceforth vain to hope that we could\\nmeet hereafter in an everlasting and pure reunion. God knows, and He is merci-\\nful He hath proved His mercy, most of all, in my afflictions. By giving me\\nthis burning torture to bear upon my breast By sending yonder dark and ter-\\nrible old man, to keep the torture always at red-heat By bringing me hither, to\\n(lie this death of triumphant ignominy before the people Had either of these\\nagonies been wanting I had been lost forever Praised be His name His will\\nbe done Farewell\\nThat final word came forth with the minister s expiring breath. The multi-\\ntude, silent till then, broke out in a strange, deep voice of awe and wonder, which\\ncould not as yet find utterance, save in this murmur that rolled so heavily after\\nthe departed spirit.", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "F. HOPKLXSON S^HITH", "height": "3156", "width": "2135", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAX LITERATURE 267\\nA BOARD FENCE LOSES A PLANK\\nBEING CHAPTER II. FROM TOM GROGAN\\nBY F. HOPKINSON SMITH\\n(Born at Baltimore, Md., October 23, 1S3S)\\nHE work on the sea-wall progressed. The coffer-dam which had been\\nbuilt by driving- into the mud of the bottom a double row of heavy\\ntongued and grooved planking in two parallel rows, bulk-heading\\neach one, had been filled with concrete to low-water mark, absorbing\\nnot only the contents of the delayed scow, but two subsequent cargoes,\\nboth of which had been unloaded by Tom Grogan.\\nTo keep out the leakage, steam-pumps were kept going night and day.\\nBy dint of hard work the upper masonry of the wall had been laid to the top\\ncourse, ready for the coping-stone, and there was now every prospect that the last\\nstone would be lowered into place before the winter storms set in.\\nThe shanty a temporary structure, good only for the life of the work\\nrested on a set of stringers laid on extra piles driven outside of the working-plat-\\nform. \\\\Mien the sub-marine work lies miles from shore, a shanty is the only\\nshelter for the men. its interior being fitted up with sleeping-bunks, with one end\\npartitioned off for a kitchen and a storage-room. This is filled with extra blocks,\\n^Manila rope, portable forges, tools, shovels, barrows all perishable property.\\nFor this present sea-wall an amphibious sort of structure, with one foot on\\nland and the other in the water the shanty was of light pine boards, roofed over,\\nand made water-tight by tarred paper. The bunks had been omitted, for most of\\nthe men boarded in the village. This gave increased space for the storage of\\ntools, besides room for a desk containing the Government working-drawings and\\nspecifications, pay-rolls, etc. In addition to its door, fastened at night with a\\npadlock, and its one glass window, secured by a tenpenny nail, it had a flap win-\\ndow, hinged at the bottom. When this was propped up with a barrel stave it\\nmade a counter from which to pay the men. the paymaster standing inside.\\nBabcock was sitting on a keg of dock spikes inside this working shanty some\\ndays after he had discovered Tom s identity, watching his bookkeeper preparing\\nthe pay-roll, when a face was thrust through the square of the window. It was\\nnot a prepossessing face, rather pudgy and sleek, with uncertain, drooping mouth,\\nand eyes that always looked over one s head when he talked. It was the prop-\\nerty of Mr. Peter Lathers, the yardmaster of the depot.\\nBy permission of Houghton, Mifflin Co., Publishers, Boston.", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "268 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nWhen vou re done payin off maybe you ll step outside, sir, he said, in a\\nconfiding tone. I got a friend of mine who wants to know you. He s a steve-\\ndore, and does the work to the fort. He s never done nothin for you. but I told\\nhim next time you come down I d fetch him over. Say. Dan, beckoning with\\nhis head over his shoulder; then, turning to Babcock. I make you acquainted,\\nsir, with Mr. Daniel McGaw.\\nTwo faces now filled the window Lather s and that of a red-headed man in\\na straw hat.\\nAH right. I ll attend to you in a moment. Glad to see you. Mr. McGaw,\\nsaid Babcock, rising from the keg and looking out over his bookkeeper s\\nshoulder.\\nLather s friend proved to be a short, big-boned, square-shouldered Irish-\\nman, about forty years of age, dressed in a once black broadcloth suit wuth frayed\\nbuttonholes, the lapels and vest covered with grease spots. xAround his collar,\\nwhich had done service for several days, was twisted a red tie decorated with a\\nglass pin. His face was spattered with blue powder marks, as if from some\\n(|uarry explosion. A lump of a mustache dyed dark brown concealed his upper\\nlip, making all the more conspicuous the bushy, sandy-colored eyebrows that\\nshaded a pair of treacherous eyes. His mouth was coarse and filled with teeth\\nhalf worn off, like those of an old horse. When he smiled these opened slowly\\nlike a vise. Whatever of humor played about this opening lost its life instantly\\nwhen these jaws clicked together again.\\nThe hands were big and strong, wrinkled and seamed, their rough backs\\nspotted like a toad s, the wrist covered with long spidery hairs.\\nBabcock noticed particularly his low, flat forehead when he removed his hat,\\nand the dry, red hair growing close to the eyebrows.\\nI wuz a-sp akin to me fri nd Mishter Lathers about doin yer wurruk. be-\\ngan McGaw, resting one foot on a pile of barrow-planks, his elbow on his knee.\\nI does all the haulin to the foort. Surgint Dufify knows me. I wuz along here\\nlas week, an see ye wuz put back fer stone. If I d had the job. I d had her un-\\nloaded two days befoore.\\nYou re dead right. Dan. said Lathers, with an expression of disgust,\\nThis woman business aint no good, nohow. She ought to be over her tubs.\\nShe does her work, though, Babcock said, beginning to see the drift of\\nthings.\\nOh. I don t be sayin she don t. She s a dacent woman anough but thim\\nb ys as is a-runnin her carts is raisin all the toime.\\nAnd then look at the teams. chimed in Lathers, with a jerk of his thumb\\ntoward the dock a lot of staggerin horse-car wrecks you couldn t sell to a glue", "height": "3156", "width": "2135", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "F. HOPKINSON SMITH 269\\nfactory. That big gray she had a-hoistin is bhnd of an eye and sprung so forrard\\nhe can t hardly stand.\\nAt this moment the refrain of a song from somewhere near the board fence\\ncame wafting through the air\\nAn he wiped up the floor wid AIcGeechy.\\njMcGaw turned his head in search of the singer.\\nWhat are your rates per ton? asked Babcock.\\nWe re a-chargin forty cints/ said McGaw, deferring to Lathers, as if for\\nconfirmation.\\nWho s we\\nThe Stevedores Union.\\nBut Airs. Grogan is doing it for thirty, said Babcock, looking straight\\ninto AIcGaw s eyes, and speaking slowly and deliberately.\\nYis, I beared she wuz a-cuttin rates but she can t live at it. If I does it,\\nit ll be done roight, an no throuble.\\nI ll think it over, said Babcock, quietly, turning on his heel. The mean-\\nness of the whole afifair offended him two big, strong men fighting a woman\\nwith no protector but her two hands. AIcGaw should never lift a shovel for him.\\nAgain the song floated out this time it seemed nearer\\nwid AIcGeechy\\nAIcGeechy of the Fourth.\\nDan AIcGaw s givin it to you straight, said Lathers, stopping for a last\\nword, his face thrust through the window again. He s rigged for this business,\\nand Grogan aint in it with him. If she wants her work done right, she ought to\\nsend down something with a mustache.\\nHere the song subsided in a prolonged chuckle. AlcGaw turned, and\\ncaught sight of a boy s head a mop of black hair thrust through a crownless hat\\nleaning over a cement barrel. Lathers turned, too, and instantly lowered his\\nvoice. The head ducked out of sight. In the flash glance Babcock caught of\\nthe face he recognized the boy Cully, driver of the big gray. It was evident to\\nBabcock that Cully at diat moment was bubbling over with fun. Indeed, this\\nwaif of the streets, sometimes called James Finnegan, was seldom known to be\\notherwise.\\nThet s the wurrst rat in the stables, said McGaw, his face reddening with\\nanger. What kin ye do whin ye re a-buckin ag in a lot uv divils loike him\\nspeaking through the window to Babcock. Come out uv thet, he called to\\nCully, or I ll bu st yer jaw, ye sneakin rat.", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "2JO BEST THINGS FROAI AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nCully came out. but not in obedience to ]McGa\\\\Y or Lathers. Indeed, he\\npaid no more attention to either of those distinguished diplomats than if they had\\nbeen two cement barrels standing on end. His face, too, had lost its irradiating\\nsmile not a wrinkle or a pucker ruffled its calm surface. His clay-soiled hat was\\nin his hand a very dirty hand, by the way, with the torn cuff of his shirt hanging\\nloosely over it. His trousers bagged all over knees, seat and waist. On his\\nstockingless feet were a pair of sun-baked, brick-colored shoes. His ankles were\\nas dark as mahogany. His throat and chest were bare, the skin being tanned to\\nleather wherever the sun could work its way through the holes in his garments.\\nFrom out of this combination of dust and rags shone a pair of piercing black eyes,\\nsnapping with fun.\\nI come up fer de mont s pay, he said coolly to Babcock, the corner of his\\neye glued to Lathers. De ole woman said ye d hev it ready.\\nMrs. Grogan s? asked the bookkeeper, shuffling over his envelopes.\\nYep. Tom Grogan.\\nCan you sign the pay-roll?\\nYou bet, with an eye still out for Lathers. It was this flea-like alertness\\nthat always saved Mr. Finnegan s scalp.\\nWhere did you learn to write at school? asked Babcock, noting the boy s\\nfearless independence with undisguised pleasure.\\nNaw. Patsy an me studies nights. Pop MulHns teaches us he s de ole\\nwoman s farder what she brung out from Ireland. He s a-livin up ter de she-\\nbang dey re all livin dere Jinnie an de ole woman an Patsy all cept me an\\nCarl. I bunks in wid de big gray. Say, mister, ye d oughter git outer Patsy\\nhe s the little kid wid de crutch. He s a corker, he is reads po try an everythin\\nAMiere ll I sign Oh. yes, I see in dis ere square hole right alongside de ole\\nwoman s name, spreading his elbows, pen in hand, and affixing James Finne-\\ngan to the collection of autographs. The next moment he was running along\\nthe dock, the money envelope tight in his hand, sticking out his tongue at Mc-\\nGaw, and calling to Lathers as he disappeared through the door in the fence\\nSomp n wid a mus-tache, somp n wid a mus-tache, like a newsboy calling an\\nextra. Then a stone grazed Lathers ear.\\nLathers sprang through the gate, but the boy was halfway through the yard.\\nOnce out of Lathers reach. Cully bounded up the road like a careering letter\\nX. with arms and legs in the air. If there was any one thing that delighted the\\nboy s soul, it was. to quote from his own picturesque vocabulary, to set up a job\\non de ole woman. Here was his chance. Before he reached the stable he had\\nplanned the whole scene, even to the exact intonation of Lathers voice when he\\nreferred to the dearth of mustaches in the Grogan household. Within a few min-\\nutes of his arrival the details of the whole occurrence, word for word, with such", "height": "3156", "width": "2135", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "F. HOPKINSON SMITH\\n271\\npicturesque additions as his own fertile imagination could invent, were common\\ntalk about the yard.\\nMeanwhile Lathers had been called upon to direct a gang of laborers who\\nwere moving an enormous iron buoy-float down the cinder-covered path to the\\ndock. Two of the men walked beside the buoy, steadying it with their hands.\\nLathers was leaning against the board fence of the shop whittling a stick, while\\nthe others worked.\\nSuddenly there was an angry cry, and every man stood still. So did the\\nbuoy and the moving truck.\\nWhere s the yardmaster where s Pete Lathers?\\nIt was Tom Grogan s voice. The next instant she broke through the crowd,\\nbrushing the men out of her way, and came straight toward him, head up, eyes\\nblazing, her silk hood pushed back from her face, as if to give her air, her gray\\nulster open to her waist, her right hand bare of a glove.\\nPete Lathers, she said, stopping in front of him, why do ye want to be\\ntakin the bread out of me children s mouths?\\nLathers pulled himself together, the stick dropping from his hand: Well,\\nwho said I did What have I got to do with your\\nYou ve got enough to do with em to want em to starve you and your\\nfriend McGaw. Have I ever hurt ye that ye should try an sneak me business\\naway from me? Ye know the fight I ve made, standin out on this dock many a\\nday an night in the cold an wet, with nobody between Tom s children an the\\nstreet but these two hands, an yet ye d slink in like a dog to get me\\nHere, now, I ain t a-goin to have no row. It s against orders, an I ll call\\nthe yard-watch and throw you out if you make any fuss.\\nThe yard-watch, with a look of supreme contempt, crowding him so closely\\nthat Lathers hugged the fence out of reach of her fist. I can handle any two of\\nem, an you, too, an ye know it.\\nBy this time the gang had abandoned the buoy and were standing aghast,\\nwatching the fury of the Amazon.\\nWhen ye were out of a job yerself, an discharged, didn t Tom go^to the\\nfort and get ye on the pay-roll ag in, when\\nWell, who said he didn t Now, see here, don t make a muss the com-\\nmandant 11 be down here in a minute. Lathers tone was changing.\\nLet him come; he s the one I want to see. If he knew he had a man in\\nhis pay that would do as dirty a trick to a woman as ye ve done, his name would\\nbe Dinnis. I ll see him meself this very day, and\\nHere Lathers interrupted with an angry gesture.\\nDon t ye lift yer arm at me, she blazed out, or I ll break it at the wrist\\nLathers hand dropped. All the color was out of his face, his lip quivering.", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "z /2 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nWhoever said I said a word against you, Mrs. Grogan, is a liar. It\\nwas the last resort of a cowardly nature.\\nDon t ye lie to me, Pete Lathers If there s anythin in this world I hate,\\nit s a liar. Ye said it, and ye know ye said it. Ye want that drunken loafer,\\nDan McGaw, to get me work. Ye ve been at it all Summer, an ye think I\\nhaven t watched ye but I have. And ye say I don t pay full wages, and have got\\na lot of boys to do men s work, an oughter be over me tubs. Now let me tell\\nye she faced him squarely, with her fists clenched Lathers shrank back against\\nthe fence if ever I hear ye openin yer head about me, or me teams, or me\\nwork, I ll make ye swallow every tooth in yer head. Send down somethin with\\na mustache, will I There s not a man in the yard that s a match for me, an ye\\nknow it. Try that!\\nThere was a quick blow, a crash of breaking timber, and a flood of dayliglit\\nl^roke in behind Lathers. With one blow of her fist she had knocked the fence\\nl)lank close beside his head clear of its fastenings.\\nNow, the next time I come, Pete Lathers, I ll miss the fence and take yer\\nface, and don t ye forgit it\\nThen she turned and stalked out of the yard, the men falling back in silence\\nto let her pass.", "height": "3156", "width": "2135", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 273\\nDOUBLE HEAD AND SINGLE HEART\\nBY ELISABETH PULLEN\\n(Born at Portland, Me.\\nSHADOW fell across the page that the local editor was writing. He\\nlooked up. A man stood at the other side of the desk a man with\\nlively eyes, a reddish mustache, his hat set a little backward, and his\\nhands in his pockets.\\nGood-day, sir, said the intruder. T have been in the counting-\\nroom to see about an ad. And now here I am, to ask if you want\\na story.\\nEditors are always in want of a story, provided that it be a good one and\\ninside of a couple of thousand words or, if it was the autobiography of Napoleon,\\nwith his views about Trilby, we couldn t take it to-day.\\nThe visitor nodded to show that he understood the pressure of the columns.\\nIt is a remarkable case, sir. Likely to attract the attention of scientists and\\nequally of the great North American public. But I rather think that I can give\\nit to you inside of two thousand words. You may take it down as I tell it, and\\nblue-pencil it later. See?\\nWell, sir, I will introduce myself. Raymond Dooley, advance agent of\\nPurington s Aggregation of Talent. Will show here next Monday. Admission,\\nten cents children, half price. A good, clean show, sir, and one to make the hair\\ncurl with wonder at the Works of Nature and of the Human Mind. We are en-\\ngaged with a circus in the Summer in the Winter we travel, rent a vacant shop\\nfor a few days, then move on. We hope to stay some time in your beautiful city.\\nOur Aggregation, sir, at present, consists of the Fat Lady, who should be men-\\ntioned first on account of her admirable qualities, and who acts like an own\\nmother to our two sweet young ladies, the Circassian Girl and the Snake Queen.\\nWe also have among us the Living Skeleton, the Sword Swallower, and the Two-\\nHeaded Man all of them perfect gentlemen. My story is about the Two-\\nHeaded Man. His name is Daniel Nathaniel Briggs. His right-hand head was\\nbaptized Daniel and his left-hand head Nathaniel. For some years, while he was\\na boy, his peculiarity did not trouble him much. He could eat two pieces of pie\\nat once and at school, while one head was reciting the other could peep at the\\nbook and prompt him. Then he could study two lessons together, say mental\\narithmetic and spelling, and save time to play marbles. And if he could not", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "274 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nfind another boy to play with him his right head would play against his left.\\nThere were ever so many ways that he could see wherein his blessings lay, until\\nhe left home and joined the Aggregation.\\nThen it was that he found two heads are an over-supply for one heart be-\\ncause Daniel fell in love with the Circassian Girl, while Nathaniel was charmed\\nwith the Snake Queen. His place in the show was between the two, so that\\nwhichever way he looked, or both ways, there was the idol of his heart. Daniel\\npreferred a blonde, and our Circassian is the prettiest albino that you ever saw;\\neyes pink as a rabbit s, and lovely white hair that stands out a yard from her head\\nin a circle. And she has a beautiful disposition sits there selling her photo-\\ngraphs and telling fortunes all day long, like a lamb. But Nathaniel preferred a\\nbrunette and our Snake Queen is that, and a beauty. Fine figure, black braids\\ndown to her waist, little hands that play with those snakes as if they were no more\\nthan pond-lily stems and there is not a snake in the bunch that can move swifter\\nor more flexibly than that girl. Disposition lively, but you have to have de-\\ncision of character to handle snakes.\\nAt first poor Briggs did not know what was the matter with him. He said\\nthat he felt queer in the chest, as if his heart was being pulled two ways, and a\\nstiffness in his neck. The Fat Woman thought that he had taken cold and ad-\\nvised him to drink hot lemonade and put a mustard plaster on his chest. That\\ndid him no good. Then he found that when Daniel and Nathaniel both looked at\\nthe same young lady, he felt better in the chest, but one head or the other would\\nache. Finally, he narrowed it down to facts he had two heads, each in love with\\na charming and respectable young lady and only one heart. And the heart was\\ngetting strained. Then he began to pay marked attention to the girls, hoping\\nthat he should find that he cared more for one of them than for the other, or that\\none would have him and the other would not. In which case the matter would\\nsettle itself. But the young ladies, being such, and very refined, were both as\\nnice as could be to him, so that he could not make up his mind.\\nAlso, to let you see what elegant people ours are, Daniel and Nathaniel\\nwere kind enough to agree among themselves that whichever of the two was en-\\ngaged in courting, the other would shut his eyes and go to sleep in order not to\\nintrude. But one day when Nathaniel was dozing and Daniel was talking to the\\nCircassian Girl, Dan says: Excuse me a moment, Light of the Orient, while I\\nspeak a word to Nat, though I know that it is bad manners to whisper in com-\\npany. So he stirred Nathaniel up with the news that the Sword Swallower was\\nflirting with the Snake Queen. Another time Nat warned Dan that the Living\\nSkeleton was snipping ofif a lock of the Circassian Girl s hair. So they had to\\nkeep awake to look out for rivals. And Briggs s chest felt so badly that he feared\\nthat he should be obliged to give up work and go to the hospital.", "height": "3156", "width": "2135", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "ELISABETH PULLEN 275\\nThen the manager talked it all over with the Fat Woman, and the motherly\\nold soul advised him to change the places of the young ladies, putting the Snake\\nQueen next to Daniel and the Circassian Girl at the side of Nathaniel. But poor\\nBiiggs got his necks so twisted around each other trying to look at their girls\\nthat the Snake Queen herself had to come to straighten him out. And the Na-\\nthaniel head smiled until it looked fairly silly, while the Daniel head muttered,\\nOh, get out The Sword Swallower inquired what Mr. Briggs meant by such\\nlanguage to a lady, saying that he could swallow eighteen inches of cold steel, but\\nno cold insolence. Briggs said that what he meant was, get out his neck straight\\nand the Sword Swallower was obliged to accept the apology, because heated dis-\\ncussions are against the rules in our Aggregation. You may call our people\\nfieaks, or you may call them artists, but they are perfect ladies and gentlemen\\nevery time. And don t you blue-pencil that.\\nOne day Daniel and Nathaniel tried to talk the matter out between himself.\\nDan proposed that Nat should cease his attentions to the Serpent Queen and\\nturn his thoughts instead to the Circassian Girl. To which Nat objected that\\nDan would be jealous, and Dan allowed that it would be so. Then Nat suggested\\nthat they should ofifer the hand and name of Mr. Briggs, each to his particular\\nidol of their common heart but Dan pointed out that it would be awkward if\\nboth were accepted. Nat could only say that he wished that there were a Solo-\\nmon in our Aggregation, for his great judgment act in the case of the baby with\\ntwo mothers was only a dress rehearsal to what he might do with this difficulty.\\nDan said that the Fat Woman was a real Solomon in petticoats, and he, for his\\npart, was willing to let her umpire this game. Nat agreed, and they went and\\nput it to her.\\nWhat does she say? Says she: Mr. Briggs, I don t think that you are\\nexactly suited to matrimonial life, because you have too much head for your\\nheart and domestic felicity calls for the opposite make-up. Two heads, the say-\\ning is, are better than one and with a double brain like yours, Mr. Briggs, you\\nwould much better choose fame instead of happiness. Moreover, whichever\\nyoung lady you might marry, either Daniel or Nathaniel is bound to be dissatis-\\nfied all the time, and both of them some of the time. I should advise you to culti-\\nvate your intellects, Mr. Briggs.\\nWhich he did, because that very day the Sword Swallower told him that the\\nSnake Queen had promised to be Mrs. S. S., and the next day the Living Skel-\\neton invited Mr. Briggs to be best man at his wedding with the Circassian Girl.\\nThe marriages came ofif, and you would not wish to see more happy and united\\ncouples. And the same applies to Mr. Briggs s two heads. He, sir, following the\\nfurther advice of the Fat Woman, has studied to be a Lightning Calculator. In\\nwhich he succeeded and got his salary doubled. A salary, as you may say, per", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "2^6\\nBEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nhead. Having two mouths, he is able to eat, and now can pay for double meals.\\nVlx. Briggs, sir, is growing very stout. But the Fat Woman says that she does\\nnot fear a rival, because nobody would care to look at a man freak in that line.\\nIt is because the public does not expect lovely woman to weigh over 350 pounds\\nthat she is so popular.\\nIf you will accept these tickets, sir, and bring your good lady and family to\\nsee our Aggregation, or, if you are not a family man, escort the object of your\\nfondest hopes, I shall be pleased to make you acquainted with our artists, and es-\\npecially with Mr. Briggs.\\nThen the editor spoke: Pardon me, Mr. Dooley, but the story sounds im-\\nprobable.\\nIt is not improbable, sir, retorted the Advance Agent. It is simply im-\\npossible. It is, in short, a lie. I made it all up myself for advertising purposes.\\nBut I think that your readers will be interested in it, if you will print it, and I\\nshall be glad, sir, to set up the beer.\\n^:i^,^^^^^^", "height": "3156", "width": "2135", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 277\\nTHE WRECK OF THE ARIEL\\nBY JAMES FENIMORE COOPER\\n(Born at Burlington, N. J., Sept. 15, 1789; died at Cooperstown, N. Y., Sept. 14, 1851)\\n0, my boys, go! said Barnstable, as the moment of dreadful uncertainty\\npassed you have still the whaleboat and she, at least, will take you\\nnigh the shore. Go into her, my boys God bless you, God bless you\\nall You have been faithful and honest fellows and I believe He will\\nnot yet desert you. Go, my friends, while there is a lull\\nThe seamen threw themselves in a mass of human bodies into the\\nlight vessel, which nearly sunk under the unusual burden but, when they looked\\naround them, Barnstable and Merry, Dillon and the cockswain, were yet to be seen\\non the decks of The Ariel. The former was pacing, in deep and perhaps bitter\\nmelancholy, the wet planks of the schooner; while the boy hung unheeded on\\nhis arm, uttering disregarded petitions to his commander to desert the wreck.\\nDillon approached the side where the boat lay, again and again but the threat-\\nening countenances of the seamen as often drove him back in despair. Tom had\\nseated himself on the heel of the bowsprit, where he continued in an attitude of\\nquiet resignation, returning no answers to the loud and repeated calls of his ship-\\nmates than by waving his hand towards the shore.\\nNow, hear me, said the boy, urging his request to tears if not for my\\nsake or for your own sake, Mr. Barnstable, or for the hopes of God s mercy, go\\ninto the boat for the love of my cousin Katherine.\\nThe young lieutenant paused in his troubled walk and for a moment he cast\\na glance of hesitation at the difis but at the next instant his eyes fell on the ruin\\nof his vessel and he answered\\nNever, boy, never If my hour has come, I will not shrink from my fate.\\nListen to the men, dear sir; the boat will be swamped alongside the wreck;\\nand their cry is. that, without you, they will not let her go.\\nBarnstable motioned to the boat to bid the boy enter it, and turned away in\\nsilence.\\nWell, said Merry, with firmness, if it be right that a lieutenant shall stay\\nby the wreck, it must be right for a midshipman. Shove ofif neither Mr. Barn-\\nstable nor myself will quit the vessel.\\nBoy, your life has been intrusted to my keeping, and at my hands will it be\\nrequired, said his commander, lifting the struggling youth, and tossing him into", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "JAMES FENIMORE COOPER\\n278", "height": "3156", "width": "2135", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 279\\nthe arms of the seamen. Away with ye and God be with you There is more\\nweight in you now than can go safe to land.\\nStill the seamen hesitated for they perceived the cockswain moving with a\\nsteady tread along the deck and they hoped he had relented, and would yet per-\\nsuade the lieutenant to join his crew. But Tom, imitating the example of his\\ncommander, seized the latter suddenly in his powerful grasp, and threw him over\\nthe bulwarks with an irresistible force. At the same moment, he cast the fast of\\nthe boat from the pin that held it and, lifting his broad hands high into the air,\\nhis voice was heard in the tempest.\\nGod s will be done with me! he cried. I saw the first timber of The\\nAriel laid, and shall live just long enough to see it turn out of her bottom after\\nwhich I wish to live no longer.\\nBut his shipmates were swept far beyond the sounds of his voice before\\nhalf these words were uttered. All command of the boat was rendered impos-\\nsible by the numbers it contained, as well as the raging of the surf and, as it rose\\non the white crest of a wave, Tom saw his beloved little craft for the last time.\\nIt fell into a trough of the sea in a few moments more its fragments were ground\\ninto splinters on the adjacent rocks. The cockswain still remained where he had\\ncast off the rope, and beheld the numerous heads and arms that appeared rising\\nat short intervals on the waves some making powerful and well-directed efforts\\nto gain the sands, that were becoming visible as the tide fell and others wildly\\ntossed in the frantic movements of helpless despair. The honest old seaman gave\\na cry of joy as he saw Barnstable issue from the surf, bearing the form of Merry\\nin safety to the sands, where, one by one, several seamen soon appeared also,\\ndripping and exhausted. Many others of the crew were carried in a similar man-\\nner to places of safety though, as Tom returned to his seat on the bowsprit, he\\ncould not conceal from his reluctant eyes the lifeless forms that were, in other\\nspots, driven against the rocks with a fury that soon left them but few of the out-\\nward vestiges of humanity.\\nDillon and the cockswain were now the sole occupants of their dreadful sta-\\ntion. The former stood in a kind of stupid despair, a witness of the scene we\\nhave related but, as his curdled blood began again to flow more warmly through\\nhis heart, he crept close to the side of Tom with that sort of selfish feeling that\\nmakes even hopeless misery more tolerable when endured in participation with\\nanother.\\nWhen the tide falls, he said, in a voice that betrayed the agony of fear,\\nthough his words expressed the renewal of hope, we shall be able to walk to\\nland.\\nThere was One, and only One, to whose feet the waters were the same as a\\ndry dock, returned the cockswain and none but such as have this power will", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "28o BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\never be able to walk from these rocks to the sands. The old seaman paused\\nand turning his eyes, which exhibited a mingled expression of disgust and com-\\npassion, on his companion, he added with reverence Had you thought more\\nof Him in fair weather, your case would be less to be pitied in this tempest.\\nDo you still think there is much danger? asked Dillon.\\nTo them that have reason to fear death. Listen Do you hear that hol-\\nlow noise beneath ye?\\nTis the wind driving by the vessel.\\nTis the poor thing herself, said the afifected cockswain, giving her last\\ngroans. The water is breaking up her decks and, in a few minutes more, the\\nhandsomest model that ever cut a wave will be like the chips that fell from her\\ntimbers in framing.\\nWhy, then, did you remain here? cried Dillon, wildly.\\nTo die in my coffin, if it should be the will of God, returned Tom. These\\nwaves to me are what the land is to you I was born on them, and I have always\\nmeant that they should be my grave.\\nBut I I, shrieked Dillon I am not ready to die I can not die I will\\nnot die\\nPoor wretch muttered his companion. You must go, like the rest of us.\\nWhen the death-watch is called, none can skulk from the muster.\\nI can swim, Dillon continued, rushing with frantic eagerness to the side\\nof the wreck. Is there no billet of wood, no rope, that I can take with me?\\nNone; every thing has been cut away, or carried ofif by the sea. If ye are\\nabout to strive for your life, take with ye a stout heart and a clear conscience, and\\ntrust the rest to God.\\nGod echoed Dillon in the madness of his frenzy I know no God There\\nis no God that knows me\\nPeace said the deep tones of the cockswain in a voice that seemed to\\nspeak in the elements blasphemer, peace\\nThe heavy groaning produced by the water in the timbers of The Ariel at\\nthat moment added its impulse to the raging feelings of Dillon and he cast him-\\nself headlong into the sea.\\nThe water thrown by the rolling of the surf on the beach was necessarily re-\\nturned to the ocean in eddies, in different places favorable to such an action of the\\nelement. Into the edge of one of these counter-currents, that was produced by\\nthe very rocks on which the schooner lay, and which the watermen call the un-\\nder-tow, Dillon had, unknowingly, thrown his person and, when the waves had\\ndriven him a short distance from the wreck, he was met by a stream that his most\\ndesperate efforts could not overcome. He was a light and powerful swimmer;\\nand the struggle was hard and protracted. With the shore immediately before", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "JAMES FENIMORE COOPER 281\\nhis eyes, and at no great distance, he was led, as by a false phantom, to continue\\nhis efforts, although they did not advance him a foot. The old seaman, who at\\nfirst had watched his motions with careless indifference, understood the danger\\nof his situation at a glance* and, forgetful of his own fate, he shouted aloud, in a\\nvoice that was driven over the struggling victim to the ears of his shipmates on\\nthe sands\\nSheer to port, and clear the under-tow sheer to the southward\\nDillon heard the sounds but his faculties were too much obscured by terror\\nto distinguish their object he, however, blindly yielded to the call, and gradually\\nchanged his direction, until his face was once more turned toward the vessel.\\nThe current swept him diagonally by the rocks and he was forced into an eddy,\\nwhere he had nothing to contend against but the waves, whose violence was much\\nbroken by the wreck. In this state he continued still to struggle, but with a force\\nthat was too much weakened to overcome the resistance he met. Tom looked\\naround him for a rope but not one presented itself to his hands all had gone\\nover with the spars, or been swept away by the waves. At this moment of dis-\\nappointment, his eyes met those of the desperate Dillon. Calm, and inured to\\nhorrors, as was the veteran seaman, he involuntarily passed his hand before his\\nbrow as if to exclude the look of despair he encountered and when, a moment\\nafterwards, he removed the rigid member, he beheld the sinking form of the vic-\\ntim as it gradually settled in the ocean, still struggling, with regular but impo-\\ntent strokes of the arms and feet, to gain the wreck, and to preserve an existence\\nthat had been so much abused in its hour of allotted probation.\\nHe will soon know his God, and learn that his God knows him, mur-\\nmured the cockswain to himself. As he yet spoke, the wreck of The Ariel\\nyielded to an overwhelming sea and, after a universal shudder, her timbers and\\nplanks gave way, and were swept towards the cliffs, bearing the body of the\\nsimple-minded cockswain among the ruins.", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "282\\nGENERAL CHARLES KING", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 283\\nWAUNA, THE WITCH-MAIDEN\\nFROM THE TALE OF THAT TITL,E\\nBY GENERAL CHARLES KING\\n(Born at Albany, N. Y., 1844)\\nAN ACCOUNT OF A HIGHI^Y INTERESTING CEREMONY THAT PRECEDED THE MIGRATION\\nOF THE DAKOTA TRIBES AND THE CUSTER MASSACRE\\nHE Peak of the Clouds was buried in the blackness of a stormy night.\\nHeavy masses of dense vapor, carried by the wind, were discharging\\ntheir thunderbolts against it, shattering the giant firs and tumbling\\nthe rocks in avalanches down the steep sides. Under the fallen trees\\nand in the sheltered corners of the ravines the panthers crouched,\\ntrembling with fear. Torrents of rain, washing downward from the\\nsteep slopes, choked the water-ways of the canons, and hurled heavy logs against\\nthe curves of the rugged banks like projectiles from a catapult.\\nIn her cave, half-way up the mountain-side, dwelt Wauna, the witch-maiden.\\nAs a cure for the chill and dampness of the air, she had piled heavy fagots deep\\nupon the fire that burned in the depths of the cavern, and had set up on each side\\nof the entrance a huge blazing knot of pitch-pine. The yellow light emblazoned\\nthe shining points of the walls, bringing them into sharper relief, relegating the\\ndepressions to obscurest blackness. The smoke of the burning fagots, borne by\\nthe draft from the entrance, disappeared into the throat of the dark recess which\\npierced the interior of the mountain.\\nScattered promiscuously over the triangular-shaped floor were heaps of relics\\nof the hunt and war-trail. Piles of dried meat, implements of stone, horn, and\\nbone, saddles, moccasins, bead ornaments, bear, bufifalo, and panther skins lay\\nupon the floor without effort at arrangement while from poles that rested against\\nthe rocky sides dangled scalps of human hair and strings and festoons of elks\\nteeth and grizzly bears claws. A raven perched near the entrance upon a pole\\nlaid horizontally between two uprights and below, two coyotes, a prairie-dog,\\nand a red fox tugged fretfully at their leashes. There was abundant evidence\\nthat the profession of sorceress, oracle, and general manager of human destinies\\nwas a profitable one.\\nThe witch-maiden passed beyond the blazing pine-knots, and, pushing back\\nthe tangled masses of her wiry hair, looked out through the mouth of the cave\\ninto the seething tempest that swept down the sides of the mountain. Each flash", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "284 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nof lightning that Ht the slanting forest with its vivid radiance was followed by\\nrolling thunder that shook the very rocks. It was not likely that human beings\\ncould be abroad in such a storm. She shuffled back into the cave.\\nThe Great Spirit speaks in the clouds\u00e2\u0080\u0094 he is very near, she muttered. I\\nwill discover his will for the Crow people the Absaraki.\\nShe seized the thong which bound the leg of the raven and drew it struggling\\ndown from the perch. In front of the fire stood a flat slab of yellow stone. She\\nknelt before it, apd drew from her belt a sharp, round-edged knife of flint. Then\\nholding the bird back downward on the rock, she deftly cut out its entrails, taking\\ncare not to sever them. The raven flapped its wings violently and uttered harsh,\\npainful croaks. Spreading the entrails over the surface of the rock, she watched\\nthem twist and turn, first into one figure, then into another.\\nThe omen is good, she exclaimed. Then drawing an arrow from a quiver\\non the floor, she spitted the bird upon it and held it in the flames of the fire.\\nThe flesh caught and burned quickly in the bright blaze.\\nIt is good, good. The Crows will go upon the hunting trail and will find\\nmuch game. They will never fight again with the white men. She threw the\\nshaft of the arrow after the burned carcass into the fire. The Great Spirit speaks\\nwell in the thunder.\\nShe was still peering into the fire, watching the dissolving remnant of the\\nraven, when there was a sound of footsteps at the entrance of the cavern. She\\nrose quickly from her knees and turned her small beady eyes upon the intruder.\\nBack, back! she screamed; come not here! Back, back or die! She\\nseized a bow and fitted a poisoned arrow to the cord.\\nStay thy hand, great Wauna, answered the dark figure in the mouth of the\\ncavern. It is thy servant, Sitting Bull. Peace be between us.\\nWhy come ye here at such an evil hour? asked the witch, in quieter tones,\\nthrowing the bow and arrow back upon the floor. Where are thy gifts and the\\nofifering?\\nThe squaw brings from the valley two ponies laden with gifts. I left her far\\nbehind, for I must return before the moon is full. I come to seek the will of the\\nGreat Spirit for my people, the Dakotas. I must lead them to the hunting-\\nground where the cow bufifalo is plenty.\\nAid thy servant, great Wauna. that no evil may befall the tribes. If the\\nmission be successful, then shall Sitting Bull become the war chief of all the\\nDakotas. and thou, Wauna, shall become great among all the people.\\nThe woman fastened her snaky eyes upon him as if to divine his thoughts.\\nHe who would be war chief must endure pain and affliction without shrinking\\nbackward, she said. Show me the scars of the sun-dance.", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "GENERAL CHARLES KING 285\\nI have none. Because I am a medicine-man I have not sought fame on the\\nwar-trail.\\nHe who would lead his people in battle must prove himself worthy. Come\\nand flinch not.\\nThe witch-maiden took two long plaits of sinew having hooks at each end\\nand threw them over the horizontal pole that crossed the entrance. By means of\\na sliding noose she fastened them so that the four hooks hung down, near to-\\ngether.\\nCome! Prepare thyself! He who aspires to lead his people on the war-\\ntrail must prove himself worthy.\\nHe cast his robe on the floor of the cave and stood under the hooks. His\\nfeatures hardened and his muscles grew tense. The woman skilfully cut the skin\\nof his back and breast two vertical slits over each and slipped the hooks under\\nthe ribbons of flesh that were released.\\nNow, free thyself! she commanded. Tear thyself loose from the bondage\\nof fear or thou art no better than a squaw. He who would lead his people must\\nbe brave.\\nThe huge savage dropped his full weight upon the hooks and drew up his\\nknees until they touched his chest. Then he extended them downward and raised\\nhimself, dropping again and again. The lines of his face contracted and his\\nmuscles stood out like bands of iron. One by one the hooks tore loose until at\\nlength he fell exhausted at the feet of the Wauna. Not a sound had passed his\\nlips to tell of the agony of the self-imposed torture.\\nWell done, my son. Well art thou fit to lead thy people in battle. But\\nthou desirest to become a great medicine-chief. Those who would heal their\\npeople must prove themselves worthy. Canst thou heal the bite of the snake\\nenemy? Canst thou defy Natakis?\\nShe retreated into the recess of the cave, and returned bearing in one hand\\na huge rattlesnake and in the other several tufts of herbs bound together with\\nthongs.\\nCome, come, she said. Give thy finger to Natakis. Then from these\\nherbs choose the one which will heal thee.\\nThe medicine-man took the herbs and drew forth a bunch having long leaf-\\nless stems and a thorny button on the end. He placed one in his mouth and\\nchewed it to a paste. Then extending his left forefinger he vexed the snake until\\nit buried its fangs in the fleshy part. Instantly he placed the wound in his mouth\\nand sucked the poison into the pulp of the herb. After a time he withdrew it\\nand held it before the Wauna. There was no sign of the poison left, not even a\\nswelling.", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "286 UEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nWell done, my son, chuckled the hag. Thou art both brave and skilful.\\nHaving proved thyself worthy, thou art permitted to talk with the Great Spirit.\\nShe seized a cup made from the horn of a mountain sheep, filled it with a\\ncurious green liquid, and placed it in his hand.\\nNow drink, she said, and lay thyself to sleep upon these skins. In thy\\ndreams the Great Spirit will appear unto thee.\\nAt last the medicine-man awoke and sat upright.\\nWhat hast thou dreamed? asked the witch-maiden, eagerly.\\nOh, Wauna, prophetess of the storms, he answered, worthy art thou of\\nthine office In my dream I saw wonderful things. I saw the horsemen of the\\nwhite men rushing among the lodges of my people. They were many, and my\\npeople were frightened and would have fled, but I bore among them the skin of\\nthe white wolf and commanded them to turn and fight. Their hearts were\\nstrengthened at the sight. They charged upon the white men, and drove them\\nback, and slew them to a man.\\nThe omen is good, my son. Now art thou rewarded for toiling through\\nthe forests, and across the streams, and up the mountain-side to seek the aid of\\nthe Wauna. Return now to thy people, and lead them to victory and the hunt-\\ning ground. Thou shalt drive back the white men and lead the Dakotas into the\\ngreat valley beyond the Yellowstone.\\nShe darted back into the recesses of the cave, and returned with a gaunt\\nbald eagle bound and hooded with a piece of buckskin. Take with thee the war\\neagle, she said. Under its wings shalt thou find victory for thy people. Go,\\nand let not the waters hinder thy flight. The full moon is near at hand.\\nHe seized the bird by the talons, and, throwing his robe around him, sped\\nout of the cave and disappeared from sight among the firs that covered the-\\nmountain-side. The sorceress peered after him, shading her eyes from the\\nbrightness of the morning sun.\\nHe must hasten or be too late. The moon is growing it shows in the east\\nwhen the sun is high. Leader of men, may the deer run slowly compared with\\nthee.\\nIn the valley of the Greasy Grass a thousand cone-shaped lodges lifted their\\ntattered shapes out of the flowering border of willow and wild-rose that marked\\nits winding course. Twenty herds of ponies browsed and chased one another\\non the slope that ascended toward the foot-hills of the Big Horn cange, wandering\\nimpulsively this way and that under the watchful eyes of their naked guardians.\\nGroups of dirty, ragged children were tumbling about in the shade of the bushes\\nor mischievously running and hiding to escape capture by\u00c2\u00bbtheir anxious squaw\\nmothers. Many of the braves were pensively smoking in the shade of the lodges.", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "GENERAL CHARLES KING 287\\nOthers, more industrious, were sharpening spear and arrow heads or mending\\ntheir bows and quivers. The camp could not have presented a more lazy or\\nimprovident appearance had it remained scattered still among the Winter sites\\nin the fastnesses of the mountains. The scarcely perceptible breeze that moved\\nthe leaves of the bushes was ineffectual against the enervating warmth of the\\nJune sun. Six thousand savages, ignorant of the reason for the mighty assem-\\nblage, were indifferently awaiting the command of the great war chief to move,\\nthey knew not whither.\\nSuch was the camp of the Dakotas when a lone horseman appeared galloping\\nover the crest of the low hills that descended from the Rosebud divide in the east.\\nOne by one the curious eyes of the camp were turned upon him, watching him\\nas he dashed rapidly down the slope and swam the stream. He galloped fu-\\nriously, shouting inquiries to those he passed on his way, until he reached the\\nlodge of Gall, the war chief, where he stopped and quickly entered. Almost im-\\nmediately they saw him leap again upon his tired pony and continue his frantic\\ncareer down the stream among the lodges of the lower villages.\\nTo arms To arms The white soldiers Arm for your lives he cried\\nas he swept on.\\nInstantly the signals were given to the herders. The bands of ponies began\\nto circle and close in upon their leaders a moment later they were galloping\\nmadly each in the direction of its respective village.\\nThe attack by the white soldiers was a complete surprise. Until the cry of\\nthe messenger rang out over the lazy camp not a living soul in all the mighty\\nassembly had dreamed of the dread presence. So rapidly had they moved to the\\nattack that even the messenger had not succeeded in distancing them by more\\nthan an hour s ride. The braves had barely time to swing their quivers and\\narray themselves for the fight when a cloud of dust, rising behind a curve in the\\nbanks of the stream, announced the near approach of the enemy. At the sight\\nthe war-cry rose, and was caught up from village to village until the air was filled\\nwith an agony of demoniacal yells. Activity and confusion prevailed where only\\na moment before all had been dreamy quietness. It was like the change wrought\\nby an earthquake.\\nA cavalry column defiled out of a break in the north border of hills that\\nflanked the Greasy Grass, and plunging into the stream, crossed rapidly, scarcely\\nbreaking the trot. Soon they swung into line of battle athwart the valley, up-\\nstream from the Indian village, in plain view of all, the guidons fluttering, and the\\nsabres and bright metal trappings flashing in the sunlight. The braves, each\\nmounted on his fleetest pony, armed with rifle, or lance, or bow and arrow, as\\nchance provided, awaited the charge in the edge of the willows that skirted the", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "288 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nvillage. Straight upon them came the battalion of horse, a long unbroken line\\nswinging steadily toward them. It was time to meet the charge.\\nThe chiefs led out, and wheeling swiftly parallel to the line, discharged their\\nweapons. The warriors followed, and the sally produced its effect. The line\\nof cavalry halted the soldiers dismounted and opened fire with their carbines.\\nA storm of arrows was the reply. The commander s heart failed him. The line\\nmounted and fell back, halted once more, and opened fire. The bullets of the\\nwhites were deadly. Already many braves had fallen, and were being borne to\\nthe rear by their comrades. This time the whites held their ground it seemed\\nimpossible to turn tlrem. In the camp was a wild chaos of confusion. The\\naged men with the squaws and papooses were flying to the hills, driving the\\nspare ponies before them. The sharp report of rifles, screams and yells, the\\nneighing of horses, and, more piercing than all, the shrill war-cry, rose out of the\\ncircling, struggling mass in the valley.\\nGall, the war chief, looked down from an eminence upon the waning fortunes\\nof his braves. They could see him sitting there like a statue on his long-tailed\\nwhite pony. On his left a frightened rout of women and children was crowding\\nup into the bluffs in front, the smoke and dust of the battle on the right, in the\\ndistance, a rising cloud of dust gave warning of the approach of another column\\nof the white enemy. It seemed as if the hour had come for him to dash down and\\nlead his yielding people, but still he sat, silent and grim, scrutinizing the strife\\nbelow, his war-bonnet trailing to the ground, his rifle resting across the pony s\\nwithers.\\nHe alone saw the single horseman that emerged from the opening in the\\nhills and dashed down the slope towards the scene of the struggle. It was the\\nmedicine-man of the Uncapapas, Sitting Bull, horned like a demon with the\\nbuffalo skull which proclaimed his intercourse with the spirits. The white wolf-\\nskin flowed from his shoulder, shining out against the black robe that covered\\nhis huge frame like an ermine shield. High above his head he bore the pinioned\\nwar eagle, the talisman of victory. Into the thick of the fight, among the aston-\\nished braves, he plunged.\\nDeath to the Mineaska Kill! Kill! he cried.\\nThe effect was like magic. The war-cry rose again from a thousand savage\\nthroats, and the braves bore down upon the cavalry like vultures upon the dead.\\nThere was no resisting the fury of the charge. The remaining horsemen turned\\nand fled across the stream, leaving a wake of killed and wounded. Upon each\\nfallen body leaped a dozen warriors to strip it of clothing and scalp. The cry of\\nvictory rose like a wail from Gehenna. From every drop of blood spilt on that\\nfield has sprung a thousand pages of history.\\nDown the valley, among the lower villages, rushed the medicine-chief, bear-", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "GENERAL CHARLES KING 289\\ning aloft the living eagle. The war-cry followed the passage of the mighty em-\\nblem, and echoed again from village to village. The old men and women, fren-\\nzied at the change of fortune, turned back from the hills to join their braves and\\nunited in the plunder and torture. Never was defeat of the whites more unex-\\npected and depressing never victory of the Dakotas more complete and thrilling.\\nThe sun was reddening in the west when Gall, the war chief, turned his white\\npony up the trail that leads to the highest blufif that overlooks the scene of the\\nbattle. At the summit he saw the tall figure of the medicine-man calmly survey-\\ning the terrible rejoicings of the valley. He still bore the emblems which had\\nspurred the warriors to success. His attitude was that of the workman who sur-\\nveys a well-finished task.\\nGall dismounted at his side, and removing his war-bonnet, placed it, to-\\ngether with the trail-rope of the white pony, in the hands of the medicine-chief.\\nSitting Bull, he said, haughtily, this day thou hast led thy people to a\\ngreat victory. Henceforth thou shalt lead them in peace, as well as in war.\\nHenceforth thou shalt be known as chief of all the Dakotas. Let this spot re-\\nceive its name from thee. Release the war eagle, that it may tell the sun that a\\nchief has arisen who meets the white man and leaves his bones to whiten upon\\nthe prairie. Surely the Great Spirit speaks in thee.\\nThou hast spoken well, war chief, answered Sitting Bull. It is the day\\nof the full moon. This night shall I command the tribes to move forth into the\\ngreat valley beyond the Yellowstone. The Great Spirit has spoken.\\nFrom that day until his death Sitting Bull guided the destinies of the Sioux.\\nA recluse medicine-squaw who dwelt in a remote cavern of the Big Horn range\\nnear Cloud s Peak suggested to him the idea of leadership, by interpreting a\\ndream for him. His own cunning and address accomplished the rest. The story\\nof his visit to the sorceress was related to me by one of his own relatives.\\n^Y^//^:k^c./i.", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "LOUlSh CHANDl.HK MOLU/rON", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0298.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 291\\nOLD JONES IS DEAD\\nBY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON\\n(Born at I omfret, Conn., April lo, 1835)\\nI sat in my window, higli overhead,\\nAnd heard them say, below in the street,\\nI suppose you know that old Jones is dead?\\nThen the speakers passed, and I heard tlieir feet\\nHeedlessly walking their onward way.\\nDead What more could there be to say?\\nBut I sat and pondered what it might mean\\nThus to be dead while the world went by\\nDid Jones see farther than we have seen\\nWas he one with the stars in the watching sky\\nOr down there under the growing grass\\nDid he hear the feet of the daylight pass?\\nWere daytime and night-time as one to him now,\\nAnd grieving and hoping a tale that is told\\nA kiss on his lips, or a hand on his brow,\\nCould he feel them under the churchyard mold,\\nAs he surely had felt them his whole life long,\\nThough they passed with his youth-time, hot and stron\\nThey called him Old Jones when at last he died\\nOld Jones he had been for many a year;\\nYet his faithful memory Time defied,\\nAnd dwelt in the days so distant and dear,\\nWhen first he had found that love was sweet,\\nAnd recked not the speed of its hurrying feet.\\nDoes he brood, in the long night under the sod,\\nOn the joys and sorrows he used to know\\nOr far in some wonderful world of God,\\nWhere the shinine seraphs stand, row on row,", "height": "3087", "width": "2169", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0299.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "292\\nBEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nDoes he ^vake like a child at the daylight s gleam,\\nAnd know that the past was a night s short dream\\nIs he dead, and a clod there, down below\\nOr dead and wiser than any alive\\nWhich Ah, who of ns all may know.\\nOr who can say how the dead folk thrive\\nBut the Summer morning is cool and sweet,\\nAnd I hear the live folk laugh in the street.\\nCORNKR OK LIBRARY OF LOUISE CHANDLER MOILTON", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0300.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 293\\nA MOTHER S INTUITION\\nFROM HOSPITAI, SKETCHES\\nBY LOUISA M. ALCOTT\\n(Born at Germantown, Pa., Nov. 29, 1822; died at Boston, Mass., March 6, 1888)\\nERE S the paper, and Fisher to read it for us, boys. Hush, there, and\\nlet s hear what s up\\nAn instant silence reigned through the crowded ward as the chief\\nattendant entered with the morning sheet that daily went the rounds.\\nThe convalescents gathered about him the least disabled propped\\nthemselves upon their arms to listen even the weakest turned wistful\\neyes that way, and ceased their moaning that they might hear as Fisher slowly\\nread out the brief despatches, and then the mournful lists of wounded, dead, and\\nmissing.\\nAmong the many faces in the room, one female appeared a strong, calm\\nface, with steadfast eyes, and lips grown infinitely tender with the daily gospel\\nof patience, hope, and consolation which they preached in words of motherly\\ncompassion. Still bathing and binding up the shattered limb, she listened to the\\nreading, though her heart stood still to hear, and her face flushed and paled with\\nthe rapid alternations of hope and fear. Presently the one audible voice paused\\nsuddenly, and 3. little stir ran through the group as the reader stole an anxious\\nglance at the woman. She saw it, divined its meaning, and in an instant seemed\\nto have nerved herself for anything. Sponge and bandage dropped from her\\nhands, a quick breath escaped her, and an expression of sharp anguish for a\\nmoment marred the composure of her countenance but she fixed a tearless eye\\non Fisher, asking, steadily\\nAre my boys names there?\\nOnly one. ma am only one, I do assure you and he s merely lost an arm.\\nThat s better luck than half of em have and now it s got to be a kind of an\\nhonor to wear an empty sleeve, you know, replied the old man, with a half-\\nencouraging, half-remorseful look, as he considerately omitted to add the words,\\nand seriously wounded in the right, to the line, R. Stirling, left arm gone.\\nA long sigh of thanksgiving left the mother s lips then, with one of the\\nnatural impulses of a strong character, which found relief in action, she took up\\nthe roller and resumed her work more tenderly than ever for in her sight that\\nshattered arm was her boy s arm now only saying, with a face of pale ex-\\npectancy", "height": "3091", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0301.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "LOUISA M. ALCOTT\\n294", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0302.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "LOUISA M. ALCOTT 295\\nRead on, Fisher I have another son to keep or lose.\\nSo swift, so subtle, is the magnetism of human sympathy, that not a man\\nin all that room but instantly forgot himself, his own anxieties, hopes, fears, and\\nwaited breathlessly for the utterance of that other name. Several sat upright in\\ntheir beds to catch the good or evil tidings in the reader s face one dying man\\nsighed softly, from the depths of a homesick heart, Lord, keep him for his\\nmother! and the standing group drew close about Fisher, peering over his\\nshoulder, that younger, keener eyes might read the words, and warn him lest\\nthey left his lips too suddenly for one listener s ear.\\nSlowly name after name was read, and the long list drew near its end. A\\nlook of relief already settled upon some countenances, and one friendly fellow\\nhad turned to nod reassuringly at the mother, when a hand clutched Fisher s\\nshoulder, and with a start he stopped short in the middle of a word. Mrs. Stir-\\nling rose up to receive the coming blow, and stood there mute and motionless,\\na figure so full of pathetic dignity that many eyes grew very dim. A gesture\\nsignified her wish, and, with choked voice and trembling lips, poor Fisher softly\\nread the brief record that one word made so terrible\\nR. Stirling, dead.\\nGive me the paper.\\nA dozen hands were outstretched to serve her; and, as she took it, trying\\nto teach herself that the heavy tidings were not false, several caps were silently\\nswept ofif an involuntary tribute of respect to that great grief from rough yet\\ntender-hearted men who had no words to ofTer.\\nThe hurried entrance of a surgeon broke the heavy silence and his brisk\\nvoice jarred on every ear, as he exclaimed\\nGood-by, boys I m off to the front. God bless me, what s the matter?\\nBad news for Mrs. Stirling, sir. Do speak to her. I can t, whispered\\nFisher, with two great tears running down his waistcoat.\\nThere was no time to speak three words had roused her from the first\\nstupor to her sorrow, and down the long room she went, steady and strong again,\\nstraight to the surgeon, saying, briefly\\nTo the front When do you go\\nIn half an hour. What can I do for you\\nTake me with you.\\nMrs. Stirling, it is impossible, began the astonished gentleman.\\nNothing is impossible to me. I must find my boys one living and one\\ndead. For God s sake don t deny me this\\nShe stretched her hands to him imploringly she made as though she would\\nkneel down before him and her stricken face pleaded for her more eloquently\\nthan her broken words.", "height": "3091", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0303.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "296 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nDr. Hyde was an army surgeon but a man s heart beat warm behind his\\nbright buttons, unhardened by all the scenes of suffering, want, and woe through\\nwhich he had been passing for three memorable years. Now it yearned over this\\npoor mother with an almost filial pity and affection, as he took the trembling\\nhands into his own and answered, earnestly\\nHeaven knows I would not deny you if it were safe and wise to grant your\\nwish. My dear lady, you have no conception of the horrors of a battlefield, or\\nthe awful scenes you must witness in going to the front. These hasty lists are not\\nto be relied upon. Wait a little, and let me look for your sons. On my soul, I\\npromise to do it as faithfully as a brother.\\nI cannot wait. Another week of such suspense would kill me. You never\\nsaw my boys. I do not even know which is living and which is dead. Then how\\ncan you look for them as well as I? You would not know the poor dead face\\namong a hundred you would not recognize the familiar voice e^en in the ravings\\nof pain or the din and darkness of those dreadful transports. I can bear anything,\\ndo anything, go anywhere, to find my boys. Oh, sir, by the love you bear your\\nmother, I implore you to let me go\\nThe look, the tone, the agony of supplication, made her appeal irresistible.\\nYou shall, replied the doctor, decidedly, putting all objections, obstacles\\nand dangers out of sight. I ll delay one hour for you, Mrs. Stirling.\\nUp she sprang, as if endowed with the spirit and activity of a girl; hope,\\ncourage, gratitude shone in her eyes, flushed warm across her face, and sounded\\nin her eager voice, as she said, hurrying from the room\\nNot an instant for me. Go as you first proposed. I shall be ready long\\nbefore the time.\\nShe was: for all her thought, her care, was for her boys, not for herself;\\nand when Dr. Hyde went to seek her in the matron s room, that busy woman\\nlooked up from the case of stores she was unpacking, and answered, with a sob\\nPoor soul! she s waiting for you in the hall.\\nNews of her loss and her departure had flown through the house for no\\nnurse there was so beloved and honored as Madam Stirling, as the stately\\nold lady was called among the boys and when the doctor led her to the ambu-\\nlance, it was through a crowd of wan and crippled creatures gathered there to\\nsee her off. Many eyes followed her, many lips blessed her, many hands were\\noutstretched for a farewell grasp; and, as the ambulance went clattering away,\\nold Fisher gave expression to the general feeling when he said, with an air of\\nsolemn conviction in almost ludicrous contrast to the emotional contortions of\\nhis brown countenance\\nShe ll find em It s borne in upon me uncommon strong that the Lord", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0304.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "LOUISA M. ALCOTT 297\\nwon t rob such a woman of her sons bless her stout heart So give her a cheer,\\nboys, and then clear the way\\nThey did give her a cheer, a right hearty one though the voices were none\\nof the strongest, and nearly as many crutches as caps were waved in answer to\\nthe smile she sent them as she passed from sight.\\nIt was not a long journey that lay before her, yet to Mrs. Stirling it seemed\\ninterminable; for a heavy heart went with her, and through all the hopeful or\\ndespondent thoughts that haunted her one unanswerable question continually\\nsounded, like a sorrowful refrain One killed, one wounded. Which is living?\\nWhich is dead?\\nThey came at last, with much difficulty and many delays, to the little town\\nin and along which lay nine thousand dead, and nearly twenty thousand wounded\\nmen. Although a week had not yet passed since the thunder of the cannon\\nceased, the place already looked like the vast cemetery which it was soon to be-\\ncome for in groves and fields, by the roadside and along the slopes, wherever\\nthey fell, lay loyal and rebel soldiers in the shallow graves that now are green.\\nThe long labor of interment was just begun for the living appealed more ur-\\ngently to both friend and stranger, and no heart was closed, no hand grew weary,\\nwhile strength and power to aid remained. All day supply wagons and cars\\ncame full and departed empty all day ambulances rolled to and fro, bringing\\nthe wounded from remoter parts of the wide battlefield, to the railroad for re-\\nmoval to fixed hospitals elsewhere all day the relief-stations, bearing the blessed\\nsign, U. S. San. Com., received hundreds of sufferers into the shelter of their\\ntents, who must else have laid waiting their turn for transportation in the burn-\\ning July sun; all day, and far into the night, red-banded surgeons stood at the\\nrude tables, heart-sick and weary with their hard yet merciful labors, as shattered\\nbody after body was laid before them, while many more patiently, even cheerfully,\\nawaited their turn and all day mothers, wives and widows, fathers, friends and\\nlovers roamed the hills and valleys, or haunted the field-hospitals, searching for\\nthe loved and lost.\\nDr. Hyde was under orders but for many hours he neglected everything\\nbut Mrs. Stirling, going with her from houses, tents and churches, to barns,\\nstreets and crowded yards for everywhere the wounded lay thick as Autumn\\nleaves some on bloody blankets, some on scattered straw, a few in cleanly beds,\\nmany on the bare ground and if anything could have added to the bitter pain\\nof hope deferred, it would have been the wistful glances turned on the newcomers\\nfrom eyes that, seeing no familiar face, closed again with a pathetic patience that\\nwrung the heart. All day they searched but nowhere did the mother find her\\nboys, nor any tidings of them and, as night fell, her companion besought her to\\nrest from the vain search, and accept the hospitality of a friendly citizen.", "height": "3091", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0305.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "298 BEST THINGS FROM AAIERICAN LITERATURE\\nDear Mrs. Stirling, wait here till morning, the doctor said. I must go to\\nmy work, but will not till I know that you are safe for you can never wander\\nhere alone. I will send a faithful messenger far and wide, to make inquiries\\nthrough the night, and hope to greet you in the morning with the happiest news.\\nShe scarcely seemed to hear him, so intent was her mind upon the one hope\\nthat absorbed it.\\nGo to your work, kind friend, she said; the poor souls need you more\\nthan I. Have no fears for me. I want neither rest nor food I only want my\\nboys and I must look for them both day and night, lest one hour of idleness\\nshould make my coming one hour too late. I shall go back to the station. A\\nconstant stream of wounded men is passing there and, while I help and comfort\\nthem. I can see that my boys are not hurried away while I am waiting for them\\nhere.\\nHe let her have her will, well knowing that for such as she there was no rest\\ntill hope came, or exhausted nature forced her to pause. Back to the relief-\\nstation they went, and, while Dr. Hyde dressed wounds, issued orders and made\\ndiligent inquiry among the throngs that came and went, Mrs. Stirling, with\\nother anxious yet hopeful, helpful women moved about the tents, preparing nour-\\nishment for the men, who came in faster than they could be served. Through\\nthe whole night she worked, lifting water to lips too parched to syllable the word,\\nwetting wounds unbandaged for days, feeding famished creatures who had lain\\nsuffering in solitary places till some minister of mercy found and succored them,\\nwhispering words of good cheer, and, by the cordial comfort of her presence,\\nsending many a poor soul on his way rejoicing. But, while she worked so tire-\\nlessly for others, she still hungered for her children, and would not be comforted.\\nNo ambulance came rumbling from the field that she did not hurry out to scan\\nthe newcomers with an eye that neither darkness nor disguise could deceive\\nnor a stretcher with its helpless burden was brought in that she did not bend over\\nit with the blessed cup of water in her hand, and her poor heart fluttering in her\\nbreast and often, among the groups of sleepers that lay everywhere, there went\\na shadowy figure through the night, turning the lantern s glimmer on each pallid\\nface; but nowhere did Rick or Rob look back at her with the glad cry, Mother!\\nAt dawn. Dr. Hyde came to her. With difficulty did he prevail upon her to\\neat a morsel and rest a little, while he told her of his night s attempts, and spoke\\nchcerfullv of the many mishaps, the unavoidable disappointments and delay, of\\nsuch a quest at such a time and place.\\nWe have searched the town, and Blake and Snow will see that no Stirling\\nleaves by any of the trains to-day. But the hospitals on the outskirts still remain\\nfor us, besides the heights and hollows for, on a battlefield like this, many men\\nmight lie unfound for days while search was going on about them. I have a", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0306.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "LOUISA M. ALCOTT 299\\nwagon here, a rough affair, but the best I can get and, if you will not rest, let us\\ngo together and look again for these lost sons of yours.\\nThey went and for another long, hot, summer day looked on sights that\\nhaunted their memories for years, listened to sounds that pierced their souls, and\\nwith each hour felt the weight of impotent compassion weigh heavier and heavier\\nupon their hearts. Various and conflicting rumors, conjectures and relations\\nfrom the comrades of the brothers perplexed the seekers, and augmented the dif-\\nficulties of their task. One man affirmed that he saw both Stirlings fall a second,\\nthat both were taken prisoners a third, that he had seen both march safely away\\nand a fourth, that Richard was mortally wounded and Robert missing. But all\\nagreed in their admiration for the virtue and the valor of the l^rothers, heartily\\nwishing their mother success, and unconsciously applying, by their commenda-\\ntion, the only balm that could mitigate her pain. Up and down, from dawn till\\ndusk, went the heavy-hearted pair but evening came again, and still no sure in-\\ntelligence, no confirmed fear or happy meeting, lightened the terrible uncertainty\\nthat tortured them.\\nDear madam, we have done all that human patience and perseverance can\\ndo. Now, leave your boys in God s hand, and let me care for you as if you were\\nmy mother, said the compassionate doctor, as they paused, dusty, jaded and de-\\njected, at the good citizen s hospitable door.\\nMrs. Stirling did not answer him. She sat there, an image of maternal des-\\nolation, her hands locked together on her knee, her eyes fixed and unseeing, and\\nin her face a still, white anguish piteous to see. With gentlest constraint, her\\nfriend led her in, laid the gray head down upon a woman breast, and left her to\\nthe tender care of one who had known a grief like hers.\\nFor hours she lay where kind hands placed her, physically spent, yet men-\\ntally alert as ever. No passing face escaped her, no sound fell unheeded on her\\near, no movement of those about her was unobserved yet she neither spoke, nor\\nstirred, nor slept, till midnight gathered cool and dark above a weary world.\\nThen a brief lapse into unconsciousness partially repaired the ravages those two\\nhard days had wrought. But even when the exhausted body rested, the un-\\nwearied soul continued its sad quest, and in her dreams the mother found her\\nboys. So vivid was the vision, that she suddenly awoke to find herself thrilled\\nwith a strange joy, trembling with a strange expectancy. She rose up in her\\nbed she put away her fallen hair, fast whitening with sorrow s frost, and held\\nher breath to listen for a cry, urgent, imploring, distant, yet near, seemed ring-\\ning through the room.\\nFrom without came the ceaseless rumble of ambulances and the tread of\\nhurrying feet from within the sound of women weeping for their dead, and the\\nlow moaning of a brave oflEicer fast breathing his life away upon his young wife s", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0307.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "300 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nbosom. No voice spoke that human ear could hear yet through the mysterious\\nhush that fell upon her in that hour, her spirit heard an exceeding bitter cry\\nMother! mother! come to me!\\nLike one possessed by an impulse past control, she left her bed, flung on her\\ngarments, seized the little store of comforts untouched till now, and, without\\nsign or sound, glided like a shadow from the house.\\nThe solemn peace of night could not so soon descend upon those hills again\\nnature s tranquillity had been rudely broken and, like the suffering humanity that\\ncumbered her wounded breast, she seemed to moan in her troubled sleep. Lights\\nflashed from hill and hollow, some fixed, some wandering all beacons of hope\\nto the living or funeral torches for the dead. Many feet went to and fro along\\nthe newly-trodden paths dusky figures flitted everywhere, and sounds of suffer-\\ning filled the night wind with a sad lament. But, upheld by a power beyond her-\\nself, led by an instinct in which she placed blind faith, and unconscious of doubt,\\nor weariness, or fear, the solitary woman walked undaunted and unscathed\\nthrough the Valley of the Shadow of Death.\\nOut from the crowded town she went, turning neither to the right nor left,\\nup a steep path her feet had trodden once that day, straight to the ruined breast-\\nworks formed of loose fragments of stone, piled there by many hands whose\\nearthly labor was already done. There, gathered from am.ong the thickly-strewn\\ndead, and sheltered by an awning till they could be taken lower, lay a score of\\nmen, blue coats and gray, side by side on the bare earth, equals now in courage,\\nsuffering and patience. The one faithful attendant who kept his watch alone was\\ngone for water, that first, greatest need and comfort in hours like those, and the\\ndim light of a single lantern flickered through the gloom. Utter silence filled\\nthe dreary place, till from the remotest corner came a faint, imploring cry, the\\nmore plaintive and piteous for being a man s voice grown childlike in its weak\\nwandering\\nMother! mother! come to me!\\nWho spoke?\\nA woman s voice, breathless and broken, put the question a woman s figure\\nstood at the entrance of the rude shelter and when a wakeful sufferer answered,\\neagerly, Robert Stirling, just brought in dying. For God s sake help him if you\\ncan, a woman s face, transfigured with a sudden joy, flashed swiftly, silently be-\\nfore his startled eyes, to bend over one low bed, whence came the sound of tender\\nspeech, prayerful thanksgiving, and the strong sobbing of a man who in his hour\\nof extremest need found solace and salvation in the dear refuge of his mother s\\narms.", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0308.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 301\\nA DAUGHTER S LOVE\\nBEING PART OF THE REMARKABI^E TAI^E ENTITI^ED THE GOI^DEN INGOT\\nBY FITZ JAMES O BRIEN\\n(Born at Limerick, Ireland, 1S28; died in New York, April 6, 1862)\\nHAD just retired to rest, with my eyes almost blind with the study of a\\nnew work on physiology by M. Brown-Sequard, when the night-bell\\nwas pulled violently.\\nIt was Winter, and I confess I grumbled as I rose and went\\ndownstairs to open the door. Twice that week I had been aroused long\\nafter midnight for the most trivial causes. Once, to attend upon the\\nson and heir of a wealthy family, who had cut his thumb with a penknife, which,\\nit seems, he insisted on taking to bed with him and once, to restore a young\\ngentleman to consciousness, who had been found by his horrified parent stretched\\ninsensible on the staircase. Diachylon in the one case and ammonia in the other\\nwere all that my patients required and I had a faint suspicion that the present\\nsummons was perhaps occasioned by no case more necessitous than those I have\\nquoted. I was too young in my profession, however, to neglect opportunities.\\nIt is only when a physician rises to a very large practice that he can afiford to be\\ninconsiderate. I was on the first step of the ladder, so I humbly opened my door.\\nA woman was standing ankle-deep in the snow that lay upon the stoop. I\\ncaught but a dim glimpse of her form, for the night was cloudy but I could hear\\nher teeth rattling like castanets, and, as the sharp wind blew her clothes close to\\nher form, I could discern from the sharpness of the outlines that she was very\\nscantily supplied with raiment.\\nCome in, come in, my good woman, I said, hastily, for the wind seemed to\\ncatch eagerly at the opportunity of making itself at home in my hall, and was rap-\\nidly forcing an entrance through the half-open door. Come in you can tell me\\nall you have to communicate inside.\\nShe slipped in like a ghost, and I closed the door. While I was striking a\\nlight in my ofifice, I could hear her teeth still clicking, out in the dark hall, till it\\nseemed as if some skeleton was chattering. As soon as I obtained a light I\\nbegged her to enter the room, and, without occupying myself particularly about\\nher appearance, asked her abruptly what her business was.\\nMy father has met with a severe accident, she said, and requires instant\\nsurgical aid. I entreat you to come to him immediately.", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0309.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "302 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nThe freshness and the melody of her voice startled me. Such voices rarely,\\nif ever, issue from any but beautiful forms.\\nIn what manner was your father hurt? I asked, in a tone considerably soft-\\nened from the one in which I put my first question.\\nHe blew himself up, sir, and is terribly wounded.\\nAh he is in some factory then?\\nNo, sir he is a chemist.\\nA chemist Why, he is a brother professional. Wait an instant and I\\nwill slip on my coat and go with you. Do you live far from here?\\nIn Seventh avenue, not more than two blocks from the end of this street.\\nSo much the better. We will be with him in a few minutes. Did you leave\\nany one in attendance on him\\nNo, sir. He will allow no one but myself to enter his laboratory. And, in-\\njured as he is, I could not induce him to quit it.\\nIndeed! He is engaged in some great research, perhaps? I have knovv^n\\nsuch cases.\\nWe were passing under a lamp-post, and the woman suddenly turned and\\nglared at me with a look of such wild terror that for an instant I involuntarily\\nglanced round me under the impression that some terrible peril, unseen by me,\\nwas menacing us both.\\nDon t don t ask me any questions, she said, breathlessly. He will tell\\nyou all. But do, oh, do hasten He may be dead by this time\\nI made no reply, but allowed her to grasp my hand, which she did with a\\nbony, nervous clutch, and endeavored with some difficulty to keep pace with the\\nlong strides I might well call them bounds, for they seemed the springs of a\\nwild animal rather than the paces of a young girl with which she covered the\\nground. Not a word more was uttered until we stopped before a shabby, old-\\nfashioned tenement house in Seventh avenue, not far above Twenty-third street.\\nShe pushed the door open with a convulsive pressure, and, still retaining hold\\nof my hand, literally dragged me upstairs to what seemed to be a back off-\\nshoot from the main building, as high, perhaps, as the fourth story. In a mo-\\nment more I found myself in a moderate-sized chamber, lit by a single lamp. In\\none corner, stretched motionless on a wretched pallet-bed, I beheld what I sup-\\nposed to be the figure of my patient.\\nHe is there, said the girl go to him. See if he is dead I dare not look.\\nI made my way as well as I could through the numberless dilapidated chem-\\nical instruments with which the room was littered.\\nI approached the wretched pallet-bed on which the victim of chemistry was\\nlying. He breathed heavily, and had his head turned toward the wall. I lifted\\nhis arm gently to arouse his attention.", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0310.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "FITZ JAMES O BRIEN 303\\nHow goes it, my poor friend? I asked him. Where are you hurt?\\nIn a moment, as if startled by the sound of my voice, he sprang up in his\\nbed, and cowered against the wall like a wild animal driven to bay.\\nWho are you? I don t know you. Who brought you here? You are a\\nstranger. How dare you come into my private rooms to spy upon me?\\nAnd as he uttered this rapidly, with a frightful, nervous energy, I beheld a\\npale, distorted face, draped with long, gray hair, glaring at me with a mingled ex-\\npression of fury and terror.\\nI am no spy, I answered, mildly. I heard that you had met with an acci-\\ndent, and have come to cure you. I am Doctor Luxor, and here is my card.\\nThe old man took the card and scanned it eagerly.\\nYou are a physician? he inquired, distrustfully.\\nAnd surgeon also.\\nYou are bound by oath not to reveal the secrets of your patients.\\nUndoubtedly.\\nI am afraid that I am hurt, he continued, faintly, half sinking back in\\nthe bed.\\nI seized the opportunity to make a brief examination of his body. I found\\nthat the arms, a part of the chest, and a part of the face were terribly scorched\\nbut it seemed to me that there was nothing to be apprehended but pain.\\nYou will not reveal anything that you may learn here? said the old man,\\nfeebly, fixing his eyes on my face while I was applying a soothing ointment to the\\nburns. You will promise me?\\nI nodded assent.\\nThen I will trust you. Cure me I will pay you well.\\nI could scarce help smiling. If Lorenzo de Medici, conscious of millions of\\nducats in his coffers, had been addressing some leech of the period, he could not\\nhave spoken with a loftier air than this inhabitant of the fourth story of a tene-\\nment house in Seventh avenue.\\nYou must keep quiet, I answered. Let nothing irritate you. I will\\nleave a composing draught with your daughter, which she will give you imme-\\ndiately. I will see you in the morning. You will be well in a week.\\nThank God came in a murmur from a dusk corner near the door.\\nI turned, and beheld the dim outline of the girl, standing with clasped hands\\nin the gloom of the dim chamber.\\nMy daughter! screamed the old man, once more leaping up in the bed\\nwith renewed vitality. You have seen her then? When? Where? Oh, may\\na thousand cur\\nFather! father! Anything anything but that. Don t, don t curse me!", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0311.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "304 r.KST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nAnd the poor girl, rushing- in, Hung herself sobbing on her knees beside his\\npallet.\\nAh, brigand! you are there, are you? Sir, said he, turning to me, I am\\nthe most unhappy man in the world. Talk of Sisyphus rolling the ever-recoiling\\nstone, of Trometheus gnawed by the vulture since the birth of time. The fables\\nN et live. There is my rock, forever crushing me back There is my eternal vul-\\nture, feeding upon my heart There there there And, with an awful gesture\\nof malediction and hatred, he pointed with his wounded hand, swathed and shape-\\nless with bandages, at the cowering, sobbing, wordless woman by his side.\\nI was too much horror-stricken to attempt even to soothe him. The anger\\nof blood against blood has an electric power which paralyzes bystanders.\\nListen to me, sir, he continued, while I skin this painted viper. I have\\nyour oath you will not reveal. I am an alchemist, sir. Since I was twenty-two\\nyears old I have pursued the wonderful and subtle secret. Yes, to unfold the\\nmysterious Rose guarded with such terrible thorns to decipher the wondrous\\nTable of Emerald to accomplish the mystic nuptials of the Red King and the\\nWhite Queen to marry them soul to soul and l)ody to body for ever and ever, in\\nthe exact proportions of land and water such has been my sublime .aim such\\nhas been the splendid feat that I have accomplished.\\nI recognized at a glance, in this incomprehensible farrago, the argot of the\\ntrue alchemist. Ripley, Flamel and others have supplied the world, in their\\nworks, with the melancholy spectacle of a scientific Bedlam.\\nTwo years since, continued the poor man, growing more and more ex-\\ncited with every word that he uttered two years since I succeeded in solving\\nthe great problem, in transmuting the baser metals into gold. None but myself,\\nthat girl, and God knows the privations I had suffered up to that time. Food,\\nclothing, air, exercise, everything but shelter, was sacrificed toward the one great\\nend. Success at last crowned my labors. That which Nicholas Flamel did in\\n1382; that which George Ripley did at Rhodes in 1460; that which Alexander\\nSethon and Michael Scudivogius did in the seventeenth century. I did in 1856. I\\nmade gold! I said to myself, I will astonish New York more than Flamel did\\nTaris.\\nSo I toiled on. Day after day I gave to this girl here what gold I succeeded\\nin fabricating, telling her to store it away after supplying our necessities. I was\\nastonished to perceive that we lived as poorly as ever. I reflected, however, that\\nit was perhaps a commendable piece of prudence on the part of my daughter.\\nDoubtless, I said, she argues that the less we spend the sooner we shall accumu-\\nlate a capital wherewith to live at ease so, thinking her course a wise one, I did\\nnot reproach her with her niggardliness, but toiled on amid want with closed lips.\\nThe gold which I fabricated was, as I said before, of an invariable size,", "height": "3152", "width": "2101", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0312.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "FITZ JAMES O BRIEN 305\\nnamely, a little ingot worth perhaps thirty or forty-five dollars. In two years I\\ncalculated that I had made five hundred of these ingots, which, rated at an aver-\\nage of thirty dollars apiece, would amount to the gross sum of fifteen thousand\\ndollars. After deducting our slight expenses for two years, we ought to have\\nnearly fourteen thousand dollars left.\\nShe could afiford me no explanation beyond what I might gather from an\\nabundance of sobs and a copious flow of tears.\\nIt was a bitter blow, Doctor, but nil dcspcrandum was my motto, so I went\\nto work at my crucible again, with redoubled energy, and made an ingot nearly\\nevery second day. I determined this time to put them in some secure place my-\\nself; but the very first day I set my apparatus in order for the projection, the girl\\nMarian that is my daughter s name came weeping to me and implored me to\\nallow her to take care of our treasure. I refused, decisively, saying that, having\\nfound her already incapable of filling the trust, I could place no faith in her again.\\nBut she persisted, clung to my neck, threatened to abandon me, in short used so\\nmany of the bad but irresistible arguments known to women, that I had not the\\nheart to refuse her. She has since that time continued to take the ingots.\\nYet you behold, continued the old alchemist, casting an inexpressibly\\nmournful glance around the wretched apartment, the way we live. Our food is\\ninsufficient and of bad quality we never buy clothes the rent of this hole is a\\nmere nothing. What am I to think of the wretched girl who plunges me into\\nthis misery? Is she a miser, think you? or a female gamester? or or does she\\nsquander it riotously in places 1 know not of? Oh, Doctor, Doctor do not blame\\nme if I heap imprecations on her head, for I have suffered bitterly The poor\\nman here closed his eyes and sank back groaning on his bed.\\nMay you not be mistaken in your daughter? I said, very mildly. De-\\nlusions with regard to alchemy are, or have been, very common\\nWhat, sir? cried the old man, bounding in his bed. Wliat? Do you\\ndoubt that gold can be made? Do you know, sir, that M. C. Theodore TifYereau\\nmade gold at Paris, in the year 1854, in the presence of M. Levol, the assayer of\\nthe Imperial Mint, and the result of the experiment was read before the Academy\\nof Sciences on the i6th of October of the same year? But stay; you shall have\\nbetter proof yet. I will pay you with one of my ingots, and you shall attend me\\nuntil I am well. Get me an ingot\\nThis last command was addressed to Marian, who was still kneeling close to\\nher father s bedside.\\nI observed her with some curiosity as this mandate was issued. She\\nbecame very pale, clasped her hands convulsively, but neither moved nor\\nmade any reply.\\nGet me an ingot, I say reiterated the alchemist, passionately.", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0313.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "3o6 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nShe fixed her large eyes imploringly upon him. Her lips quivered, and two\\nhuge tears rolled slowly down her white cheeks.\\nOhey me, wretched girl, cried the old man in an agitated voice, or I\\nswear, by all that I reverence in heaven and earth, that I will lay my curse upon\\nyou forever\\nI felt for an instant that I ought perhaps to interfere, and spare the girl the\\nanguish that she was so evidently suffering but a powerful curiosity to see how\\nthis strange scene would terminate withheld me.\\nThe last threat of her father, uttered as it was with a terrible vehemence,\\nseemed to appal Marfan. She rose with a sudden leap, as if a serpent had stung\\nher, and, rushing into an inner apartment, returned with a small object in her\\nhand, which she placed in mine, and then flung herself in a chair in a distant cor-\\nner of the room, weeping bitterly.\\nYou see you see. said the old man. sarcastically, how reluctantly she\\nparts with it. Take it. sir; it is yours\\nIt was a small bar of metal. I examined it carefully, poised it in my hand\\nthe color, weight, everything, announced that it really was gold.\\nYou doubt its genuineness, perhaps, continued the alchemist. There arc\\nacids on yonder table test it.\\nI confess that I did doubt its genuineness but after I had acted upon the old\\nman s suggestion, all further suspicion was rendered impossible. It was gold of\\nthe highest purit}-. I was astounded. Was then, after all. this man s tale a truth\\nWas his daughter, that fair, angelic-looking creature, a demon of avarice, or a\\nslave to worse passions? I felt bewildered. I had never met with anything so\\nincomprehensible. 1 loiiked from father to daughter in the blankest amazement.\\nI suppose that my countenance betrayed ni} astonishment, for the old man said\\nI perceive that you arc surprised. ell. that is natural. You had a right\\nto think me mad until I proved myself sane.\\nBut, Mr. Blakelock. I said, I really cannot take this gold. I have no\\nright to it. I cannot in justice charge so large a fee.\\nTake it take it, he answered, impatiently your fee will amount to that\\nbefore I am well. Besides, he added, mysteriously, I wish to secure your\\nfriendship. I wish that you should protect me from her, and he pointed his\\npoor, bandaged hand at ]\\\\Iarian.\\nMy eye followed his gesture, and I caught the glance that replied a glance\\nof horror, distrust, despair. The beautiful face was distorted into positive ugli-\\nness.\\nIt s all true. I thought; she is the demon that her father represents her.\\nI now rose to go. This domestic tragedy sickened me. This treachery of\\nblood against blood was too horrible to witness. I wrote a prescription for the", "height": "3133", "width": "2110", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0314.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "FITZ JAMES O BRIEN 307\\nold man, left directions as to the renewal of the dressings upon his burns, and,\\nbidding him good night, hastened towards the door.\\nWhile 1 as fumbling on the dark, crazy landing for the staircase, I felt a\\nhand laid on my arm.\\nDoctor, whispered a voice that I recognized as Marian Blakelock s\\nDoctor, have you any compassion in your heart?\\nI hope so, I answered, shortly, shaking ofi her hand, her touch filling me\\nwith loathing.\\nHush! don t talk so loud. If you have any pity in your nature, give me\\nback, I entreat of you, that gold ingot which my father gave you this evening.\\nGreat heavens! said I, can it be possible that so fair a woman can be\\nsuch a mercenary, shameless wretch\\nAh you know not I cannot tell you Do not judge me harshly. I call\\nGod to witness that I am not what you deem me. Some day or other you will\\nknow. But, she added, interrupting herself, the ingot where is it? I must\\nhave it. My life depends on your giving it to me.\\nTake it, imposter I cried, placing it in her hand, that closed on it with a\\nhorrible eagerness. I never intended to keep it. Gold made under the same\\nroof that covers such as you must be accursed.\\nSo saying, heedless of the nervous effort she made to detain me, I stumbled\\ndown the stairs and walked hastily home.\\nThe next morning, while I was in my ofifice, smoking my matutinal cigar,\\nand speculating over the singular character of my acquaintance of last night, the\\ndoor opened, and Marian Blakelock entered. She had the same look of terror\\nthat I observed the evening before, and she panted as if she had been running\\nfast.\\nFather has got out of bed, she gasped out, and insists on going on with\\nhis alchemy. Will it kill him?\\nNot exactly, I answered, coldly. It were better that he kept quiet, so\\nas to avoid the chance of inflammation. However, yoii need not be alarmed his\\nburns are not at all dangerous, although painful.\\nThank God! thank God! she cried, in the most impassioned accents; and,\\nbefore I was aware of what she was doing, she seized my hand and kissed it.\\nThere, that will do, T said, withdrawing my hand you are under no obli-\\ngations to me. You had better go back to your father.\\nI can t go, she answered. You despise me; is it not so?\\nT made no reply.\\nYou think me a monster a criminal. When you went home last night\\nvou were wonder-struck that so vile a creature as I should have so fair a face.", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0315.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "3o8 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nYou eml)arrass me, madam, I said, in a most chilling tone. Pray, relieve\\nme from this unpleasant position.\\nWait I cannot bear that you should think ill of me. You are good and\\nkind, and I desire to possess your esteem. You little know how I love my\\nfather.\\nI could not restrain a bitter smile.\\nYou do not believe that? Well, I will convince you. I have had a hard\\nstruggle all last night with myself, but am now resolved. This life of deceit must\\ncontinue no longer. Will you hear my vindication?\\nI assented. The wonderful melody of her voice and the purity of her feat-\\nures were charming me once more. I half believed in her innocence already.\\nMy father has told you a portion of his history. But he did not tell you\\nthat his continued failures in his search after the secret of metallic transmutation\\nnearly killed him. Two years ago he was on the verge of the grave, working\\nevery day at his mad pursuit, and every day growing weaker and more emaciated.\\nI saw that if his mind was not relieved in sorne way he would die. The thought\\nwas madness to me, for I loved him I love him still, as a daughter never loved\\na father before. During all these years of poverty I had supported the house\\nwith my needle it was hard work, but I did it I do it still.\\nWhat? I cried, startled, does not\\nPatience. Hear me out. My father was dying of disappointment. I must\\nsave him. By incredible exertions, working night and day, I saved about thirty-\\nfive dollars in notes. These I exchanged for gold, and one day, when my father\\nwas not looking, I cast them into the crucible in which he was making one of his\\ntransmutations. God, I am sure, will pardon the deception. I never anticipated\\nthe misery it would lead to.\\nI never beheld anything like the joy of my poor father, when, after empty-\\ning his crucible, he found a deposit of pure gold at the bottom. He wept, and\\ndanced, and sang, and built such castles in the air, that my brain was dizzy to hear\\nhim. He gave me the ingot to keep, and went to work at his alchemy with re-\\nnewed vigor. The same thing occurred. He always found the same quantity of\\ngold in his crucible. I alone knew the secret. He was happy, poor man, for\\nnearly two years, in the belief that he was amassing a fortune. I all the while\\nplied my needle for our daily bread. When he asked me for his savings, the\\nfirst stroke fell upon me. Then it was that I recognized the folly of my conduct.\\nI could give him no money. I never had any, while he believed that I had four-\\nteen thousand dollars. My heart was nearly broken when I found that he had\\nconceived the most injurious suspicion against me. Yet I could not blame him.\\nI could give no account of the treasure I had permitted him to believe was in my", "height": "3133", "width": "2110", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0316.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "FITZ JAMES O BRIEN 309\\npossession. I must suffer the penalty of my fault, for to undeceive him would\\nbe, I felt, to kill him. I remained silent then, and suffered.\\nYou know the rest. You now know why it w^as that I was reluctant to\\ngive you that ingot why it was that I degraded myself so far as to ask it back.\\nIt was the only means I had of continuing a deception on which I believed my\\nfather s life depended. But that delusion has been dispelled. I can live this life\\nof hypocrisy no longer. I cannot exist, and linear my father, whom I love so,\\nwither me daily with his curses. I will undeceive him this very day. Will you\\ncome with me, for I fear the effect on his enfeebled frame?\\nWhen we reached the old alchemist s room, we found him busily engaged\\nover a crucible which was placed on a small furnace, and in which some inde-\\nscribable mixture was boiling. He looked up as we entered.\\nNo fear of me, Doctor, he said, with a ghastly smile no fear. I must\\nnot allow a little physical pain to interrupt my great work, you know. By the\\nway, you are just in time. In a few moments the marriage of the Red King and\\nWhite Queen will be accomplished, as George Ripley calls the great act, in his\\nbook entitled, The Twelve Gates. Yes, Doctor, in less than ten minutes you\\nwill see me make pure, red, shining gold And the poor old man smiled tri-\\numphantly, and stirred his foolish mixture with a long rod, which he held with\\ndifficulty in his bandaged hands. It was a grievous sight for a man of any feeling\\nto witness.\\nFather, said Marian, in a low, broken voice, advancing a little toward the\\npoor old dupe, I want your forgiveness.\\nAh, hypocrite! for what? Are you going to give me back my gold?\\nNo, father, but for the deception that I have been practising on you for two\\nyears\\nI knew it! I knew it! shouted the old man, with a radiant countenance.\\nShe has concealed my fourteen thousand dollars all this time, and now comes to\\nrestore them. I will forgive her. Where are they, Marian\\nFather, it must come out. You never made any gold. It was I who saved\\nup thirty-five dollars, and I used to slip them into your crucible when your back\\nwas turned, and I did it only because I saw that you were dying of disappoint-\\nment. It was wrong, I know, but, father, I meant well. You ll forgive me, won t\\nyou And the poor girl advanced a step toward the alchemist.\\nHe grew deathly pale, and staggered as if about to fall. The next instant,\\nthough, he recovered himself, and burst into a horrible, sardonic laugh. Then he\\nsaid, in tones full of the bitterest irony\\nA conspiracy, is it? Well done. Doctor! You think to reconcile me with\\nthis wretched girl by trumping up this story, that I have been for two years a\\ndupe of her filial piety. It s clumsy, Doctor, and is a total failure. Try again.", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0317.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "310 BEST THINGS FROM AMHKICAX LITERATURE\\nBut I assure you, Mr. Blakelock, I said, as earnestly as I could, I believe\\n)Our daughter s statements to be perfectly true. You will find it to be so, as she\\nhas got the ingot in her possession which so often deceived you into the belief\\nthat you made gold, and you will certainly find that no transmutation has taken\\nplace in your crucible.\\nDoctor, said the old man. in tones of the most settled conviction, you are\\na fool. That girl has wheedled you. In less than a minute I will turn you out\\na piece of gold, purer than any the earth produces. Will that convince you?\\nThat will convince me, I answered.\\nBy a gesture I imj)osed silence on Marian, who was about to speak. T\\nthought it better to allow the old man to be his own undeceiver. and we awaited\\nthe coming crisis.\\nThe old man, still smiling with anticipated triumph, kept bending eagerly\\nover his crucible, stirring the mixture with his rod, and muttering to himself all\\nthe time. Now, I heard him say, it changes. There there s the scum.\\nAnd now the green and bronze shades Hit across it. Oh. the beautiful green the\\nprecursor of tiie golden-red hue. that tells of the end attained Ah now the\\ngolden-red is coming slowly slowly It deepens, it shines, it is dazzling\\nAh. T have it! So saying, he caught up his crucible in a chemist s tongs, and\\nhove it slowly toward the table on which stood a brass vessel.\\nNow, incredulous Doctor! he cried, come and be convinced; and imir.e-\\ndiately began carefully pouring the contents of the crucible into the brass vessel.\\nWhen the crucible was quite empty, he turned it up, and called me again.\\nCome, Doctor come and be convinced. See for yourself.\\nSee first if there is any gold in your crucible, I answered, without moving.\\nHe laughed, shook his head derisively, and looked into the crucible. In a\\nmoment he grew pale as death.\\nNothing! he cried. Oh, a jest! a jest! There must be gold somewhere.\\nMarian\\nThe gold is here, father, said Marian, drawing the ingot from her pocket\\nit is all we ever had.\\nAh shrieked the poor old man. as he let the empty crucible fall, and stag-\\ngered toward the ingot which Marian held out to him. He made three steps,\\nand then fell on his face. Marian rushed toward him. and tried to lift him, but\\ncould not. I put her aside gently, and placed my hand on his heart.\\nMarian, said I, it is perhaps better as it is. He is dead!", "height": "3133", "width": "2110", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0318.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 311\\nNATURE\\nFROM THE ESSAY UNDER THAT TITl,E\\nBY RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\n(Born at Boston, Mass., May 25, 1803 died at Concord, Mass., April 27, 1882)\\nF the Stars should appear one night in a thousand years, how would\\nmen believe and adore and preserve for many generations the re-\\nmembrance of the City of God which had been shown But every\\nnight come out these preachers of beauty and light the universe with\\ntheir admonishing smile.\\nThe stars awaken a certain reverence, because, though always pres-\\nent, they are always inaccessible but all natural objects make kindred impression\\nwhen the mind is open to their influence. Nature never wears a mean appear-\\nance. Neither does the wisest man extort all her secrets and lose his curiosity by\\nfinding out all her perfection. Nature never became a toy to a wise spirit. The\\nflowers, the animals, the mountains reflected all the wisdom of his best hour as\\nmuch as they had delighted the simplicity of his childhood.\\nWhen we speak of Nature in this manner, we have a distinct but most\\npoetical sense in the mind. We mean the integrity of impression made by mani-\\nfold nature objects. It is this which distinguishes the stick of timber of the wood-\\ncutter from the tree of the poet. The charming landscape which I saw this\\nmorning is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns\\nthis field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them\\nowns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he\\nwhose eye can integrate all the parts that is, the poet. This is the best part of\\nthese men s farms, yet to this their land-deeds give them no title.\\nTo speak truly, few adult persons can see Nature. Most persons do not see\\nthe sun. At least they have a very superficial seeing. The sun illuminates only\\nthe eye of the man, but shines into the eye and the heart of the child. The lover\\nof nature is he whose inward and outward senses are still adjusted to each other\\nwho has retained the spirit of infancy even into the era of manhood. His inter-\\ncourse with heaven and earth becomes part of his daily food. In the presence\\nof nature a wild delight runs through the man in spite of real sorrows. Nature\\nsays, He is my creature, and, maugre all his impertinent griefs, he shall be glad\\nwith me. Not the sun nor the Summer alone, but every hour and season yields\\nits tribute of delight; for every hour and change corresponds to and authorizes a", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0319.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "RALPH WALDO EMERSON\\n312", "height": "3104", "width": "2081", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0320.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "RALPH WALDO EMERSON 313\\ndifferent state of mind, from breathless noon to grimmest midnight. Nature is a\\nsetting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece. In good health the\\nair is a cordial of incredible virtue. Crossing a bare common in snow-puddles\\nat twilight under a clouded sky, without having in my thoughts any occurrence of\\nspecial good fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. Almost I fear to\\nthink how glad I am. In the woods, too, a man casts off his years as the snake\\nhis slough, and at what period soever of his life is always a child. In the woods\\nis perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God a decorum and sanctity\\nreign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of\\nthem in a thousand years. In the woods we return to reason and faith. There\\nI feel that nothing can befall me in life no disgrace, no calamity (leaving me my\\neyes) which Nature cannot repair. f lie greatest delight which the\\nfields and woods minister is the suggestion of an occult relation between man\\nand the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me and\\nI to them. The waving of the boughs in the storm is new to me and old.\\nIt takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of a\\nhigher thought or a better emotion coming over me when I deemed I was think-\\ning justly or doing right.\\nYet it is certain that the power to produce this delight does not reside in\\nNature, but in man or in a harmony of both. It is necessary to use these pleas-\\nures with great temperance. For Nature is not always tricked in holiday attire,\\nbut the scene which yesterday breathed perfume and glittered as for the frolic of\\nthe nymphs is overspread with melancholy to-day. Nature always wears the\\ncolors of the spirit. To a man laboring under calamity the heat of his own fire\\nhath sadness in it. Then there is a kind of contempt of the landscape felt by him\\nwho has just lost by death a dear friend. The sky is less grand as it shuts down\\nover less worth in the population.", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0321.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "DANIEL WEBSTER\\n314", "height": "3104", "width": "2081", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0322.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAX LITERATURE 315\\nREPLY TO HAYNE\\nBEING A PART OF THE MOST CELEBRATED SPEECH OF\\nDANIEL WEBSTER\\n(Born at Salisbury, now Franklin, N. H., Jan. i8, 1782 died atMarshfield, Mass., Oct. 24, 1852)\\nwas put as a question to me to answer, and so put as if it were-difficult\\nfor me to answer, whether I deemed the member from Missouri an over-\\nmatch for myself in debate here. It seems to me, sir, that this is ex-\\ntraordinary language and an extraordinary tone for the discussions of\\nthis body. Matches and overmatches! those terms are more appli-\\ncable elsewhere than here, and fitter for other assemblies than this. Sir,\\nthe gentleman seems to forget where and what we are. This is a senate a sen-\\nate of equals, of men of individual honor and personal character, and of absolute\\nindependence. We know no masters we acknowledge no dictators. This is a\\nhall for mutual consultation and discussion not an arena for the exhibition of\\nchampions. I offer myself, sir, as a match for no man. I throw the challenge of\\ndebate at no man s feet. But then, sir, since the honorable member has put the\\nquestion in a manner that calls for an answer, I will give him an answer and I tell\\nhim, that, holding myself to be the humblest of the members here, I yet know\\nnothing in the arm of his friend from Missouri, either alone or when aided by the\\narm of his friend from South Carolina, that need deter even me from espousing\\nwhatever opinions I may choose to espouse, from debating whenever I may\\nchoose to debate, or from speaking whatever I may see fit to say on the floor of the\\nSenate. Sir, when uttered as matter of commendation or compliment, I should\\ndissent from nothing which the honorable member might say of his friend. Still\\nless do I put forth any pretensions of my own. But, when put to me as a matter\\nof taunt, I throw it back, and say to the gentleman, that he could possibly say\\nnothing less likely than such a comparison to wound my pride of personal charac-\\nter. The anger of its tone rescued the remark from intentional irony, which other-\\nwise, probably, would have been its general acceptation. But, sir, if it be imag-\\nined that by this mutual quotation and commendation if it be supposed that by\\ncasting the characters of the drama, assigning to each his part to one the attack,\\nto another the cry of onset or if it be thought that by a loud and empty vaunt of\\nanticipated victory any laurels are to be won here if it be imagined, especiallv,\\nthat any or all of these things will shake any purpose of mine, I can tell the honor-\\nable member, once for all, that he is greatly mistaken, and that he is dealing with", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0323.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "3i6 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\none of whose temper and character he has yet much to learn. Sir, I shall not al-\\nlow myself on this occasion to be betrayed into any loss of temper but if pro-\\nvoked, as I trust I never shall allow myself to be, into crimination and recrimina-\\ntion, the honorable member may perhaps find, that in the contest there will be\\nblows to take as well as blows to give that others can state comparisons as signi-\\nficant, at least, as his own and that his impunity may, perhaps, demand of him\\nwhatever powers of taunt and sarcasm he may possess. I commend him to a\\nprudent husbandry of his resources.\\nThe eulogium pronounced on the character of the State .of South Carcrlina\\nby the honorable gentleman, for her revolutionary and other merits, meets my\\nhearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge that the honorable member goes\\nbefore me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent or distinguished char-\\nacter South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor. I partake in the\\npride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all the Lau-\\nrences, the Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumters, the Marions (Americans all),\\nwhose fame is no more to be hemmed in by State lines than their talents and pa-\\ntriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. In\\ntheir day and generation, they served and honored the country, and the whole\\ncountry and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him whose\\nhonored name the gentleman bears himself does he suppose me less capable of\\ngratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had\\nfirst opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina? Sir,\\ndoes he suppose it in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright as to pro-\\nduce envy in my bosom No, sir increased gratification and delight, rather.\\nSir, I thank God that, if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is said to be\\nable to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit\\nwhich would drag angels down.\\nWhen I shall be found, sir, in my place here in the Senate, or elsewhere, to\\nsneer at public merit because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of\\nmy own State and neighborhood when I refuse for any such cause, or for any\\ncause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere de-\\nvotion to liberty and the country or if I see an uncommon endowment of heaven,\\nif I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South, and if, moved\\nby local prejudice, or gangrened by State jealousy, I get up here to abate the\\ntithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the\\nroof of my mouth Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections let me indulge in\\nrefreshing remembrances of the past let me remind you, that, in early times, no\\nStates cherished greater harmony, both of principle and of feeling, than Mass-\\nachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again return", "height": "3090", "width": "2189", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0324.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "DANIEL WEBSTER 317\\nShoulder to shoulder they went through the Revolution hand in hand they stood\\nround the administration of Washington, and felt his own great arm lean on them\\nfor support. Unkind feeling (if it exist), alienation, and distrust, are the growth,\\nunnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds\\nof which that same great arm never scattered.\\n;k\\nMr. President, 1 shall enter no encomium upon Massachusetts she needs\\nnone. There she is behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her history\\nthe world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and\\nConcord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill and there they will remain forever.\\nThe bones of her sons, falling in the great struggle for independence, now lie\\nmingled with the soil of every State, from New England to Georgia and there\\nthey will lie forever. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and\\nwhere its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives in the strength of\\nits manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it\\nif party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it if folly and madness, if\\nuneasiness under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed to separate it\\nfrom that Union by which alone its existence is made sure, it will stand in the end\\nby the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked it .will stretch forth its\\narm, with whatever of vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather round\\nit and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its own\\nglory, and on the very spot of its origin.\\n5|c\\nMr. President, I have thus stated the reasons of my dissent to the doctrines\\nwhich have been advanced and maintained. I am conscious of having detained\\nyou and the Senate much too long. I was drawn into the debate with no previous\\ndeliberation such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and important a sub-\\nject but it is a subject of which my heart is full and I have not been willing to\\nsuppress the utterance of its spontaneous sentiments. I can not, even now, per-\\nsuade myself to relinquish it, without expressing once more my deep conviction,\\nthat, since it respects nothing less than the union of the States, it is of most vital\\nand essential importance to the public happiness. I profess, sir, in my career\\nhitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole\\ncountry, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union that we\\nowe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that\\nUnion that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our\\ncountry. That Union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues in the\\nsevere school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered fi-\\nnance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these\\ngreat interests immediately awoke as from the dead, and sprang forth with new-", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0325.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "^^iS niuST THINGS I ROM AMI .KICAN MTJ^RATURE\\niH\\\\ss of life, livery year of its duralion has Iccnicd with fresh proofs of its utiUty\\nand its blessings; and althongh our territory has stretched out wider and wider,\\nantl our population spread farther and farther, they have not outrun its protection\\nor its benefits. It has been U) us all a copious fountain of national, social and\\npersonal happiness. 1 have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union to\\nsee what might lie hidtlen in the dark recess behind. 1 have not coolly weighed\\nthe chances of ])reserving liberty when the bonds that unite us together shall be\\nbroken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of\\nilisunii)n to see whether, with my short sight. I can fathom the depth of the abyss\\nbelow; nor could I regard bim as a safe counselor in the atTairs of this govern-\\nment whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the Union\\nshould be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people\\nw hen it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high,\\nexciting, gratifving prospects spread out before us for us and our children. Be-\\nNond that, I seek not to penetrate the veil, God grant, that, in my day at least,\\nthat curtain ma\\\\ not rise! Cod grant, that on my vision never may be opened\\nwhat lies behind! When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the\\nsun in heaven, max 1 not see him shining on the broken and dishonored frag-\\nments of a once-glorious Tnion on States dissexered. discordant, belligerent; on\\na land rent xxith civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their\\nlast feel)le and lingering glance rather behold the gliM-icnis ensign of the Republic,\\nnow known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms\\n;ind trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor\\na single star obscured; bearing for its motto i\\\\o such miserable interrogatory, as\\nis all this icortli. nor those other xxords of delusion and folly. Liberty tirst,\\niuul aftcrti drds: but everxxxhere, sjiread all over in characters of living\\nlight, blazing on all its ample folds, as they tloat over the sea and over the land,\\nand in everv xvind under the whole heavens, that other setUiment, dear to every\\ntrue American heart, Libert v and LTnion. noxx and forever, one and inseparable.", "height": "3104", "width": "2081", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0326.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 319\\nTHE DEACON S DAUGHTER\\nBY JOSIAH ALLEN S WIFE\\n(MARIETTA HOLLEY)\\nThe spare-room windows wide were raised,\\nAnd you could look that Summer day\\nOn pastures green, and sunny hills,\\nAnd low rills wandering away.\\nNearby, the square front-yard was sweet\\nWith rose and caraway.\\nUpon a couch drawn near the light\\nThe Deacon s only daughter lay,\\nBending upon the distant hills\\nHer eyes of dark and thoughtful gray\\nThe blue veins on her forehead shone\\nTwas wasted so away.\\nShe moved, and from her slender hand\\nFell ofif her mother s wedding-ring\\nShe smiled into her father s face\\nSo drops from me each earthly thing;\\nMy hands are free to hold the flowers\\nOf the eternal Spring.\\nShe had ever walked in quiet ways,\\nNot over beds of flowery ease,\\nBut Sundays in the village choir\\nv^he sweetly sang of ways of peace,\\nOf ways of peace and pleasantness,\\nShe trod such paths as these.\\nNo sweeter voice in all the choir\\nPraised God in innocence and truth.\\nThe Deacon in his straight-backed pew\\nHad dreams of her he lost in youth.\\nAnd thought of fair-faced Hebrew maids\\nOf Rachel and of Ruth.", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0327.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "MARIETTA HOLLEY\\n320", "height": "3130", "width": "2160", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0328.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "MARIETTA HOLLEY 321\\nBut she had faded, day by day,\\nGrowing more mild and pure and sweet,\\nAs nearer to her ear there came\\nA distant sea s mysterious beat,\\nTill now this Summer afternoon,\\nIts water touched her feet.\\nUpon the painted porch without\\nTwo women stood, and whispered low,\\nThey thought she d go out with the day,\\nThey said, the Deacon s wife went so.\\nAnd then they gently pitied him\\nIt was a dreadful blow.\\nBut she was good, she was prepared.\\nShe would be better off than here,\\nAnd then they thought twas strange that he\\nHer father, had not shed a tear,\\nAnd then they talked of news, and all\\nThe promise of the year.\\nHer father sat beside the bed,\\nHolding her cold hands tenderly,\\nAnd to the everlasting hills\\nHe mutely turned his eyes away\\nMy God, my Shelter, and my Rock,\\nOh, shadow me to-day\\nHe knew not when she crossed the stream,\\nAnd passed into the land unseen,\\nSo gently did she go from him\\nInto its pastures still and green\\nInto the land of pure delight.\\nAnd Jordan rolled between.\\nThen knelt he down beside his dead.\\nHis white locks lit with sunset s flame\\nMy God! oh, leave me not alone\\nBut blessed be Thy holy name.\\nThe golden gates were lifted up\\nThe King of Glory came.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0329.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES", "height": "3104", "width": "2081", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0330.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 323\\nWIT AND WISDOM\\nFROM The; autocrat of the breakfast TABI,E\\nBY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\n(Born at Cambridge, Mass., August 29, 1S09 died October 7, 1894)\\nWAS just going to say, when I was interrupted, that one of the many\\nways of classifying minds is under the heads of arithmetical and alge-\\nbraical intellects. All economical and practical wisdom is an extension\\nor variation of the following arithmetical formula 2 plus 2 equals 4.\\nEvery philosophical proposition has the more general character of the\\nexpression a plus b equals c. We are mere operatives, empirics, and\\negotists, until we learn to think in letters instead of figures.\\nThey all stared. There is a divinity-student lately come among us, to whom\\nI commonly address remarks like the above, allowing him to take a certain share\\nin the conversation, so far as assent or pertinent questions are involved. He\\nabused his liberty on this occasion by presuming to say that Leibnitz had the same\\nobservation. No, sir, I replied, he has not. But he said a mighty good thing\\nabout mathematics, that sounds something like it and you found it, not in the\\noriginal, but quoted by Dr. Thomas Reid. I will tell the company what he did\\nsay, one of these days.\\nIf I belong to a Society of Mutual Admiration? I blush to say that I\\ndo not at this present moment. I once did, however. It was the first association\\nto which I ever heard the term applied a body of scientific young men in a great\\nforeign city who admired their teacher, and, to some extent, each other. Many\\nof them deserved it they have become famous since. It amuses me to hear the\\ntalk of one of those beings described by Thackeray\\nLetters four do form his name\\nabout a social development which belongs to the very noblest stage of civiliza-\\ntion. All generous companies of artists, authors, philanthropists, men of science,\\nare, or ought to be, Societies of Mutual Admiration. A man of genius, or any\\nkind of superiority, is not debarred from admiring the same quality in another,\\nnor the other from returning his admiration. They may even associate together,,\\nand continue to think highly of each other. And so of a dozen such men, if any\\none place is fortunate enough to hold so many. The being referred to above as-", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0331.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "324 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nsiinies several false premises. First that men of talent necessarily hate each\\nother. Secondly that intimate knowledge or habitual association destroys our\\nadmiration of persons whom we esteemed highly at a distance. Thirdly that a\\ncircle of clever fellows, who meet together to dine and have a good time, have\\nsigned a constitutional compact to glorify themselves, and to put down him and\\nthe fraction of the human race not belonging to their number. Fourthly that\\nit is an outrage that he is not asked to join them.\\nHere the company laughed a good deal and the old gentleman who sits op-\\nposite said That s it that s it\\nI continued for I was in the talking vein. As to clever people s hating each\\nother, I think a little extra talent does sometimes make people jealous. They\\nbecome irritated by perpetual attempts and failures, and it hurts their tempers\\nand dispositions. Unpretending mediocrity is good, and genius is glorious but\\na weak flavor of genius in an essentially common person is detestable. It spoils\\nthe grand neutrality of a commonplace character, as the rinsings of an unwashed\\nwineglass spoil a draught of fair water. No wonder the poor fellow we spoke of,\\nwho always belongs to this class of slightly-favored mediocrities, is puzzled and\\nvexed by the strange sight of a dozen men of capacity working and playing to-\\ngether in harmony. He and his fellows are always fighting. With them, famil-\\niarity naturally breeds contempt. If they ever praise each other s bad drawings,\\nor broken- winded novels, or spavined verses, nobody ever supposed it was from\\nadmiration it was simply a contract between themselves and a publisher or\\ndealer.\\nIf the Mutuals have really nothing among them worth admiration, that alters\\nthe question. But, if they are men with noble powers and qualities, let me tell\\nyou, that, next to youthful love and family affections, there is no human senti-\\nment better than that which unites the Societies of Mutual Admiration. And\\nwhat would literature or art be v/ thout such associations? Who can tell what\\nwe owe to the Mutual Admiration Society of which Shakespeare and Ben Jon-\\nson and Beaumont and Fletcher, were members? Or to that of which Addison\\nand Steele formed the center, and which gave us The Spectator Or to that\\nwhere Johnson and Goldsmith and Burke and Reynolds and Beauclerc and\\nBoswell, most admiring among all admirers, met together? Was there any great\\nharm in the fact that the Irvings and Paulding wrote in company? Or any un-\\npardonable cabal in the literary union of A erplanck and Bryant and Sands, and as\\nmany more as they chose to associate with them\\nThe poor creature does net know what he is talking about when he abuses\\nthis noblest of institutions. I ct him inspect its mysteries through the knot-hole\\nhe has secured, but not use that orifice as a medium for his popgun. Such a so-\\nciety is the crown of a literary metropolis if a town has not material for it, and", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0332.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 325\\nspirit and good feeling enough to organize it, it is a mere caravansary, fit for a\\nman of genius to lodge in, but not to live in. Foolish people hate and dread and\\nenvy such an association of men of varied powers and influence because it is lofty,\\nserene, impregnable, and, by the necessity of the case, exclusive. Wise ones are\\nprouder of the title M. S. AL A. than of all their other honors put together.\\nAll generous minds have a horror of what are commonly called facts.\\nThey are the brute beasts of the intellectual domain. Who does not know fel-\\nlows that always have an ill-conditioned fact or two which they lead after them\\ninto decent company like so many bulldogs, ready to let them slip at every in-\\ngenious suggestion, or convenient generalization, or pleasant fancy? I allow no\\nfacts at this table. What Because bread is good and wholesome and neces-\\nsary and nourishing, shall you thrust a crumb into my windpipe while I am talk-\\ning? Do not these muscles of mine represent a hundred loaves of bread? And\\nis not my thought the abstract of ten thousand of these crumbs of truth with\\nwhich you would choke off my speech\\n[The above remark must be conditioned and (jualified for the vulgar mind.\\nThe reader will, of course, understand the precise amount of seasoning which\\nmust be added to it before he adopts it as one of the axioms of his life. The\\nspeaker disclaims all responsibility for its abuse in incompetent hands.]\\nThis business of conversation is a very serious matter. There are men that it\\nweakens one to talk with an hour more than a day s fasting would do. Mark this\\nthat I am going to say for it is as good as a working professional man s advice,\\nand costs you nothing It is better to lose a pint of blood from your veins than\\nto have a nerve tapped. Nobody measures your nervous force as it runs away,\\nnor bandages your brain and marrow after the operation.\\nThere are men of esprit who are excessively exhausting to some people.\\nThey are the talkers who have what may be called jerky minds. Their thoughts\\ndo not run in the natural order of sequence. They say bright things on all possi-\\nble su])jects but their zigzags rack you to death. After a jolting half-hour with\\none of these jerky companions, talking with a dull friend affords great relief. It\\nis like taking the cat in your lap after holding a squirrel.\\nWhat a comfort a dull but kindly person is, to be sure, at times A ground-\\nglass shade over a gas-lamp does not bring more solace to our dazzled eyes than\\nsuch a one to our minds.\\nDo not dull persons bore you said one of the lady boarders, the same that\\nsent me her autograph-book last week with a request for a few original stanzas,\\nnot remembering that The Pactolian pays me five dollars a line for every thing\\nI write in its columns.\\nMadam, said 1 (she and the century were in their teens together), all men", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0333.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "326 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nare bores, except when we want them. There never was but one man whom I\\nwould trust with my latch-key.\\nWho might that favored person be?\\nZimmerman.\\nThe men of genius that I fancy most have erectile heads like the cobra-\\ndi-capello. You remember what they tell of William Pinkney, the great pleader\\nhow, in his elocjuent paroxysms, the veins of his neck would swell, and his face\\nflush, and his eyes glitter, until he seemed on the verge of apoplexy. The hy-\\ndraulic arrangements for supplying the brain with blood are only second in im-\\nportance to its own organization. The bulbous-headed fellows that steam well\\nwhen they are at work are the men that draw big audiences, and give us marrowy\\n])ooks and pictures. It is a good sign to have one s feet grow cold when he is\\nwriting. A great writer and speaker once told me that he often wrote with his\\nfeet in hot water but for this, all his blood would have run into his head, as the\\nmercury sometimes withdraws into the ball of a thermometer.\\nYou don t suppose that my remarks made at this table are like so many\\npostage-stamps, do you, each to be only once uttered? If you do, you are mis-\\ntaken. He must be a poor creature that does not often repeat himself. Imagine\\nthe author of the excellent piece of advice, Know Thyself, never alluding to\\nthat sentiment again during the course of a protracted existence W^hy, the\\ntruths a man carries about with him are his tools and do you think a carpenter\\nis bound to use the same plane but once to smooth a knotty board with, or to\\nhang up his hammer after it has driven its first nail I shall never repeat a con-\\nversation, but an idea often. I shall use the same types when I like, but not com-\\nmonly the same stereotypes. A thought is often original, though you have ut-\\ntered it a hundred times. It has come to you over a new route, by a new and\\nexpress train of associations.\\nSometimes, but rarely, one may be caught making the same speech twice\\nover, and yet be held blameless. Thus a certain lecturer, after performing in an\\ninland city where dwells a littcratrice of note, was invited to meet her and others\\nover the social teacup. She pleasantly referred to his many wanderings in his\\nnew occupation. Yes, he replied, I am like the huma, the bird that never\\nlights, being always in the cars, as he is always on the wing. Years elapsed.\\nThe lecturer visited the same place once more for the same purpose. Another\\nsocial cup after the lecture, and a second meeting with the distinguished lady.\\nYou are constantly going from place to place, she said. Yes, he answered,\\nT am like the huma, and finished the sentence as before.\\nWhat horrors, when it flashed over him that he had made this fine speech,\\nword for word, twice over Yet it was not true, as the lady might perhaps have\\nfairlv inferred, that he had embellished his conversation with the huma dailv dur-", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0334.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "OLIVER WEXUELL HOLMES 327\\ning that whole interval of years on the contrary, he had never once thought of\\nthe odious fowl until the recurrence of precisely the same circumstances brought\\nup precisely the same idea. He ought to have been proud of the accuracy of his\\nmental adjustments. Given certain factors, and a sound brain should always\\nevolve the same fixed product with the certainty of Babbage s calculating-ma-\\nchine.\\nWhat a satire, by the way, is that machine on the mere mathematician\\na Frankenstein monster; a thing without brains and without heart, too stupid\\nto make a blunder that turns out results like a corn-sheller, and never grows any\\nwiser or better, though it grind a thousand bushels of them.\\nI have an immense respect for a man of talents plus the mathematics.\\nBut the calculating power alone should seem to be the least human of qualities,\\nand to have the smallest amount of reason in it since a machine can be made to\\ndo the work of three or four calculators, and better than any one of them. Some-\\ntimes I have been troubled that I had not a deeper intuitive apprehension of the\\nrelations of numbers. But the triumph of the ciphering hand-organ has consoled\\nme. I always fancy I can hear the wheels clicking in a calculator s brain. The\\npower of dealing with numbers is a kind of detached-lever arrangement, which\\nmay be put into a mighty poor watch. I suppose it is about as common as the\\npower of moving the ears voluntarily, which is a moderately rare endowment.\\nLittle localized powers, and little narrow streaks of specialized knowl-\\nedge, are things men are very apt to be conceited about. Nature is very wise\\nbut for this encouraging principle, how many small talents and little accomplish-\\nments would be neglected! Talk about conceit. as much as you like; it is to hu-\\nman character what salt is to the ocean it keeps it sweet, and renders it endur-\\nable. Say, rather, it is like the natural unguent of the sea-fowl s plumage, which\\nenables him to shed the rain that falls on him and the wave in which he dips.\\nWhen one has had all his conceit taken out of him, when he has lost all his illu-\\nsions, his feathers will soon soak through, and he will fly no more.\\nSo you admire conceited people, do you? said the young lady who has\\ncome to the city to be finished off for the duties of life.\\nI am afraid you do not study logic at your school, my dear. It does not\\nfollow that I wish to be pickled in brine because I like a salt-water plunge at\\nNahant. I say that conceit is just as natural a thing to human minds as a center\\nis to a circle. But little-minded people s thoughts move in such small circles\\nthat five minutes conversation gives you an arc long enough to determine their\\nwhole curve. An arc in the movement of a large intellect does not sensibly differ\\nfrom a straight line. Even if it have the third vowel as its center, it does not soon\\nbetray it. The highest thought that is, is the most seemingly impersonal it does\\nnot obviously imply any individual center.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0335.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "328 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nAudacious self-esteem, with good ground for it, is always imposing. What\\nresplendent beauty that must have been which could have authorized Phryne to\\npeel in the way she did What fine speeches are those two 1 Non omnis\\nnioriar, and I have taken all knowledge to be my province.\\n:5; :i:\\nDid I not say to you a little while ago that the universe swam in an ocean of\\nsimilitudes and analogies? I will not quote Cowley or Burns or Wordsworth\\njust now to show you what thoughts were suggested to them by the simplest\\nnatural objects, such as a flower or a leaf; but I will read you a few lines, if you\\ndo not object, suggested by looking at a section of one of those chambered shells\\nto which is given the name of Pearly Nautilus. We need not trouble ourselves\\nabout the distinction between this and the Paper Nautilus, the Argonauta of the\\nancients. The name applied to both shows that each has long been compared to\\na ship, as you may see more fully in Webster s Dictionary, or the Encyclopedia,\\nto which he refers. If you will look into Roget s Bridgewater Treatise, you will\\nfind a figure of one of these shells, and a section of it. The last will show you the\\nseries of enlarging compartments successively dwelt in by the animal that inhabits\\nthe shell, which is built in a widening spiral. Can you find no lesson in this\\nTHE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.\\nThis is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,\\nSails the unshadowed main\\nThe venturous bark that flings\\nOn the sweet summer wind its purpled wings\\nIn gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings\\nJ And coral reefs lie bare,\\nWhere the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.\\nIts webs of living gauze no more unfurl\\nWrecked is the ship of pearl\\nAnd every chambered cell,\\nWhere its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,\\nAs the frail tenant shaped his growing shell.\\nBefore thee lies revealed\\nIts irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed\\nYear after year beheld the silent toil\\nThat spread his lustrous coil\\nStill, as the spiral grew,\\nHe left the past year s dwelling for the new", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0336.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES\\nStole with soft step its shining archway through\\nBuilt up its idle door\\nStretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.\\nThanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,\\nChild of the wandering Sea,\\nCast from her lap forlorn\\nFrom thy dead lips a clearer note is born\\nThan ever Triton blew from wreathed horn\\nWhile on mine ear it rings,\\nThrough the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings\\nBuild thee more stately mansions, O my soul\\nAs the swift seasons roll\\nLeave thy low-vaulted past\\nLet each new temple, nobler than the last.\\nShut thee from heaven with a dome more vast.\\nTill thou at length art free,\\nLeaving thine outgrown shell by Life s unresting sea\\n329", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0337.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "WASHINGTON IKMiNG\\n330", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0338.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAX LITERATURE 331\\nRIP VAN WINKLE\\nBY WASHINGTON IRVING\\n(Born at New York, April 3, 17S3; died at Sunnyside, near Tarry town, N. Y., Nov. 28, 1859)\\nHOEVER has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Cat-\\nskill Mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appa-\\nlachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up\\nto a noble height, and lording it over the surrounding country. Every\\nchange of season, every change of weather, indeed, every hour of the\\nday, produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these\\nmountains and they are regarded by all the good wives far and near as perfect\\nbarometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in blue and\\npurple, and print their bold outlines on the clear evening sky but sometimes,\\nwhen the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors\\nabout their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light\\nup like a crown of glory.\\nAt the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have descried the light\\nsmoke curling up from a village, whose shingle roofs gleam among the trees,\\njust where the blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh green of the\\nnearer landscape. It is a little village of great antiquity, having been founded by\\nsome of the Dutch colonists in the early times of the province, just about the be-\\nginning of the government of the good Peter Stuyvesant (may he rest in peace\\nand there were some of the houses of the original settlers standing within a few\\nyears, built of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having latticed win-\\ndows, and gable fronts surrounded with weathercocks.\\nIn that same village, and in one of these very houses (which, to tell the pre-\\ncise truth, was sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived many years since,\\nwhile the country was yet a province of Great Britain, a simple, good-natured\\nfellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a descendant of the Van Win-\\nkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and ac-\\ncompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little\\nof the martial character of his ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple,\\ngood-natured man. He was, moreover, a kind neighbor, an obedient, hen-pecked\\nhusband. Indeed, to the latter circumstance might be owing that meekness of\\nspirit which gained him such universal popularity for those men are most apt to\\nbe obsequious and conciliating abroad who are under the discipline of shrews at", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0339.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "332 BEST THINGS FROAI AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nhome. Their tempers, doubtless, are rendered pliant and malleable in the fiery\\nfurnace of domestic tribulation and a curtain-lecture is worth all the sermons in\\nthe world for teaching the virtues of patience and long-suffering. A termagant\\nwife may therefore, in some respects, be considered a tolerable blessing; and, if\\nso. Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed.\\nCertain it is that he was a great favorite among all the good wives of the vil-\\nlage, who, as usual with the amiable sex, took his part in all family squabbles,\\nand never failed, whenever they talked those matters over in their evening gos-\\nsipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van Winkle. The children of the village,\\ntoo, would shout with joy whenever he approached. He assisted at their sports,\\nmade their playthings, taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told them\\nlong stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he went dodging about\\nthe village, he was surrounded by a troop of them, hanging on his skirts, clam-\\nbering on his back, and playing a thousand tricks on him with impunity and not\\na dog would bark at him throughout the neighborhood.\\nThe great error in Rip s composition was an insuperable aversion to all kinds\\nof profitable labor. It could not be from the want of assiduity or perseverance\\nfor he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar s lance,\\nand fish all day, without a murmur, even though he should not be encouraged by\\na single nibble. He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours to-\\ngether, trudging through woods and swamps, and up hill and down dale, to shoot\\na few squirrels or wild pigeons. He would never refuse to assist a neighbor,\\neven in the roughest toil and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husk-\\ning corn, or building stone fences. The women of the village, too, used to em-\\nploy him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less-obliging\\nhusbands would not do for them. In a word. Rip was ready to attend to any-\\nbody s business but his own but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in\\norder, he found it impossible.\\nIn fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm it was the most\\npestilent little piece of ground in the whole country everything about it went\\nwrong, and would go wrong, in spite of him. His fences were continually falling\\nto pieces his cows would either go astray, or get among the cabbages weeds\\nwere sure to grow quicker in his fields than anywhere else the rain always made\\na point of setting in just as he had some out-door work to do so that though his\\npatrimonial estate had dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, until\\nthere was little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it\\nwas the worst-conditioned farm in the neighborhood.\\nHis children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to nobody.\\nHis son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness, promised to inherit the\\nhabits, with the old clothes, of his father. He was generally seen trooping like", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0340.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "WASHINGTON IRVING 333\\ncolt at his mother s heels, equipped in a pair of his father s cast-off galligaskins,\\nwhich he had much ado to hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in\\nbad weather.\\nRip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish, well-\\noiled dispositions, who take the world easy eat white bread or brown, whichever\\ncan be got with least thought or trouble and would rather starve on a penny\\nthan work for a pound. If left to himself, he would have whistled life away in\\nperfect contentment; but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears about his\\nidleness, his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning,\\nnoon and night her tongue was incessantly going and every thing he said or did\\nvvas sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but one way of\\nreplying to all lectures of the kind and that, by frequent use, had grown into a\\nhabit. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said\\nnothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife so that\\nhe was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside of the house, the only\\nside which, in truth, belongs to a hen-pecked husband.\\nRip s sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much hen-\\npecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as companions in\\nidleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause of his master s\\ngoing so often astray. True it is, in all points of spirit befitting an honorable\\ndog, he was as courageous an animal as ever scoured the woods but what courage\\ncan withstand the ever-during and all-besetting terrors of a woman s tongue?\\nThe moment Wolf entered the house, his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground,\\nor curled between his legs he sneaked about with a gallows-air, casting many a\\nsidelong glance at Dame Van Winkle and, at the least flourish of a broomstick\\nor ladle, he would fly to the door with yelping precipitation.\\nTimes grew worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of matrimony rolled on.\\nA tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool\\nthat grows keener with constant use. For a long while he used to console him-\\nself, when driven from home, by frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the sages,\\nphilosophers, and other idle personages of the village, which held its sessions on\\na bench before a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of His Majesty\\nGeorge the Third. Here they used to sit in the shade through a long, lazy\\nSummer s day, talking listlessly over village gossip, or telling endless sleepy\\nstories about nothing. But it would have been worth any statesman s money\\nto have heard the profound discussions that sometimes took place when by chance\\nan old newspaper fell into their hands from some passing traveler. How solemn-\\nly they would listen to the contents as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, the\\nschoolmaster a dapper, learned little man, who was not to be daunted by the", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0341.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "334\\nBEST THINGS FROxM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nmost gigantic word in the dictionary and how sagely they would deliberate upon\\npublic events some months after they had taken place\\nThe opinions of this junto were completely controlled by Nicholas Vedder,\\na. patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn at the door of which he took\\nhis seat from morning till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the sun, and\\nkeep in the shade of a large tree so that the neighbors could tell the hour by his\\nmovements as accurately as by a sun-dial. It is true, he was rarely heard to\\nspeak, but smoked his pipe incessantly. His adherents, however (for every great\\nman has his adherents), perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather his\\nopinions. When anything that was read or related displeased him, he was ob-\\nserved to smoke his pipe vehemently, and to send forth short, frequent, and\\nangry pufifs but, when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly,\\nand emit it in light and placid clouds and sometimes, taking the pipe from\\nliis mouth, and letting the fragrant vapor curl about his nose, would gravely nod\\nhis head in token of perfect approbation.\\nFrom even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his\\ntermagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tranquillity of the assem-\\nblage, and call the members all to naught. Nor was that august personage,\\nNicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of this terrible virago,\\nwho charged him outright with encouraging her husband in habits of idleness.\\nPoor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair and his only alternative to\\nescape from the labor of the farm and clamor of his wife was to take gun in hand,\\nand stroll away into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat himself at the\\nfoot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sym-\\npathized as a fellow-sufiferer in persecution. Poor Wolf! he would say; thy\\nmistress leads thee a dog s life of it. But never mind, my lad whilst I live, thou\\nshalt never want a friend to stand by thee. Wolf would wag his tail look wist-\\nfully in his master s face and, if dogs can feel pity, I verily believe he recipro-\\ncated the sentiment with all his heart.\\nIn a long ramble of the kind on a fine Autumnal day. Rip had unconsciously\\nscrambled to one of the highest parts of the Catskill Mountains. He was after\\nhis favorite sport of squirrel-shooting and the still solitudes had echoed with the\\nreports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon,\\non a green knoll, covered with mountain-herbage, that crowned the brow of a\\nprecipice. From an opening between the trees he could overlook all the lower\\ncountry for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the lordly\\nHudson, far, far below him, moving on its silent but majestic course, with the\\nreflection of a purple cloud or the sail of a lagging bark here and there sleeping\\non its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue highlands.\\nOn the other side, he looked down into a deep mountain-glen, wild, lonely,", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0342.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "WASHINGTON IRVING 335\\nand shagged the bottom filled with fragments from the impending cliffs, and\\nscarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time Rip lay\\nmusing on this scene. Evening was gradually advancing: the mountains began\\nto throw their long blue shadows over the valleys. He saw that it would be dark\\nlong before he could reach the village and he heaved a heavy sigh when he\\nthought of encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle.\\nAs he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance hallooing, Rip\\nan Winkle Rip Van Winkle He looked round, but could see nothing but\\na crow winging its solitary flight across the mountain. He thought his fancy\\nmust have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when he heard the same\\ncry ring through the still evening air, Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle! and\\nat the same time Wolf bristled up his back, and, giving a low growl, skulked to\\nhis master s side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague\\napprehension stealing over him. He looked anxiously in the same direction,\\nand perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under the\\nweight of something he carried on his back. He was surprised to see any human\\nbeing in this lonely and unfrequented place but, supposing it to be some one of\\nthe neighborhood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it.\\nOn nearer approach, he was still more surprised at the singularity of the\\nstranger s appearance. He was a short, square-built old fellow, with thick, bushv\\nhair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion a cloth\\njerkin strapped round the waist, several pairs of breeches (the outer one of ample\\nvolume), decorated with rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches at the\\nknees. He bore on his shoulder a stout keg, that seemed full of liquor and made\\nsigns for Rip to approach, and assist him with the load. Though rather shy and\\ndistrustful of this new acquaintance. Rip complied with his usual alacrity and,\\nmutually relieving one another, they clambered up a narrow gully, apparently\\nthe dry bed of a mountain torrent. As they ascended, Rip every now and then\\nheard long, rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a deep\\nravine, or rather cleft, between lofty rocks, toward which their rugged path con-\\nducted. He paused for an instant but, supposing it to be the muttering of one\\nof those transient thunder-showers which often take place in mountain heights,\\nhe proceeded. Passing through the ravine, they came to a hollow, like a small\\namphitheatre, surrounded by perpendicular precipices, over the brinks of which\\nimpending trees shot their branches, so that you only caught glimpses of the\\nazure sky and the bright evening cloud. During the whole time, Rip and his\\ncompanion had labored on in silence for, though the former marveled greatly\\nwhat could be the object of carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet\\nthere was something strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, that\\ninspired awe and checked familiaritv.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0343.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "336 l*,I :S r THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nOn entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presented themselves.\\n)n a level spot in the centre was a company of odd-looking personages playing at\\nninepins. They were dressed in a quaint, outlandish fashion some wore short\\ndoublets others jerkins, with long knives in their belts and most of them had\\nenormous breeches, of similar style with that of the guide s. Their visages, too,\\nwere peculiar one had a large beard, broad face, and small, priggish eyes the\\nface of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a\\nwhite sugar-loaf hat, set ofT with a little red cock s tail. They all had beards, of\\nvarious shapes and colors. There was a stout old gentleman, with a weather-\\nbeaten countenance he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-\\ncrowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses on\\nthem. The whole group reminded Rip of the figures in an old Flemish painting\\nin the parlor of Dominie Van Shaick, the village parson, and which had been\\nbrought over from Holland at the time of the settlement.\\nWhat seemed particularly odd to Rip was that, though these folks were\\nevidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, the most\\nmysterious silence, and were, withal, the most melancholy party of pleasure he\\nhad ever witnessed. Nothing had interrupted the stillness of the scene but the\\nnoise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along the mountains\\nlike rumbling peals of thunder.\\nAs Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly desisted from\\ntheir play, and stared at him with such fixed, statue-like gaze, and such strange,\\nluicouth, lack-luster countenances, that his heart turned within him, and his\\nknees smote together. His companion now emptied the contents of the keg\\ninto large flagons, and made signs to him to wait on the company. He obeyed\\nwith fear and trembling. They quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then\\nreturned to their game.\\nBy degrees. Rip s awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured, when\\nno eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage, which he found had much of\\nthe flavor of excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon\\ntempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked another and he reiterated\\nhis visits to the flagon so often that at length his senses were overpowered, his\\neyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.\\nOn waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen\\nthe old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes. It was a bright, sunny morning.\\nThe birds were hopping and twittering among the bushes and the eagle was\\nwheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. Surely, thought Rip.\\nT have not slept here, all night. He recalled the occurrences before he fell\\nasleep the strange man with a keg of liquor, the mountain ravine, the wild re-\\ntreat among the rocks, the woe-begone party at ninepins, the flagon. Oh, that", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0344.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "WASHINGTON IRVING 337\\nflagon that wicked flagon thought Rip. What excuse shall I make to Dame\\nVan Winkle\\nHe looked round for his gun but in place of the clean, well-oiled fowling-\\npiece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel incrusted with rust, the\\nlock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave\\nroisters of the mountain had put a trick upon him, and, having dosed him with\\nliquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared but he might\\nhave strayed away after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him, and\\nshouted his name but all in vain. The echoes repeated his whistle and shout but\\nno dog was to be seen.\\nHe determined to revisit the scene of the last evening s gambol, and, if he\\nmet with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he\\nfound himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. These\\nmountain beds do not agree with me, thought Rip and, if this frolic should\\nlay me up with a fit of rheumatism, I shall have a blessed time with Dame Van\\nWinkle. With some difficulty he got down into the glen. He found the gully\\nup which he and his companion had ascended the preceding evening but, to his\\nastonishment, a mountain stream was now foaming down it, leaping from rock\\nto rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift\\nto scramble up its sides, working his toilsome way through thickets of birch, sas-\\nsafras and witch-hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild grape-\\nvines that twisted their coils or tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of\\nnetwork in his path.\\nAt length he reached to where the ravine had opened through the cliffs to\\nthe amphitheatre but no traces of such opening remained. The rocks pre-\\nsented a high, impenetrable wall, over which the torrent came tumbling in a\\nsheet of feathery foam, and fell into a broad, deep basin, black from the shadows\\nof the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He\\nagain called and whistled after his dog. He was only answered by the cawing of\\na flock of idle crows, sporting high in air about a dry tree that overhung a sunny\\nprecipice, and who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look down and scoff at\\nthe poor man s perplexities. What was to be done The morning was passing\\naway, and Rip felt famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up\\nhis dog and gun he dreaded to meet his wife but it would not do to starve\\namong the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and,\\nwith a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps homeward.\\nAs he approached the village, he met a number of people, but none whom\\nhe knew which somewhat surprised him, for he had thought himself acquainted\\nwith every one in the country round. Their dress, too, was of a different fashion\\nfrom that to which he was accustomed. They all stared at him with equal marks", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0345.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "338 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nof surprise, and, whenever they cast their eyes upon him, invariably stroked their\\nchins. The constant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip involuntarily to do\\nthe same when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had grown a foot long.\\nHe had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strange children\\nran at his heels, hooting after him as he passed. The very village was altered\\nit was larger and more populous. There were rows of houses which he had never\\nseen before and those which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared.\\nStrange names were over the doors, strange faces at the windows; everything\\nwas strange. His mind now misgave him he began to doubt whether both he\\nand the world around him were not bewitched. Surely this was his native village,\\nwhich he had left but the day before. There stood the Catskill Mountains there\\nran the silver Hudson at a distance there was every hill and dale precisely as it\\nhad always been. Rip was sorely perplexed. That flagon last night, thought\\nhe, has addled my poor head sadly.\\nIt was with some difficulty that he found his way to his own house, which\\nhe approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the shrill voice of\\nDame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to decay, the roof fallen in, the\\nwindows shattered, and the doors ofif the hinges. A half-starved dog that looked\\nlike Wolf was skulking about it. Rip called him by name but the cur snarled,\\nshowed his teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed. My very\\ndog, sighed poor Rip, has forgotten me\\nHe entered the house, which, to tell the truth. Dame Van Winkle had always\\nkept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently abandoned. This\\ndesolateness overcame all his connubial fears. He called loudly for his wife and\\nchildren. The lonely chambers rang for a moment with his voice and then all\\nagain was silence.\\nHe now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort the village inn but\\nit, too, was gone. A large, rickety wooden building stood in its place, with great\\ngaping windows (some of them broken, and mended with old hats and petticoats)\\nand over the door was painted, The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle. In-\\nstead of the great tree that used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore,\\nthere now was reared a tall, naked pole, with something on the top that looked\\nlike a red nightcap and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a singular as-\\nsemblage of stars and stripes. All this was strange and incomprehensible.\\nHe recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of King George, under v/hich\\nhe had smoked so many a peaceful pipe but even this was singularly meta-\\nmorphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue and hufi; a sword was\\nheld in the hand instead of a sceptre the head was decorated with a cocked hat\\nand underneath was painted in large characters, Gen. Washington.\\nThere was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that Rip reccl-", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0346.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "WASHINGTON IRVING 339\\nlected. The very character of the people seemed changed. There was a busy,\\nbustHng, disputatious tone about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm and\\ndrowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his\\nbroad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco-smoke in-\\nstead of idle speeches or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the con-\\ntents of an ancient newspaper. In place of these, a lean, bilious-looking fellow,\\nwith his pockets full of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about rights of citi-\\nzens, elections, members of Congress, liberty. Bunker s Hill, heroes of seventy-\\nsix, and other words, which were a perfect Babylonish jargon to the bewildered\\nVan Winkle.\\nThe appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled beard, his rusty fowling-piece,\\nhis uncouth dress, and an armiy of women and children at his heels, soon attracted\\nthe attention of the tavern politicians. They crowded round him, eyeing him\\nfrom head to foot with great curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, and,\\ndrawing him partly aside, inquired on which side he voted. Rip stared in vacant\\nstupidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulled him by the arm, and, rising\\non tiptoe, inquired whether he was Federal or Democrat. Rip was equally at a\\nloss to comprehend the question when a knowing, self-important old gentle-\\nman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way through the crowd, putting them to\\nthe right and left with his elbows as he passed, and planting himself before Van\\nWinkle, with one arm akimbo, the other resting on his cane, his keen eyes and\\nsharp hat penetrating, as it were, into his very soul, demanded in an austere tone\\nwhat brought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at his\\nheels and whether he meant to breed a riot in the village. Alas gentlemen,\\ncried Rip, somewhat dismayed, I am a poor, quiet man a native of the place\\nand a loyal subject to the king, God bless him\\nHere a general shout burst from the bystanders A Tory, a Tory, a spy, a\\nrefugee Hustle him Away with him It was with great difficulty that the\\nself-important man in the cocked hat restored order and, having assumed a\\ntenfold austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown culprit what he came\\nthere for, and whom he was seeking. The poor man humbly assured him that\\nhe meant no harm, but merely came there in search of some of his neighbors who\\nused to keep about the tavern.\\nWell, who are they? Name them?\\nRip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, Where s Nicholas Vedder?\\nThere was a silence for a little while when an old man replied in a thin,\\npiping voice, Nicholas Vedder Why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years\\nThere was a wooden tombstone in the churchyard that used to tell all about him\\nbut that s rotten and gone, too.\\nWhere s Brom Butcher?", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0347.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "340 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nOh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war. Some say he was\\nkilled at the storming of Stony Point others say he was drowned in a squall at\\nthe foot of Antony s Nose. I don t know: he never came back again.\\nWhere s Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?\\nHe went off to the wars, too; was a great militia general; and is now in\\nCongress.\\nRip s heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his home and\\nfriends, and finding himself thus alone in the world. Every answer puzzled him,\\ntoo, by treating of such enormous lapses of time, and of matters which he could\\nnot understand war, Congress, Stony Point. He had no courage to ask after\\nany more friends, but cried out in despair, Does nobody here know Rip Van\\nWinkle?\\nOh, Rip Van Winkle! exclaimed two or three oh, to be sure! That s\\nRip an Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree.\\nRip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself as he went up the\\nmountain apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged. The poor fellow was\\nnow completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether he was\\nhimself, or another man. In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in the\\ncocked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name.\\nGod knows! exclaimed he, at his wits end. I m not myself: I m some-\\nbody else. That s me yonder no that s somebody else got into my shoes. I\\nwas myself last night but I fell asleep on the mountain and they ve changed my\\ngun and everything s changed and I m changed and I can t tell what s my\\nname, or who I am\\nThe bystanders began now to look at each other, nod, wink significantly,\\nand tap their fingers against their foreheads. There was a whisper, also, about\\nsecuring the gun, and keeping the old fellow from doing mischief; at the very\\nsuggestion of which the self-important man in the cocked hat retired with some\\nprecipitation.\\nAt this critical moment, a fresh, comely woman pressed through the throng\\nto get a peep at the gray-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms,\\nwhich, frightened at his looks, began to cry. Hush, Rip! cried she hush,\\nyou little fool The old man won t hurt you. The name of the child, the air\\nof the mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in his\\nmind. What is your name, my good woman? asked he.\\nJudith Gardenier.\\nAnd your father s name\\nAh, poor man Rip Van Winkle was his name but it s twenty years since\\nhe went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard of since. His", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0348.jp2"}, "349": {"fulltext": "WASHINGTON IRVING 341\\ndog came home without him but whether he shot himself, or was carried away\\nby the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl.\\nRip had but one question more to ask but he put it with a faltering voice\\nWhere s your mother?\\nOh she, too, had died but a short time since. She broke a blood-vessel\\nin a fit of passion at a New England pedler.\\nThere was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. The honest man\\ncould contain himself no longer. He caught his daughter and her child in his\\narms. I am your father! cried he young Rip Van Winkle once, old Rip\\nVan Winkle now Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle\\nAll stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among the crowd,\\nput her hand to her brow, and, peering under it in his face for a moment, ex-\\nclaimed\\nSure enough! It is Rip Van Winkle! It is himself! Welcome home\\nagain, old neighbor! Why, where have you been these twenty long years?\\nRip s story was soon told for the whole twenty years had been to hi-m but\\nas one night. The neighbors stared when they heard it some were seen to wink\\nat each other and put their tongues in their cheeks and the self-important man\\nin the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over, had returned to the field,\\nscrewed down the corners of his mouth, and shook his head upon which there\\nwas a general shaking of the head throughout the assemblage.\\nIt was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter Vanderdonk,\\nwho was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was a descendant of the his-\\ntorian of that name, who wrote one of the earliest accounts of the province.\\nPeter was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and well versed in all the won-\\nderful events and traditions of the neighborhood. He recollected Rip at once,\\nand corroborated his story in the most satisfactory manner. He assured the\\ncompany that it was a fact, handed down from his ancestor, the historian, that\\nthe Catskill Mountains had always been haunted by strange beings that it was\\naffirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and\\ncountry, kept a kind of vigil there every twenty years with his crew of The\\nHalf-Moon, being permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his enterprise,\\nand to keep a guardian eye on the river and the great city called by his name;\\nthat his father had once seen them in their old Dutch dresses playing at ninepins\\nin a hollow of the mountain and that he himself had heard, one summer after-\\nnoon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals of thunder.\\nTo make a long story short, the company broke up, and returned to the\\nmore important concerns of the election. Rip s daughter took him home to live\\nwith her. She had a snug, well-furnished house, and a stout, cheery farmer\\nfor a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that used to climb", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0349.jp2"}, "350": {"fulltext": "342 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nupon his neck. As to Rip s son and heir, who was the ditto of himself, seen\\nleaning against the tree, he was employed to work on the farm, but evinced an\\nhereditary disposition to attend to anything but his business.\\nRip now resumed his old walks and habits. He soon found many of his\\nformer cronies, though all rather the worse for the wear and tear of time and\\npreferred making friends among the rising generation, with whom he soon\\ngrew into great favor. Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that\\nhappy age when a man can be idle with impunity, he took his place once more\\non the bench at the inn-door, and was reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the\\nvillage, and a chronicle of the old times before the war. It was some time\\nbefore he could get into the regular track of gossip, or could be made to compre-\\nhend the strange events that had taken place during his torpor how that there\\nhad been a revolutionary war that the country had thrown ofi the yoke of Old\\nEngland and that, instead of being a subject of his Majesty George the Third, he\\nwas now a free citizen of the United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician the\\nchanges of States and Empires made but little impression on him. But there\\nwas one species of despotism under which he had long groaned, and that was\\npetticoat government. Happily, that was at an end. He had got his neck out\\nof the yoke of matrimony, and could go in and out whenever he pleased, without\\ndreading the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. Whenever her name was mentioned,\\nhowever, he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes which\\nmight pass either for an expression of resignation to his fate, or joy at his deliv-\\nerance.\\nHe used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at Mr. Doolittle s\\nhotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on some points every time he told it\\nwhich was, doubtless, owing to his having so recently awaked. It at last settled\\ndown precisely to the tale I have related and not a man, woman, or child in the\\nneighborhood but knew it by heart. Some always pretended to doubt the reality\\nof it, and insisted that Rip had been out of his head, and that this was one point\\non which he always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however,\\nalmost universally gave it full credit. Even to this day, they never hear a thun-\\nder-storm of a Summer afternoon about the Catskill, but they say Hendrick Hud-\\nson and his crew are at their game of ninepins; and it is a common wish of aU\\nhenpecked husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands,\\nthat they might have a quieting draught out of Rip Van Winkle s flagon.", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0350.jp2"}, "351": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 343\\nTHANATOPSIS\\nBY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\n(Born at Cummington, Mass., November 3, 1794 died at New York, June 12, 1878^\\nTo him who, in the love of Nature, holds\\nCommunion with her visible forms, she speaks\\nA various language for his gayer hours\\nShe has a voice of gladness, and of smiles\\nAnd eloquence of beauty and she glides\\nInto his darker musings with a mild\\nAnd healing sympathy, that steals away\\nTheir sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts\\nOf the last bitter hour come like a blight\\nOver thy spirit, and sad images\\nOf the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,\\nAnd breathless darkness, and the narrow house,\\nMake thee to shudder and grow sick at heart\\nGo forth, under the open sky, and list\\nTo Nature s teachings, while from all around\\nEarth and her waters, and the depths of air\\nComes a still voice Yet a few days, and thee\\nThe all-beholding sun shall see no more\\nIn all his course nor yet in the cold ground.\\nWhere thy pale form was laid, with many tears,\\nNor in the embrace of ocean shall exist\\nThy image. Earth that nourished thee, shall claim\\nThy growth to be resolved to earth again\\nAnd, lost each human trace, surrendering up\\nThine individual being, shalt thou go\\nTo mix forever with the elements\\nTo be a brother to the insensible rock\\nAnd to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain\\nTurns with his share, and treads upon. The oak\\nShall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.\\nYet not to thine eternal resting-place\\nShalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0351.jp2"}, "352": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT\\n344", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0352.jp2"}, "353": {"fulltext": "WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 345\\nCouch more magnificent. Thou shah He down\\nWith patriarchs of the infant world, with kings,\\nThe powerful of the earth, the wise, the good.\\nFair forms, and hoary seers of ages past.\\nAll in one mighty sepulchre. The hills\\nRock-ribb d and ancient as the sun, the vales\\nStretching in pensive quietness between,\\nThe venerable woods, rivers that move\\nIn majesty, and the complaining brooks\\nThat make the meadows green and, pour d round all^\\nOld ocean s gray and melancholy waste\\nAre but the solemn decoration all\\nOf the great tomb of man. The golden sun,\\nThe planets, all the infinite host of heaven.\\nAre shining on the sad abodes of death.\\nThrough the still lapse of ages. All that tread\\nThe globe are but a handful to the tribes\\nThat slumber in its bosom. Take the wings\\nOf morning traverse Barca s desert sands.\\nOr lose thyself in the continuous woods\\nWhere rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound\\nSave his own dashings yet the dead are there\\nAnd millions in those solitudes, since first\\nThe flight of years began, have laid them down\\nIn their last sleep the dead reign there alone.\\nSo shalt thou rest and what if thou withdraw\\nIn silence from the living, and no friend\\nTake note of thy departure? All that breathe\\nWill share thy destiny. The gay will laugh\\nWhen thou art gone, the solemn brood of care\\nPlod on, and each one, as before, will chase\\nHis favorite phantom yet all these shall leave\\nTheir mirth and their employments, and shall come\\nAnd make their bed with thee. As the long tram\\nOf ages glides away, the sons of men\\nThe youth in life s green spring, and he who goes\\nIn the full strength of years, matron and maid,\\nAnd the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man\\nShall, one by one, be gather d to thy side,\\nBy those who in their turn shall follow them.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0353.jp2"}, "354": {"fulltext": "346 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nSo live that, when thy summons comes to join\\nThe innumerable caravan, which moves\\nTo that mysterious realm where each shall take\\nHis chamber in the silent halls of death,\\nThou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,\\nScourged to his dungeon but, sustain d and soothed\\nBy an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave\\nLike one who wraps the drapery of his couch\\nAbout him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0354.jp2"}, "355": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 347\\nA ROMANCE OF THE CITY ROOM\\nBY ELIZABETH G. JORDAN\\nOR more than two years the letters and the red roses came with un-\\nbroken regularity. When at last a certain Friday evening arrived and\\nthey did not, Miss Bancroft stared at the top of her unvisited desk as\\nif some perplexing phenomenon had taken place. She would have\\nbeen scarcely less surprised at the failure of a physical law than by\\nthis lack of fidelity she could not call it forgetfulness or indifference\\non the part of Shadow. The face of the world seemed changed to her as she\\nwent home that night, and the sudden realization of what this meant made her\\nheart contract. Perhaps he was only testing her, proving to her at last what a\\nfactor in her life he had come to be. But she rejected this thought at once she\\ndid not know his name or face, but she knew the man too well to think self-love\\ncould thus claim him, even for a moment. Perhaps all was not well with him.\\nThere had been a persistent minor note in his recent letters, bravely as he had\\ntried to stifle it. Last week s roses, almost withered now, looked sadly up at her\\nas she entered her apartment. She had kept the flowers, of late, until the next\\nbox came to replace them. To-night, as she watered the grateful roses, her im-\\nagination saw in their droop and langour the mute symbol of the passing from her\\nlife of something of whose full sweetness she was just beginning to be conscious.\\nThe days went on, and brought no sign from the Shadow. They all seemed\\nalike to the young reporter, who kept her sad reflections in her own heart and\\ngave no outward sign. She felt her friend drifting from her, perhaps through a\\nmisapprehension which she had no power to correct. It was as much beyond\\nher to reach or affect him as if he lived in truth in another world which he had\\nshared with her, but from which she was now shut out. She missed his flowers,\\nshe missed his letters above all, she missed the sense of companionship and pro-\\ntecting tenderness which had enveloped her so mysteriously and so long.\\nShe was recalling those things one cold night in February when she wearily\\nentered her apartment. On the hearth, in her cozy study, a bright fire burned\\ncheerily. The attentive maid had drawn up to it her favorite easy-chair and had\\nplaced her slippers near the warm glow. She sank into the chair with a sigh of\\nsatisfaction, brushing the snow from her jacket, and recklessly exposing the soles\\nof her little boots to the heat as she settled her feet on the fender. The sudden\\nblaze that had greeted her had died down, and the room was almost in shadow.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0355.jp2"}, "356": {"fulltext": "348 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nAs her eyes wandered listlessly over her books and pictures they fell on some-\\nthing oddly familiar. Was that great vase on the table, which had held the\\nShadow s offering for so long, again full of fresh red roses? Miss Bancroft\\nrubbed her eyes and looked more closely. Had she fallen asleep and was she\\ndreaming of the roses that ?d filled it so constantly until three months ago?\\nThe perfume of the flowers seemed very real. They tvere there the beautiful\\ndarlings she whispered, as she went to them and laid her face against them. To\\nher excited fancy they seemed to laugh up at her. Here we are again, they\\nsaid. It s all right everything is unchanged and the whole world was\\nbrighter for the assurance. She lit the gas hastily and rang the bell. There had\\nbeen no letter with the flowers, the little maid told her. They had come without\\na card about four that afternoon, and she had taken them out of the box and put\\nthem in water, as she knew Mademoiselle would have wished. The box? But\\nyes, here it is a large and ornate affair, with the name of a famous florist on its\\ncover in gold letters. This unusual feature surprised and temporarily disturbed\\nMiss Bancroft. Never before had the Shadow sent her such a clue. Surely, if\\nshe wished, it would be comparatively easy to trace him now. She dismissed the\\nidea from her mind for the present. He was still her friend, and all was well with\\nhim. He had sent her the roses to tell her so. That was enough.\\nShe dressed for dinner in high spirits, putting on her best gown in honor of\\nthis spiritual caller, and singing a favorite song which was in harmony with her\\nmood. The little maid smiled to hear again the blithe notes that had been silent\\nof late.\\nFor the Spring, the Spring is coming,\\nT is good-by to ice and snow;\\nYes, I know it, for the swallows\\nHave come back to tell me so,\\nsang the soft contralto voice. Spring had already come in her heart for the\\nroses told her so.\\nHerforth called on her after dinner, formally arrayed in his evening clothes,\\nand with a startling chrysanthemum in his button-hole. His first words lowered\\nMiss Bancroft s spirits\\nGot the roses. I see, he said, nodding toward the blooming jacqueminots\\nin the vase on the table.\\nDid did you send them? faltered the girl. She was conscious of a sink-\\ning sensation, as if something were falling away from her.\\nOnly in a way, said Herforth at once. I acted as an agent. He had\\ndropped into an easy-chair, and as he spoke he regarded her rather curiously.\\nDo you remember Hatfeld? he went on. Awfully good-looking chap.", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0356.jp2"}, "357": {"fulltext": "ELIZABETH G. JORDAN 349\\nwith light hair and dark eyes. Reserved, but I found him one of the most charm-\\ning fellows I ever met when I came to know him. Nobody on the paper knew\\nhim well except me. Wasn t at the office much except at night, and then did his\\nwork in a little room off the night editor s sanctum. I liked him and dined with\\nhim a lot, and he used to let me talk about you most of the time. Well, he was\\nconsumptive, poor fellow. Didn t tell me anything about it until three months\\nago, when he went to Algiers for his health. The night before he sailed we dined\\ntogether, and went afterwards to my room to smoke. Am I boring you\\nGo on, please, said Miss Bancroft, in a low tone.\\nShe was standing at the window looking out at the snow, which was falling\\nheavily. The sudden question evidently startled her, for she shivered as she\\nturned toward the young man and then glanced away again.\\nWe talked a good deal, continued Herforth, animatedly, and I tried to\\nbrace him up as well as I could. Prophesied that he d come back in six months\\nperfectly well, and all that sort of thing. It had no effect on him, but he was aw-\\nfully cool and plucky about his condition. He told me that his father and mother\\nhad both died of consumption, and that the doctors had given him no hope. He\\nsaid that was why he had never married. He would not make the woman he\\nloved wretched and hand down a legacy of physical ill to his children. And then\\nhe said something that will interest you.\\nHerforth had been speaking rather lightly, but if she had noticed it Miss\\nBancroft would have known that beneath the careless tone lay a warm sympathy\\nfor his friend. She did not notice it. She was thinking of Herforth just then.\\nHis few words had brought before her very vividly the farewell scene he was de-\\nscribing. She saw the two men together, and while the face of one was hidden\\nfrom her she could see in his attitude the despair against which he had so bravely\\nfought. She left the window and sat down in a low chair, her face a little in the\\nshadow. Herforth went on slowly and more seriously\\nJust before we parted, Hatfeld turned to me and said: I m going to have\\nthem cable you when it s all over, old man not that I want to depress you, but\\nbecause I want you to do something for me. Don t ask me why or anything\\nabout it. But when you receive that cablegram, I want you to send a box of red\\nroses to Miss Bancroft.\\nHerforth paused a moment and poked the fire with creditable considerate-\\nness. His voice had become a trifle unsteady. Though he could not have\\nanalyzed it, for he knew they had never met, there was something in Miss Ban-\\ncroft s manner as she listened which moved him strangely. She looked at him\\nand opened her lips, but closed them again without speaking. The expression\\nin her beautiful eyes made Herforth turn his own away.\\nI got the cablegram this morning, he said, softly.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0357.jp2"}, "358": {"fulltext": "ABRAHAM LINCOLN\\n350", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0358.jp2"}, "359": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 351\\nLINCOLN S SPEECH AT GETTYSBURG\\nSAID TO BE ONE OF THE MOST PERFECT SPECIMENS OF FORENSIC ELOQUENCE IN ANY\\nI^ANGUAGE\\n(Born in Hardin County, Ky., February 12, 1809 died at Washington, D. C, April 15, 1865)\\n^T^ OURSCORE and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth on this\\ncontinent a new nation, conceived in hberty and dedicated to the\\nproposition that all men are created equal.\\nNow we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that\\nnation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated can long endure.\\nWe are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to\\ndedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here\\ngave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper\\nthat we should do this.\\nBut in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot\\nhallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have\\nconsecrated far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little\\nnote, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what they\\ndid here. It is for us, the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished\\nwork which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather\\nfor us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us that from these\\nhonored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave th\u00c2\u00a9\\nlast full measure of devotion that we here highly resolve that these dead shall\\nnot have died in vain that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of free-\\ndom and that gov-ernment of the people, by the people, and for the people shall\\nnot perish from this earth.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0359.jp2"}, "360": {"fulltext": "Copyrigbt, 1697, by Hulliiigei Rockey, fieta York\\nRICHARD WATSON GILDER\\n352", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0360.jp2"}, "361": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 353\\nODE\\nBY RICHARD WATSON GILDER\\n(Born at Bordentown, N. J., February 8, 1844)\\nI.\\nI am the spirit of the morning sea\\nI am the awakening and the glad surprise\\nI fill the skies\\nWith laughter and with light.\\nNot tears, but jollity,\\nAt birth of day brim the strong man-child s eyes.\\nBehold the white\\nWide threefold beams thai from the hidden sun\\nRise swift and far\\nOne where Orion keeps\\nHis armed watch, and one\\nThat to the midmost starry heaven upleaps\\nThe third blots out the firm-fixed Northern Star.\\nI am the wind that shakes the glittering wave,\\nHurries the snowy spume along the shore,\\nAnd dies at last in some far, murmuring cave.\\nMy voice thou hearest in the breaker s roar\\nThat sound which never failed since time began,\\nAnd first around the world the shining tumult ran.\\nXL\\nI light the sea and wake the sleeping land.\\nMy footsteps on the hills make music, and my hand\\nPlays like a harper s on the wind-swept pines.\\nWith the wind and the day\\nI follow round the world away away\\nWide over lake and plain my sunlight shines,\\nAnd every wave and every blade of grass\\nDoth know me as I pass\\nReprinted by permission of The Century Co., Publishers, New York.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0361.jp2"}, "362": {"fulltext": "354 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nAnd nie the western sloping mountains know, and me\\nThe far-off, golden sea.\\nOh sea, whereon the passing sun dotli lie\\nO man, who watchest by that golden sea\\nGrieve not, oh, grieve not thou, but lift thine eye\\nAnd see me glorious in the sunset sky\\nIII.\\nI love not the night,\\nSave when the stars arc bright.\\nOr when the moon\\nFills the white air with silence like a tune.\\nYea, even the night is mine\\nWhen the Northern Lights outshine.\\nAnd all the wild heavens throb in ecstasy divine\\nYea, mine deep midnight, though the black sky lowers,\\nWhen the sea burns white and breaks on the shore in\\nstarry showers.\\nIV.\\nI am the laughter of the new-born child\\nOn whose soft-breathing sleep an angel smiled.\\nAnd I all sweet first things that are\\nFirst songs of birds, not perfect as at last\\nBroken and incomplete\\nBut sweet, oh, sweet!\\nAnd I the first faint glimmer of a star\\nTo the wrecked ship that tells the storm is past\\nThe first keen smells and stirrings of the Spring\\nFirst snowflakes, and first May-flowers after snow\\nThe silver glow\\nOf the new moon s ethereal ring\\nThe song the morning stars together made.\\nAnd the first kiss of lovers under the first June shade.\\nMy sword is quick, my arm is strong to smite\\nIn the dread joy and fury of the fight.\\nI am with those who win, not those who flv", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0362.jp2"}, "363": {"fulltext": "RICHARD WATSON GILDER\\nWith those who hve I am, not those who die.\\nWho die? Nay, nay, that word\\nWhere I am is unheard\\nFor I am the spirit of youth that cannot change,\\nNor cease, nor suffer woe\\nAnd I am the spirit of beauty that doth range\\nThrough natural forms and motions, and each show\\nOf outward loveHness. With me have birth\\nAll gentleness and joy in all the earth.\\nRaphael knew me, and showed the world my face\\nMe Homer knew, and all the singing race\\nFor I am the spirit of light and life and mirth.\\n355", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0363.jp2"}, "364": {"fulltext": "ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS\\n356", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0364.jp2"}, "365": {"fulltext": "BEvST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\n357\\nA GLIMPSE\\nl-KOM Till-; C-,AT] ;S AJAR\\nBY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS\\n(Born at Andover, Mass., August 13, 1844)\\ni^ SAW as funny and as pretty a bit of drama this afternoon as I have seen\\nfor a long time.\\nFaith had been rolHng out in the hot hay ever since three o clock,\\nwith one of the little Elands, and when the shadows grew long they\\ncame in with flushed cheeks and tumbled hair, to rest and cool upon the\\ndoor-steps. I was sitting in the parlor, sewing energetically on some\\nsunbonnets for some of Aunt Winifred s people down-town I found the heat to\\nbe more bearable if I .kept busy and could see, unseen, all the little tableaux\\ninto which the two children grouped themselves a new one every instant in the\\nshadow now, now in a quiver of golden glow, the wind tossing their hair about,\\nand their chatter chiming down the hall like bells.\\nOh, what a funny little sunset there s going to be behind the maple-tree,\\nsaid the blond-haired Bland, in a pause.\\nFunny enough, observed Faith, with her superior smile, but it s going to\\nbe a great deal funnier up in heaven, I tell you, Molly Bland.\\nFunny in heaven? Why, Faith! Molly drew herself up with a religious\\nair, and looked the image of her father.\\nYes, to be sure. I m going to have some little pink blocks made out of it\\nwhen I go pink and yellow and green and purple and oh, so many blocks I m\\ngoing to have a little red cloud to sail round in, like that one up over the house,\\ntoo, I shouldn t wonder.\\nMolly opened her eyes. Oh, I don t believe it.\\nYou don t know much said Miss Faith, superbly. I shouldn t s pose\\nyou would believe it. P r aps I ll have some strawberries, too, and some ginger-\\nsnaps I m not going to have any old bread and butter up there oh, and some\\nlittle gold apples, and a lot of playthings nice playthings why, nicer than they\\nhave in the shops in Boston, Molly Bland God s keeping em up there a pur-\\npo.se.\\nDear me said incredulous Molly, I should just like to know who told you\\nchat much. My mother never told it at me. Did your mother tell it at you\\nOh, she told me some of it, and the rest I finked out mvself.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0365.jp2"}, "366": {"fulltext": "358 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nLet s go and play One Old Cat, said Molly, with an uncomfortable jump\\nI wish I hadn t got to go to heaven\\nWhy, Molly Bland Why, I fink heaven s splendid I ve got my papa\\nup there, you know. Here s my little girl that s what he s going to say.\\nMamma, she ll be there, too, and we re all going to live in the prettiest house.\\nI have dreadful hurries to go this afternoon sometimes when Phoebe s cross and\\nwon t give me sugars. They don t let you in, though, nless you re a good girl.\\nWho gets it all up? asked puzzled Molly.\\nJesus Christ will give me all these beautiful fings, said Faith, evidently\\nrepeating her mother s words the only catechism that she has been taught.\\nAnd w^hat will He do when He sees you? asked her mother, coming down\\nthe stairs and stepping up behind her.\\nTake me up in His arms and kiss me.\\nAnd what will Faith say?\\nFank^you said the child, softly.\\nIn another moment she was absorbed, body and soul, in the mysteries of\\nOne Old Cat.\\nBut I don t think she will feel much like being naughty for half an hour to\\ncome, her mother said; hear how pleasantly her words drop! Such a talk\\nquiets her, like a hand laid on her head. Mary, sometimes I think it is His very\\nhand, as much as when He touched those other little children. I wish Faith\\nto feel at home with Him and His home. Little thing I really do not think\\nthat she is conscious of any fear of dying I do not think it means anything to\\nher but Christ, and her father, and pink blocks, and a nice time, and never dis-\\nobeying me or being cross. Many a time she wakes me up in the morning talk-\\ning away to herself, and when I turn and look at her, she says Oh, mamma,\\nwon t we go to heaven to-day, you fink When will we go, mamma\\nIf there had been any pink blocks and ginger-snaps for me when I was\\nat her age, I should not have prayed every night to die out. I think the hor-\\nrors of death that children live through, unguessed and unrelieved, are awful.\\nFaith may thank you all her life that she has escaped them.\\nI should feel answerable to God for the child s soul if I had not prevented\\nthat. I always wanted to know what sort of mother that poor little thing had who\\nasked, if she were z C7 y good up in heaven whether they wouldn t let her go dov/n\\nto hell Saturday afternoons and play a little while\\nI know. But think of it blocks and ginger-snaps!\\nI treat Faith just as the Bible treats us, by dealing in pictures of truth that\\nshe can understand. I can make Clo and Abinadab Quirk comprehend that their\\npianos and machinery may not be made of literal rosewood and steel, but will\\nbe some synonym of the same thing, which will answer just such wants of their", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0366.jp2"}, "367": {"fulltext": "ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS 359\\nchanged natures as rosewood and steel must answer now. There will be ma-\\nchinery and pianos in the same sense in which there will be pearl gates and harps.\\nWhatever enjoyment any or all of them represent now, something will repre-\\nsent then.\\nBut Faith, if I told her that her heavenly ginger-snaps would not be made\\nof molasses and flour, would have a cry, for fear that she was not going to have\\nany ginger-snaps at all so, until she is older, I give her unqualified ginger-snaps.\\nThe principal joy of a child s life consists in eating. Faith begins, as soon as the\\nlight wanes, to dream of that gum-drop which she is to have at bed-time. I don t\\nsuppose she can outgrow that at once by passing out of her little round body.\\nShe must begin where she left off nothing but a baby, though it will be as holy\\nand happy a baby as Christ can make it. When she says, Mamma, I shall be\\nhungry and want my dinner up there, I never hesitate to tell her that she shall\\nhave her dinner. She would never, in her secret heart though she might not\\nhave the honesty to say so expect to be otherwise than miserable in a dinnerless\\neternity.\\nYou are not afraid of misleading the child s fancy?\\nNot as long as I can keep the two ideas that Christ is her best friend,\\nand that heaven is not meant for naughty girls pre-eminent in her mind. And\\nI sincerely believe that He would give her the very pink blocks which she antici-\\npates, no less than He would give back a poet his lost dreams, or you your\\nbrother. He has been a child perhaps, incidentally, to the unsolved mysteries of\\natonement, for this very reason, that he may know how to prepare their places\\nfor them, whose angels do always behold His Father. Ah, you may be sure\\nthat, if of such is the happy Kingdom, He will not scorn to stoop and fit it to\\ntheir little needs.\\nThere was that poor little fellow whose guinea-pig died do you remem-\\nber?\\nOnly half; what was it?\\nOh, mamma, he sobbed out, behind his handkerchief, don t great big\\nelephants have souls?\\nNo, my son.\\nNor camels, mamma?\\nNo.\\nNor bears, nor alligators, nor chickens?\\nOh, no, dear.\\nOh, mamma, mamma! Don t little clean, white guinea-pigs have souls?\\nI never should have had the heart to say no to that, especially as we have\\nno positive proof to the contrary.\\nThen that scrap of a boy who lost his little red balloon the morning he", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0367.jp2"}, "368": {"fulltext": "36o BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nbought it, and, broken-hearted, wanted to know whether it liad gone to heaven.\\nDon t I suppose if he had been taken there himself that very minute, that he\\nwould have found a little balloon in waiting for him? How can I help it?\\nIt has a pretty sound. If people would not think it so material and shock-\\ning\\nLet people read Martin Luther s letters to his little boy. There is the\\ntestimony of a pillar in good and regular standing! I don t think you need be\\nafraid of my balloon after that.\\nI remembered that there was a letter of his on heaven, but, not recalling it\\ndistinctly. I hunted for it to-night, and read it over. I shall copy it, the better\\nto retain it in mind.\\nGrace and peace in Christ, my dear little son. I see with pleasure that\\nthou learnest well, and prayed diligently. Do so, my son, and continue. When\\nI come home I will bring thee a pretty fairing.\\nI know a pretty, merry garden wherein are many children. They have\\nlittle golden coats, and they gather beautiful apples under the trees, and pears,\\ncherries, plums, and wheat-plums they sing, and jump, and are merry. They\\nhave beautiful little horses, too, with gold bits and silver saddles. And I asked\\nthe man to whom the garden belongs, whose children they were. And he said\\nThey are the children that love to pray and to learn, and are good. Then said\\nI Dear man, I have a son, too; his name is Johnny Luther. May he not also\\ncome into this garden and eat these beautiful apples and pears, and ride these\\nfine horses? Then the man said If he loves to pray and to learn, and is good,\\nhe shall come into this garden, and Lippus and Jost, too and when they all come\\ntogether, they shall have fifes and trumpets, lutes and all sorts of music, and they\\nshall dance, and shoot with little cross-bows.\\nAnd he showed me a fine meadow there in the garden, made for dancing.\\nThere hung nothing but golden fifes, trumpets, and fine silver cross-bows. But\\nit was early, and the children had not yet eaten therefore I could not wait the\\ndance, and I said to the man Ah, dear sir I will immediately go and write all\\nthis to my little son Johnny, and tell him to pray diligently, and to learn well, and\\nto be good, so that he also may come to this garden. But he has an Aunt\\nLehne he must bring her with him. Then the man said It shall be so go and\\nwrite him so.\\nTherefore, my dear little son Johnny, learn and pray away! and tell Lip-\\npus and Jost, too, that they must learn and pray. And then you shall come to the\\ngarden together. Herewith I commend thee to Almighty God. And greet Aunt\\nLehne, and give her a kiss for my sake.\\nThy dear father,\\nAnno 1530. iMartinus Luther.", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0368.jp2"}, "369": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\n361\\nTHE ANSWER OF THE SEA\\nBY JOHN LANODON HEATON\\n(Born at Canton, N. Y., January 29, i860)\\nOne (lay I saw a ship upon the sands\\nCareened tipon beam-ends, her tilted deck\\nSwept clear of rubbish of a long-past wreck,\\nHer colors struck, but not by human hands\\nHer masts the driftwood of what distant strands\\nHer frowning ports where, at the Admiral s beck,\\nGrim, scowling cannon held the foe in check,\\nGaped for the frolic of the minnow bands.\\nThe seaweed banners in her fo c s le waved\\nA turtle basked upon her capstan head\\nHer cabin s pomp the clownish sculpin braved.\\nAnd on her prow, where the lost figure-head\\nOnce scorned the brink, a name forgot was graved-\\nIt was The Irresistible I read", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0369.jp2"}, "370": {"fulltext": "JOHN LANGDON HEATON\\n36?", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0370.jp2"}, "371": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 365\\nJUDGES\\nBEING AN EXTRACT FROM A MOST EI^OQUENT ADDRESS IN THE UNITED STATES SENATE\\nBY CHARLES SUMNER\\n(Born at Boston, Mass., January 6, iSii; died at Washington, D. C, March ii, 1874)\\nET me here say that I hold Judges, and especially the Supreme Court of\\nthe country, in much respect but I am too familiar with the history of\\njudicial proceedings to regard them with any superstitious reverence.\\nJudges are but men, and in all ages have shown a full share of frailty.\\nAlas alas the worst crimes of history have been perpetrated under their\\nsanction. The blood of martyrs and of patriots, crying from the ground,\\nsummons them to judgment.\\nIt was a judicial tribunal which condemned Socrates to drink the fatal hem-\\nlock, and which pushed the Saviour barefoot over the pavements of Jerusalem,\\nbending beneath his cross. It was a judicial tribunal which, against the testi-\\nmony and entreaties of her father, surrendered the fair Virginia as a slave which\\narrested the teachings of the apostle to the Gentiles, and sent him in bonds from\\nJudea to Rome which in the name of old religion, adjudged the saints and fath-\\ners of the Christian Church to death, in all its most dreadful forms and which\\nafterwards in the name of the new religion, enforced the tortures of the Inquisi-\\ntion, amidst the shrieks and agonies of its victims while it compelled Galileo to\\ndeclare, in solemn denial of the great truth he had disclosed, that the earth did\\nnot move round the sun.\\nAy, sir, it was a judicial tribunal in England, surrounded\\nby all the forms of law, which sanctioned every despotic caprice of Henry the\\nEighth, from the unjust divorce of his queen to the beheading of Sir Thomas\\nMore which lighted the fires of persecution, that glowed at Oxford and Smith-\\nfield, over the cinders of Latimer, Ridley, and John Rodgers which, after\\nelaborate argument, upheld the fatal tyranny of ship money against the patriotic\\nresistance of Hampden which persistently enforced the laws of con-\\nformity that our Puritan fathers persistently refused to obey and which after-\\nwards, with Jeffries on the bench, crimsoned the pages of English history with\\nmassacre and murder, even with the blood of innocent women. Ay, sir, and it\\nwas a judicial tribunal in our country, surrounded by all the forms of law, which\\nhung witches at Salem, which affirmed the constitutionality of the Stamp Act,\\nwhile it admonished jurors and the people to obey and which now, in our\\nday, has lent its sanction to the unutterable atrocity of the Fugitive Slave Law.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0371.jp2"}, "372": {"fulltext": "CHARLES SUMNER\\n364", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0372.jp2"}, "373": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AAIERICAN LITERATURE 365\\nA LEGEND OF SONORA\\nBY HILDEGARDE HAWTHORNE\\n(Daughter of Julian and granddaughter of Nathaniel Hawthorne)\\n*WO persons, a man and a woman, faced each other under a ckimp of live\\noaks. Hard by were visible the walls of an adobe house crumbling\\nwith age. The sun was setting a slight breeze stirred in the dark\\nbranches of the trees, which all through the hot Mexican day had been\\nmotionless. The woman was dark and small, with large eyes and a\\ngraceful body the man, a swarthy vaquero, in serape and sombrero.\\nAnd you heard him say that said she.\\nYes, senorita. He said I love you! I love you! twice, like that. And\\nthen he kissed her.\\nAh he kissed her. Anything else\\nThis He handed her a shp of folded paper. It contained a woman s\\nname, a few words of passion and a signature. As the senorita s eyes perused it,\\nthey contracted and she drew a long breath. The vaquero watched her keenly.\\nI found it in the arbor after they had gone, said he.\\nShe looked away dreamily. Thank you, thank you, Mazeppa, she mut-\\ntered. It is late. I must go in now. Adois, Mazeppa. She turned and,\\nmoving slowly, vanished behind a corner of the adobe house.\\nThe vaquero remained motionless until she was out of sight. Then he\\npressed his hands to his lips, and flung them out toward her with a passionate\\ngesture. The next moment he had mounted his horse and was gone.\\nAn hour passed. Again the sound of hoofs. A handsome young senor,\\njauntily attired, galloped up to the door of the house, and springing from the\\nsaddle, hitched his rein over a large hook projecting from the wall. Hola!\\nMaria, little one he called out, in a rich, joyous voice. Where is my little\\nMaria?\\nThe senorita appeared, smiling. She was in white, with a reboso drawn\\naround her delicate face. She bore a two-handled silver cup, curiously chased.\\nSee, she said, I have brought you some wine. Such a long ride, just to see\\nme She was holding out the cup toward him but, as he was about to receive\\nit, she drew it back suddenly. She was pale her eyes glittered. I, too, am\\nthirsty, she said. She lifted the cup to her lips and took a deep draught. Now\\nyou shall finish it, she added, handing it to him.\\nFrom Harper s Magazine. Copyright, 1891, by Harper Brothers. All rights reser^-ed.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0373.jp2"}, "374": {"fulltext": "HILDEGARDE HAWTHORNE\\n366", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0374.jp2"}, "375": {"fulltext": "HILDEGARDE HAWTHORNE\\n367\\nHe nodded to her laughingly. To our love he said, and drained it. But\\nhow strangely you look at me, little one he exclaimed, as he set the cup down\\nand caught his breath. Is anything wrong?\\nAll is well, she answered. I am happy. Are you happy?\\nI I am with you, am I not?\\nShe put her hand in his. Let us never be parted any more, she said.\\nCome we ll walk to the hilltop and see the moon rise.\\nHand in hand, they sauntered along the path up the bare hillside. On and\\non they walked, slowly, slowly. Maria gave a little gasp, and glanced with dilated\\neyes at her lover. He smiled faintly, and tried to draw her toward him, but,\\nsomehow, did not and still they moved slowly on their way. The hilltop\\nseemed strangely far ofi. Maria pressed forward, grasping her lover s hand.\\nWhat made the distance seem so long Surely it was but a stroll of ten minutes\\nyet it was as though they had been walking an hour a year many years\\nDown the hillside path came a horseman, riding quietly and humming a\\nlove-song. He was close upon the two figures before he appeared to be aware\\nof them. They half stopped, as if to speak to him. The horse shivered and\\nplunged. The rider stared at the couple but an instant, then, driving home his\\nspurs, he sprang past them.\\nMother of God he faltered, crossing himself as he threw a backward\\nglance up the path, on which nothing was now visible the ghosts The little\\ngirl who, they say down below, poisoned herself and her lover fifty years ago", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0375.jp2"}, "376": {"fulltext": "MARY E. WILKINS\\n^,68", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0376.jp2"}, "377": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 369\\nEUNICE AND THE DOLL\\nBY MARY E. WILKINS\\n(Born at Randolph, Mass., 1862)\\nPART I.\\nIXTY years ago there were twelve hundred inhabitants and over in the\\nvillage, but there was only one doll. She was a member of the doctor s\\nfamily, being the property of his daughter Caroline, and spent most\\nof her time in the top of the great mahogany chest in the spare\\nchamber, because she was too handsome and too costly to be played\\nwith every day.\\nWhen I say there was only one doll in the village, I mean only one\\nboughten doll, or store doll. There were plenty of common, home-made dolls,\\nmanufactured from linen rags, and even from corncobs, but there was only one\\npainted, wax, real-haired doll, made, no one knew how or where, by some cun-\\nning workman with marvelous means at his command.\\nShe was as much a real doll as flesh-and-blood baby was a real baby.\\nThe mystery of existence was hers. If the truth had been told, many a little girl\\nscarcely believed that if the Doll s beautiful kid body were wounded, it would\\nbleed cotton wool, like that of her own doll. Eunice was especially skeptical.\\nOnce, when she had the pleasure of taking tea with Caroline Tucker, the\\nowner of the Doll, she questioned her.\\nWhat do you suppose she s made of inside? she asked, timidly. Eunice\\nwas rather shy of Caroline Tucker, who was a year older than she, had a silk dress,\\nwas the doctor s daughter, and owned the Doll.\\nOh, I don t know cotton wool, perhaps, replied Caroline Tucker. She\\nspoke quite carelessly. Long possession had cheapened for her the wonder\\nand charm of the Doll. Eunice shook her head doubtfully.\\nWhat do you suppose it is, then asked Caroline Tucker.\\nWhen I held her once I thought I felt something like bones, said Eunice\\nin a whisper.\\nI There were three other girls at the tea-party. They all shivered and stared\\n%t the Doll. Caroline Tucker laughed, and tossed back her curls with a grown-\\nup and superior air, which was usual with her.\\nOh, I have felt it. too, said she. Mother says she thinks the Doll is\\nmade of wooden framework. That s all, Eunice Field.\\nCopyright, 1896, by the Bacheller Syndicate.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0377.jp2"}, "378": {"fulltext": "370 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nThe five little girls, the four guests and Caroline Tucker, sat in the best\\nparlor, and the Doll with them in a little haircloth rocking-chair of her own.\\nThe Doll was arrayed in her company frock of spangled pink tarlatan, cut\\nlow in the neck. Her whole array might have been considered of somewhat too\\nfestive a character for an afternoon tea-party, being better adapted to a ball, or\\neven a circus, but the girls considered it eminently proper. They themselves wore\\nlow-necked and short-sleeved dresses, though the material was delaine or cambric,\\ninstead of tarlatan.\\nThey had come to the party at half-past one o clock, and brought their work.\\nEach was making a black silk apron for herself, embroidering it with a wreath\\nof red roses with green leaves across the top of the hem. Embroidered black\\nsilk aprons were very fashionable at that time, and the little girls were very much\\ninterested in theirs. They were all presents from Caroline s mother. She had\\ngiven her daughter and each of her daughter s particular friends, black silk\\nenough for an apron, and had herself drawn the rose pattern on tissue paper.\\nThe tea-party was given partly for the purpose of furthering work on the aprons.\\nCaroline was not very swift nor skillful with her needle, and her mother\\nthought that this might stimulate her to improvement.\\nCaroline Tucker had a very placid and contented disposition all her life she\\nhad heard about this other little girl who had knitted a whole stocking before she\\nwas near her age, and that other little girl who had pieced a whole bed-quilt, with-\\nout being in the least disturbed by her own remissness in those particulars.\\nHowever, now she really wanted the black silk apron it wa,s much more inter-\\nesting than a stocking or a bed-quilt, and she worked quite industriously.\\nEunice thought Caroline s mother was beautiful. Her admiration was di-\\nvided between Mrs. Tucker and the Doll.\\nThe five girls embroidered industriously, and the Doll sat still and stared\\npast them all with her unwinking blue eyes and smiled sweetly at nobody,\\nthough none of them knew that. Each thought that one of the others must\\ncatch that bright blue glance and sweet pink smile, if she did not.\\nAt four o clock Caroline s mother came in again and bade them all fold\\ntheir work away nicely, then put on their hats and run out in the garden for an\\nhour before tea. Just then Caroline s brother Peter came in. He was much older\\nthan Caroline, a grown-up young man in Harvard College. This was his vaca-\\ntion time. When he entered the little girls courtesied, and he greeted them\\n\\\\vith a gay friendliness which was very engaging. Peter Tucker was a hand-\\nsome young man, with brown hair curling over a high, white forehead, red\\ncheeks, and eyes as blue as the Doll s.\\nHe walked straight up to the Doll, in her little chair, and stood looking", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0378.jp2"}, "379": {"fulltext": "MARY E. WILKINS 371\\ndown at her. Eunice was of the firm opinion that she was then staring and\\nsmiUng at him.\\nWell, said Mr. Peter Tucker, with a deep sigh, I am thankful that this\\npoor Doll-baby isn t crying now, as she cried all last night in that awful chest\\nin the spare chamJDer where she is kept shut up.\\nOh, Peter! said his mother, remonstratingly.\\nThe guests nudged one another. They did not know wdiether to laugh or\\nsigh with him Mr. Peter was so very serious. Caroline tossed back her curls.\\nBrother Peter is always talking that way, said she.\\nNow, Sister Caroline, returned j\\\\Ir. Peter Tucker, and he looked almost\\nas if he were going to weep, the corners of his mouth were so drawn down, you\\nknow there isn t one night, and you know there are not many days, when this\\npoor precious Doll-baby is shut up in the chest that she doesn t cry and cry and\\nsob enough to break your heart, and say over and over that she s afraid of the\\ndark and mice in there, and beg to be let out.\\nMr. Peter imitated the Doll s voice with a lamentable little squeak, and\\nit did seem as if he would presently break into sobs. Caroline tossed back her\\ncurls again.\\nHe always talks that way, said she, and the guests laughed knowingly\\nall except Eunice Field. She looked soberly into Mr. Peter s face, and her fore-\\nhead between her smooth scallops of black hair was knitted in a troubled frown.\\nMr. Peter looked straight at her when he spoke again. And that is not all,\\nhe said, solemnly. That Doll has been known to move around in that chest.\\nHe s telling fibs, declared Caroline Tucker, but a shiver crept over the\\nothers, and Eunice turned quite pale.\\nSuch kickings and thumpings against the lid, which it is no use to say are\\ndue to rats and mice, Mr. Peter went on impressively and when it is raised\\nthat poor Doll-baby, lying all twisted up on her stomach, all worn out with\\nher struggles. If you don t believe it, look at the toes of her shoes. How do\\nyou suppose the morocco got so worn unless she kicked the chest to get out?\\nDolls don t walk, do they?\\nMr. Peter pointed triumphantly at the Doll s little pink morocco toes, which\\nwere undoubtedly rubbed, and the little girls eyed them curiously.\\nIf we don t go out now we shan t have any time in the garden before tea,\\ndeclared Caroline Tucker, though not impatiently. She was very fond and\\nproud of her big brother, though she was conscious of an entire superiority to his\\nteasing. She and her guests all flocked out, but Eunice turned for one more wist-\\nful look at Mr. Peter, and he nodded at her with intense meaning.\\nThere was a beautiful old garden with an arbor in it behind Doctor Tucker s", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0379.jp2"}, "380": {"fulltext": "3/2 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nhouse. The girls strolled up and down the box-bordered path, picked some\\ngooseberries, and finally began to play hide-and-seek.\\nCaroline was it, and Eunice was hunting for her near the garden gate\\nwhen she heard her name called. Eunice, some one said softly Eunice.\\nShe looked, and there stood Mr. Peter, with a roguish and ingratiating smile\\non his masculine face. He raised a finger and beckoned her toward the house.\\nCome in a minute, he whispered. I ve got something to show you.\\nEunice looked at him shyly and doubtfully. Come, said Mr. Peter; you\\ncan play hide-and-seek any time, and you don t know what I ve got to show\\nyou.\\nMr. Peter motioned so beseechingly toward the house that Eunice yielded\\nand followed him in.\\nMr. Peter led the way into the parlor, and Eunice noticed the minute she\\nentered that something about the room was changed. A large high-backed\\nchair had been drawn forward, and a screen which had stood before the fireplace\\nhad been moved to a position at right-angles with it. Between the screen and\\nhigh-backed chair sat the Doll in her old place.\\nEunice looked at her, and noted the fluffy spread of her pink tarlatan skirts,\\nthe mild stare of her blue eyes, and her sweet, set smile. Mr. Peter stopped and\\npointed at the Doll, with one of his commiserating sighs. Looks quite cheerful\\nnow, doesn t she? said he.\\nYes, sir, replied Eunice.\\nThat pink dress is pretty, isn t it?\\nYes, sir.\\nAnd she has a pretty smile, though she might smile a little more and look\\nhappier?\\nYes, sir.\\n]\\\\Ir. Peter sighed again and motioned Eunice into the square room at the\\nright of the chimney. There was a window in it, and the shutters were open.\\nThey were the only shutters which were open in the room all the others had been\\nclosed during Eunice s absence.\\nMr. Peter pushed Eunice gently forward, close to the window. From that\\nplace she could not have seen the Doll, even if she had not been concealed by the\\nscreen.\\nNow, said IMr. Peter, mysteriously, you see that tree?\\nYes, sir, replied Eunice. She could not well avoid seeing the tree, since\\nit was a tall elm only a few yards from the window. Well, said Mr. Peter, now\\nyou look straight up in the top of the tree, a little toward the right see any-\\nthing?\\nEunice looked very hard, but she saw nothing except the green network of", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0380.jp2"}, "381": {"fulltext": "MARY E. WILKINS 373\\nelm leaves. No, sir, she replied, doubtingly, and then she jumped and was\\nturning around, for she thought she heard a soft rustle and stir in front of the\\nfireplace where the Doll sat, Init Mr. Peter laid a gentle, detaining hand on her\\nshoulder. Look sharp, said he you don t look far enough to the left.\\nSee anything?\\nNo, sir, replied Eunice. She began to feel quite stupid and guilty.\\nSomething that shines, said Mr. Peter. See it?\\nEunice shook her head.\\nIt is odd you don t see it, said Mr. Peter. Try again.\\nEunice looked and looked. She thought again tliat she heard a slight rustle\\nin the vicinity of the Doll, but she did not turn her head. She stared up into the\\ngreen maze of the elm, and Mr. Peter waited.\\nSee it now? he inquired, finally, but before Eunice could reply he cried\\nout, Well. I declare, that Doll has changed her dress\\nEunice turned, and her eyes followed Mr. Peter s pointing finger. There sat\\nthe Doll, but instead of her pink tarlatan frock, she wore one of white muslin.\\nThat was not all. The Doll was smiling a smile fully one-quarter of an inch\\nwider than before. She seemed to be actually laughing.\\nOnly see her smile. She is pleased because she has changed her dress her-\\nself, said Mr. Peter.\\nEunice drew a long breath and looked at the Doll.\\nPART II.\\nEunice never quite knew what happened next, what she said and did, nor\\nwhat Mr. Peter said. The first that she could remember, after seeing the\\nDoll dressed in that other frock and smiling that wider smile, was being walked\\nup and down the south yard by Mr. Peter, and his voice in her ears, telling her\\nabout the mysterious object in the top of the elm tree.\\nIt is the hoodoo s nest, at least that s what I suspect it is, said Mr. Peter.\\nDid you ever hear of a hoodoo?\\nNo, sir, replied Eunice, faintly.\\nMr. Peter, as he talked, kept a sharp watch to see if Eunice s black eyes\\nwere losing their bewildered stare, and her mouth its helpless, breathless ex-\\npression.\\nIf the Doll had startled Eunice, Eunice had rather startled Mr. Peter. He\\ntalked very fast about the hoodoo s nest. Well, you see, Eunice, a hoodoo is a\\nvery vain bird, said he. I doubt if the oldest person in this town ever saw a\\nhoodoo. I never have myself. It Is a bird about as large as a small hen, of a\\npretty pink color, with three long and two short tail feathers, and a tufted head\\nbut the queerest thing about it is, it is hindside before, and topsy-turvy, and every", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0381.jp2"}, "382": {"fulltext": "374 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nwhich way generally. The left wing of a hoodoo is where the right wing ought\\nto be, and the right where the left ought to be the tail feathers are where the head\\nought to be, and head where the tail ought to be the feet and the head are topsy-\\nturvy, so it has to tumble over and hop the wrong side up, and it has always to fly\\nto the left when it wants to go to the right, and to go to the right when it wants to\\ngo to the left. Now, look up in the tree, Eunice, just at the right of that big\\nbough see the hoodoo s nest See it shine\\nEunice looked obediently, and that time she did see an indistinct something\\nin the top of the tree, giving out a dull reflection from the afternoon sun.\\nSee it? repeated Mr. Peter.\\nYes, sir.\\nLooks like gold, doesn t it? Well, maybe it is gold. No one will ever\\nknow. No one can ever get that hoodoo s nest did you know that, Eunice\\nMr. Peter s voice was very impressive. Eunice looked at him.\\nWell, I ll tell you why, said Mr. Peter. Once I tried to get that hoodoo s\\nnest, and I fell and broke my arm and once Sam Brown tried, and he fell and put\\nhis shoulder out of joint and once his brother Willy tried, and he came down with\\na fever next day. Nobody has ever tried to get that hoodoo s nest that some-\\nthing hasn t happened to him.\\nEunice look earnestly at Mr. Peter and laughed shyly. Her boundary-line\\nbetween the real and ideal was more marked in the case of birds than of dolls.\\nJust then ]Mr. Peter s mother came to the south door to tell them that tea was\\nready. What are you telling that child, Peter? she asked.\\nOnly about the hoodoo s nest in the tree, mother, replied Mr. Peter,\\nquite seriously and innocently.\\nMrs. Tucker looked up in the tree and laughed. Oh, that old paint pail,\\nshe said, it has been up there ever since the house was painted one Spring\\ntwenty years ago. I never knew how it got there I suppose one of the painters\\ntossed it into the tree and it caught. The boys were always trying to climb\\nthe tree and get it. That was the way Peter broke his arm when he was ten\\nyears old. There isn t any such bird as a hoodoo, dear now, come right in to\\ntea. Sally has gone to call the others in from the garden.\\nEunice, as she passed the parlor door on her way to the dining-room, saw\\nthe Doll in her little rocking-chair, and she was dressed in her pink spangled\\ntarlatan, and the wide smile had disappeared she displayed, instead, her usual\\nlittle, sweet, set pucker.\\nThe tea was very nice, even sumptuous, according to the ideas of the guests.\\nOnly Caroline and her friends sat at the table Mrs. Tucker thought they would\\nenjoy their tea better by themselves. Miss Sally Tucker waited on them. Miss\\nSallv was Doctor Tucker s sister, but she was very much younger. Indeed, she", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0382.jp2"}, "383": {"fulltext": "MARY E. WILKINS 375\\nwas scarcely older than Mr. Peter, and her ways were even more lively than his.\\nShe was very pretty and very smart she could play on the piano and harp, and\\ndraw and paint, and make wax flowers, and do worsted work. The little girls ad-\\nmired her very much. Eunice thought that she was even more beautiful than\\nMrs. Tucker, and Miss Sally noticed her more than she did any of the others.\\nAfter tea Miss Sally took Eunice up to her room, and presented her with a\\nbeautiful little blue glass bottle filled with cologne. Eunice was delighted. She\\nhad never seen anything so pretty. Then Miss Sally smoothed back her hair and\\nkissed her. You are a darling, said she. Then she hesitated. Eunice thought\\nshe was going to say something very particular, but she did not she only\\nlaughed, and said she was not very much frightenedswhen the doll changed her\\ndress, was she? And when Eunice said, No, ma am, kissed her again, and\\ntold her that she was the sweetest little thing in the world, Eunice smiled shyly\\nup in the beautiful young lady s face, and felt very loving and grateful, though\\nshe was still much bewildered when she thought of the Doll.\\nWhen Eunice got home that night, she seemed so sober that her aunt Maria\\nnoticed it. Eunice s parents had died when she was a baby, and she had lived\\nwith her aunt ever since she could remember. Miss Maria Staples was a school-\\nteacher p.nd considered very strict. All the scholars stood in awe of her, Eunice\\nas well as the rest, although the teacher was her own aunt. It was possible that\\nMiss Staples was so afraid of being partial that she was even more strict with\\nEunice than with the others.\\nWhat ails you, child? she asked that night, after Eunice had read her\\nchapter. Eunice was reading the Bible through, a chapter every night.\\nEunice jumped. She had been sitting with her closed Bible on her knees,\\ngazing straight ahead, her mouth drooping, her forehead knitted.\\nNothing, ma am, replied Eunice. She could not tell her aunt Alaria\\nabout the Doll.\\nWell, you had better go right to bed, said her aunt Maria. She thought\\nthat Eunice must be tired, and that was why she looked so sober. Eunice went\\nto bed, but she lay awake a long time thinking about the Doll, and wondering if\\nshe was crying, shut up in the closet in the Tucker spare chamber.\\nThe next day the fall term of school began, and Eunice went in a clean pink\\ncalico dress and a blue gingham tie. All her friends who had been at the tea\\nparty were there, except Caroline Tucker. At the recess of the afternoon session\\nEunice heard some wonderful news about her.\\nOnly think, Caroline is going West to stay six months with her grand-\\nmother Whiting, said Esther Green to the girls, who were eating the apples\\nwhich they had brought from luncheon out in the playground.\\nThey all stared. Out West had a tremendous sound in those times.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0383.jp2"}, "384": {"fulltext": "276 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nCaroline Tucker s grandmother lived no further west than New York State, but\\nthat was a goodly distance in those days of stage coaches.\\nDon t believe it, said one, stoutly.\\nMe, neither, said another.\\nIt s so, declared Esther Green. Her mother told my mother. That s\\nwhy she didn t come to school. Caroline, she ain t been very well lately, and her\\ngrandmother Whiting is all alone since Caroline s aunt Jane got married, and\\nso she s sent for Caroline right away the letter came this morning. Think the\\nchange will do Caroline good, and her grandmother s lonesome. There s a lady\\nthat liyos where her grandmother does, out West, is going home from Boston\\nday after to-niorro\\\\y, and Caroline is gx)ing with her. Caroline is going in the\\nstage to Uoston to-morrow, so. Esther Green gave a triumphant and conclu-\\nsive nod. vShe was a stout girl with an obstinate chin, who did not like to be\\ncontradicted.\\nAly! said a girl, drawing a long breath.\\nI s pose she ll take the Doll, said Eunice Field. Eunice had not spoken\\nbefore.\\nOf course she will, replied Esther Green; it ain t likely she d leave a doll\\nlike that at home.\\nWhy, I don t believe there s a doll as big as that, with real hair, out West.\\nCourse she ll take it, Eunice Field.\\nYes, I s poscd she would, agreed Eunice, meekly. She reflected that she\\nwould stay home from out West all the days of her life, rather than go away and\\nhave such a doll as that shut up in a chest in the spare chamber for six months.\\nCaroline Tucker started on her travels at eight o clock in the morning, in the\\nstage coach, which in those days plied between the villages and Boston. At re-\\ncess that forenoon, all her friends got together to discuss it, and then Eunice in-\\n([uired of Esther Green, who had seen Caroline, what the Doll wore.\\nShe didn t carry the Doll, replied Esther Green, with a slightly crestfallen\\nair.\\nEunice was never known to contradict any one, but this was an exception.\\nI don t believe it, said she.\\nWell, she didn t, so there, Eunice Field. I saw her start my own self, and\\nshe didn t carry the Doll.\\nEunice was incredulous for three days. Then, as she was going home from\\nschool one night she met Mr. Peter Tucker. He bowed gravely when she courte-\\nsicd, and she had almost passed him when he sighed deeply, and she knew what\\nwas coming. Oh, said Mr. Peter, you ought to hear that poor Doll-baby cry,\\nnow her mother has gone and she s shut up day and night in that chest it s\\nawful.", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0384.jp2"}, "385": {"fulltext": "MARY E. WILKINS 377\\nEunice cast such a pitiful, beseeching glance at Mr. Peter Tucker that his\\nconscience smote him a little, but he only nodded with grave emphasis, and\\nwent on.\\nEunice was so very sober that night that her aunt resolved to mix her up\\nsome sulphur and molasses, to take three mornings and skip three, and give it to\\nher at once. She thought that she could not be well.\\nIt so happened that the next day, after school, Eunice s aunt Maria sent her\\non an errand to Doctor Tucker s house. She was part way there when she met\\nMr. Peter Tucker, and Mrs. Tucker and Miss Sally were a little way behind him.\\nMr. Peter had his fishing rod. He bowed to Eunice and sighed.\\nShe had a dreadful night, he whispered, hurriedly, and then Mrs. Tucker\\nand Miss Sally came up and spoke to Eunice. They wore their best bonnets and\\ncarried parasols and were going out to make calls.\\nWere you going up to our house for that cape pattern for your aunt, my\\ndear? inquired Mrs. Tucker.\\nYes, ma am, replied Eunice.\\nI thought you might be. Your aunt said she would send for it some night\\nafter school. Well, my dear, there isn t a soul in the house, but the key to the\\nsouth door is under the mat. You unlock the door and go right in. You know\\nwhere Caroline s chamber is, dear?\\nYes, ma am.\\nWell, you go right up there and you will see the patterns tied up with a\\npink tape on Caroline s bed. You must lock the door when you go out and put\\nthe key under the mat.\\nYes. ma am, answered Eunice.\\nEunice went on to Doctor Tucker s house. She found the key under the\\nrush mat, unlocked the south door and entered. The house was still and echoed\\nso that she stood hesitating at the foot of the stairs. Her heart beat hard, and\\nshe looked around fearfully. Then she shut her mouth tightly and ran upstairs\\nas fast as she could go, as if she were fleeing from her own fear.\\nCaroline s chamber was a pretty little room, with white curtains, a white\\nvalanced bed and a white frilled dressing-table. The cape pattern tied with the\\npink tape lay on the bed.\\nEunice took it and went out. She was at the head of the stairs, when she\\nglanced in an open door on her right. It was the door of the spare chamber.\\nRight opposite stood a beautiful carved oak chest, which might have come over\\nin the Mayflower. Eunice stopped. She thought she heard. It was only her\\nimagination, or the cry in her own ears of her own pitying, loving little heart;\\nbut she thought she heard.\\nFive minutes later the south door of Doctor Tucker s house was locked, the", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0385.jp2"}, "386": {"fulltext": "3/8 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nkey was under the mat, and a little girl, with a great doll clasped fast to her bosom,\\nwas flying as for her life through the fields and gardens behind the houses on the\\neast side of the village street, never stopping until she reached Miss Staples s\\nlittle garden patch.\\nPART III.\\nThere was a tall asparagus bed in Miss Staples s garden, and in this, as in the\\ngreen and feathery glens of a veritable doll s forest, Eunice hid the Doll. She\\ncaught a glimpse of her aunt Maria moving past the kitchen windows, preparing\\nsupper, and she determined to conceal the Doll in the asparagus bed until she\\ncould take her into the house without detection.\\nAunt Maria was frying flap-jacks for supper she was so busy turning a big\\nbrown one that she did not look around when Eunice entered the kitchen.\\nI declare, I should think you had flown, you have been so quick; did you\\nget the pattern? said she.\\nYes, ma am, replied Eunice.\\nWell, take it into the sitting-room, and then you can set the table for\\nsupper.\\nEunice s aunt never looked at her, she was so busy with the flap-jacks, until\\nshe sat opposite her at the tea-table. Then she laid down the knife and fork, with\\nwhich she was raising a section of the pile of sugared and spiced flap-jacks, and\\nstared at her.\\nEunice Field, said she; what ails you? Are you sick?\\nNo, ma am, replied Eunice, faintly.\\nDid you run going to Doctor Tucker s?\\nNo, ma am.\\nDid you run coming heme?\\nYes, ma am.\\nWell, I thought you did. I wondered how you ever went so quick. How\\nmany times have I got to tell you not to run You look all beat out. You eat\\nyour supper, and then you go straight to bed.\\nEunice was usually very fond of flap-jacks, but that night she had hard work\\nto swallow a mouthful. After tea she went obediently to bed, though it was\\nscarcely twilight.\\nThat evening Aunt Maria cut out her cape from some brown ladies -cloth,\\nstealing every now and then to the foot of the stairs to listen to some restless\\nmovement on the part of Eunice, for she felt anxious about her. At nine o clock\\nshe went to bed herself at ten o clock she was sound asleep, and the house was\\nvery dark and still.\\nThen it was that a little white figure crept stealthily out of the west chamber,", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0386.jp2"}, "387": {"fulltext": "MARY E. WILKINS 379\\nand downstairs, feeling every step in the darkness, then through the kitchen and\\nout the back door, after cautiously slipping the bolt.\\nEunice had never been out-of-doors alone at night before, and the familiar\\ngarden seemed like a strange land to her. She sprang aside like a shying colt\\nat a moonbeam athwart the potato patch a white cat slunk across the path, and\\nher heart stood still, but she went on to the asparagus bed, and caught up the Doll\\nin her trembling little arms.\\nThen back she fied into the house, locked the door, and went upstairs in her\\nown chamber and her own bed, and Aunt Maria had not stirred. Eunice s feet\\nwere icy cold she trembled from head to foot, and she slept no more that night,\\nbut she held the Doll cuddled close and warm, released from the lonely prison in\\nthe chest in the spare chamber of the Tucker house. Mr. Peter won t hear you\\ncry to-night. You are safe now, you precious, she whispered.\\nThe next morning, long before Aunt Maria was stirring, at the first glimmer\\nof dawn, Eunice was up. She tip-toed up the garret stairs with the Doll, and hid\\nher away in a chest where Aunt Maria kept her winter bed-clothes. She kissed\\nthe Doll s pink face lovingly, before she closed the lid.\\nDon t you be afraid I ll take you out to-night, she whispered.\\nMiss Maria Staples, during the next two weeks, had no idea of the double\\nlife which her little niece was leading she worried considerably about her health,\\nshe looked so unnaturally grave and thoughtful, and even had a little tonic pre-\\npared for her by Doctor Tucker, but she did not dream of the true state of things.\\nEvery night, after her aunt was asleep. Eunice stole up the garret-stairs, in fear\\nand trembling, for the garret was an awful place to be in at night. She was afraid\\nof mice she was afraid of the dark and all the intangible horrors which it might\\nconceal, but she braved everything for the sake of the beloved Doll, who was\\nlifted tenderly from the chest, carried down to her own bed, and cuddled in her\\narms until dawn. Sometimes, too, during the day, when Aunt Maria was away\\nor busy, Eunice would steal up to the garret and comfort the Doll a little while in\\nher loneliness.\\nSo matters went on for two weeks then Caroline Tucker came home. Eu-\\nnice heard of it at school, the day afterward.\\nCaroline has got home, said Esther Green at recess, wath the importance\\nof a bearer of surprising news.\\nWhy, she hasn t been gone six months yet, said another girl, wonderingly\\nand the rest crowded around to hear.\\nWell, she s got home, anyhow, said Esther Green. My mother was in\\nthere last night and she saw her. Caroline had come home because there was\\nscarlet fever in the neighborhood out West where her grandmother lives, and her\\ngrandmother s youngest son, Caroline s uncle Ephraim, died with it when he", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0387.jp2"}, "388": {"fulltext": "38o BEST THINGS FROM AMERICx\\\\N LITERATURE\\nwas a baby, and Caroline s aunt never had it. Her grandmother brought her\\nhome why, Eunice Field, what is the matter with you\\nAll the girls stared at Eunice, who was white, and trembling as if she had a\\nchill.\\nHave you got the toothache? asked Esther Green.\\nEunice shook her head and ran into the schoolroom. She sat down at her\\ndesk and leaned her head on it, and her aunt came to her and anxiously inquired,\\nas Esther had done, what was the matter. Eunice only sobbed pitifully in such\\na weak, convulsive way that Miss Staples was terrified. She called in the girls\\nand questioned them, but they did not know what ailed Eunice. Finally Aunt\\nMaria sent her home, giving her the house-key.\\nYou take this, and run right straight home, said she, and you lie down on\\nthe sitting-room lounge and keep quiet, till I get home.\\nAunt ]Maria made up her mind to call in the doctor after school as she\\nwatched the miserable, trembling little figure creep out of the schoolhouse yard.\\nEunice went home most of the way kept her arm in its blue gingham sleeve\\ncrooked over her face. Just as she reached her own gate, Mr. Peter Tucker\\novertook her. He bent his head low as he came near her.\\nThat poor Doll-baby had a dreadful he began, then he fairly jumped at\\nthe look which Eunice gave him. It was at once grieved and reproachful, terri-\\nfied and accusing. Suddenly Eunice saw through Mr. Peter.\\nNo, she didn t, she cried; you didn t hear her cry last night. You tell\\nfibs with that Eunice was inside her own gate and Mr. Peter was standing,\\nstaring after her. He walked on a little way, then he returned and paused before\\nthe gate, as if he had a mind to enter, then he strolled slowly past.\\nPresently Eunice came hurriedly out of the house, and she carried the Doll\\nin her arms. Straight out of the gate and up the street she went, without a turn\\nto the right or left. The flaxen head and pink face of the Doll showed over her\\nshoulder as she marched along. Mr. Peter followed.\\nEunice kept on until she reached the Tucker house. She went up to the\\nsouth door and knocked, and some one opened it before Mr. Peter entered the\\nyard. When he opened the door, a moment later, he heard a shrill, clear, child-\\nish voice, from the parlor. He went in, and there sat Mrs. Tucker, and Miss\\nSallie Tucker. Grandmother Whiting, and Caroline with her unfinished black\\nsilk apron in her lap, and there stood Eunice holding the Doll, and speaking very\\nfast.\\nI took her, said Eunice. He and she looked at Mr. Peter told me\\nshe changed her dress, and smiled, and how she cried nights. He told me how\\ndreadful she cried nights after Caroline went. He said he heard her last night.\\nHe didn t. He tells fibs. I had her. I took her I came for Aunt Maria s pat-", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0388.jp2"}, "389": {"fulltext": "MARY E. WILKINS 381\\ntern, and I saw the chest where she was, and I I thought I heard her, and I\\ntook her to sleep with me while Caroline was gone, and nov; I ve brought her\\nback.\\nGrandmother Whiting was a large, fair-faced old lady, in black bombazine\\nand a white lace kerchief and white lace cap. The first thing that Eunice knew\\nshe and the Doll were both gathered into her wide, soft embrace.\\nYou poor little puppet, said Grandmother Whiting, the Doll-baby don t\\ncry doll-babies don t ever cry, bless your little heart. Grandmother Whiting\\nchoked a little as she spoke. I don t see what the child means by the Doll s\\nchanging her dress and smiling, she said in an anxious aside to jNIrs. Tucker.\\nShe isn t out of her head, is she?\\nMiss Sally Tucker came swiftly across the room and knelt in a swirl of pink\\nflounces beside Grandmother Whiting. She got hold of Eunice s little hand\\nand kissed it penitently.\\nIt was a shame, she said, tearfully. Peter put me up to it, but I was as\\nmuch to blame as he.\\nThen Miss Sally confessed how she had aided Mr. Peter to play upon poor\\nEunice s credulity, and had hidden herself behind the screen in the afternoon of\\nthe tea-party, and while Mr. Peter diverted Eunice s attention, had changed the\\nDoll s dress and widened her smile by drawing a tiny upward line of carmine at\\neach corner of her mouth. I was afraid I could not get it off and had spoiled\\nCaroline s Doll, but I did, faltered Miss Sally. I never thought the dear child\\nwould take it the way she did. I wanted to tell her all about it, but Peter thought\\nit would spoil the joke.\\nI don t call it a joke, Mrs. Tucker said, quite severely.\\nAll I can say is, I am sorry, mother, Mr. Peter said, soberly. I had no\\nidea of the child s taking it so to heart. I thought she was too old to really be-\\nlieve it. I ve kept it up ever since, for every time I have met the poor little thing\\nI have told her how that Doll was taking on nights.\\nYou ought to be ashamed of yourself, Peter Tucker, said Grandmother\\nWdiiting.\\nI am, grandmother, returned Mr. Peter, ruefully.\\nNow, said Grandmother Whiting to Caroline, who had let her black silk\\napron slip to the floor, and sat staring in utter bewilderment at everybody and her\\nDoll, of which she had not thought since her return, but which she certainly had\\nsupposed to be safe in the chest in the spare chamber, I want you to do an\\nerrand. You go upstairs to my chamber, and you open the drawer in my table\\nand you ll find a paper of peppermints. You bring them down.\\nThere, there, poor little soul said she to Eunice, who was crying softly in", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0389.jp2"}, "390": {"fulltext": "382 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nher friendly bosom, don t you think any more about it. Grandma s going to\\ngive you some nice peppermints.\\nMiss Maria Staples hastened home from school she was so anxious about\\nEunice and found Mrs. Tucker watching for her in her front parlor. Eunice\\nwas out in the sitting-room on the lounge, where Mrs. Tucker had bade her lie\\nquietly, and she heard for some time a hum of voices in the parlor. Finally the\\nfront door shut, and her aunt came into the sitting-room. She stooped over Eu-\\nnice, sm.oothed her hair, and kissed her. You did very wrong to deceive me,\\nand make so free with other folk s belongings, said she. You mustn t ever do\\nsuch a thing again, and you mustn t be so silly, and believe such silly things.\\nYou re getting to be a big girl now. Then Aunt Maria kissed Eunice agam.\\nIt was a week after that, when one evening, as Eunice was reading her chap-\\nter and Aunt Maria was sewing, Mr. Peter Tucker knocked. When Eunice\\nopened the door he entered, bearing a strange burden for a young man in Har-\\nvard. He carried the Doll becomingly attired in a traveling costume of red\\ncloak and white hat with blue ribbons. He also carried the Doll s wardrobe in a\\nlittle trunk. Mr. Peter made a low bow and stated his errand at once.\\nI have bought a new doll for my sister which she is pleased to prefer to her\\nold one, said he. She does not feel able to care for two such children and finish\\nher black silk apron, and therefore I have come to beg Miss Eunice to accept the\\nDoll-baby, of which she took such loving care during her mother s absence.\\nyyy^\\nryiM^t^tyi/l/3", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0390.jp2"}, "391": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 383\\nA SPECIMEN OF MARY E. WILKINS S MANUSCRIPT\\nPw^ CoJbX, ChJiU/ MA^y^^L 6tfe CUt.^^:\\ncaapC tfv _\u00c2\u00a3w n4^ ^pr^\u00c2\u00a3 e,^ ^i^U w ).^m^4k\\n^^\\\\.i,U{7 CV^ J Ci^^^ (U -^yiA. t^^-^oOU^ C^T- c^L^ CAy\\\\yi^\\n^lal:w ccvvC/ i jV oioi^ CC\\n(NV ccvwf- JV", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0391.jp2"}, "392": {"fulltext": "JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY\\n384", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0392.jp2"}, "393": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 385\\nA LIFE LESSON\\nBY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY\\n(Born at Greenfield, Ind., 1853)\\nThere, little girl, don t cry\\nThey have broken your doll, I know.\\nAnd your teaset blue, and your playhouse, too,\\nAre things of the long ago\\nBut childish troubles will soon pass by;\\nThere, little one, don t cry\\nThere, little girl, don t cry!\\nThey have broken your slate, I know,\\nAnd the glad wild ways of your school-girl days\\nAre things of the long ago\\nBut life and love will soon come by\\nThere, little girl, don t cry\\nThere, little girl, don t cry\\nThey have broken your heart, I know.\\nAnd the rainbow gleams of your youthful dreams\\nAre things of the long ago\\nBut Heaven holds all for which you sigh\\nThere, little girl, don t cry!\\nBv courtesy of the Bowen-Merrill Co., of Indianapolis, Ind.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0393.jp2"}, "394": {"fulltext": "JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER\\n386", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0394.jp2"}, "395": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM. AMERICAN LITERATURE 387\\nA NIGHT OF DEFEAT\\nBEING CHAPTER XXIII. FROM A HEKAL,D OF THE WEST\\nBY JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER\\n(Born in the village of Three Springs, Hart County, Kentucky, April 29, 1S62)\\nS the darkness came out of the east and the silence of desolation spread\\nover the doomed city I felt that it was time for me to go. The last\\nstraggler was disappearing, a wagon loaded with household goods had\\njust lumbered past me and gone out of sight around a corner the night\\nwas settling down, thick and close, after a hot, burning day. There\\nwas nothing that one could do in Washington, and my sole idea then\\nwas to go to Georgetown and help in the escape and protection of Marian. I\\nstood in Pennsylvania Avenue, where I had made my last effort to rally some\\nuniformed fugitives. Near me loomed the Capitol, its white walls shining\\nthrough the advancing dusk. I turned to go, and heard a rattle and shout and\\nthe tread of many feet. Before me blazed the red coats of an English regiment,\\nadvancing up the avenue, in but half order, their general, Ross, and the admiral,\\nCockburn, who commanded the blockading fieet, at their head. Theirs was\\nnot the precise, steady walk of the drill ground, of troops under strict discipline,\\nbut they came on in irregular lines, shouting and firing stray shots at the silent\\nand unoffending walls of houses. I saw at once that these men, wild and drunk\\nwith triumph, were in truth the men of whom Wellington wrote, and less kin\\nto the Puritans of Cromwell than ever. I was about to turn again for retreat\\nanother way, when my eye v^^as caught by the figure of an officer riding just\\nbehind the British general a tall man, straight-shouldered, and riding stiffly.\\nIt was my kinsman. Major Northcote, in a brilliant uniform, all his seeming\\nindifference gone, his face red with the flush of victory and gratified malice,\\nas on this, the most triumphant day of his life, he rode toward the Capitol of the\\ncountry which had injured him and which, I knew now, he hated with as much\\nvindictive passion as the human breast is capable of holding. He fascinated me\\nfor the moment as Turnus in the yEneid or the Devil in Paradise Lost fascinates\\nthe reader. The light of the setting sun, reddestas it goes, blazed upon his face,\\nand brought forth like Greek chiseling every strong and sharpened feature the\\nmassive head, the projecting chin, the tight-shut lips, the high cheek bones, the\\nseamed forehead, the thick gray hair above, the whole handsome as ever, but now\\nharsh and repellent.\\nCopyright, 189S, by D. Appleton Co. Reprinted by special permission of the Publishers and Author.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0395.jp2"}, "396": {"fulltext": "388 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nIt was only for the moment that I looked, and then I turned again to flee\\ndown a side street. Some of the soldiers saw me and shouted to their comrades\\nto shoot, setting the example by firing point-blank at my vanishing form, and the\\nothers followed quickly with a volley. But the twilight had come and the soldiers\\nwere unsteady. I heard their bullets whistling around me, but none touched me,\\nand I told Philip Ten Broeck that it was time to show himself a man of speed and\\nsure foot, and so telling I took his advice and darted into the side street. It was\\nwell for me that I looked before me, for my eyes were saluted again by a line of\\nred uniforms, and down the side street at a trot came a company of British gren-\\nadiers, shouting like their comrades in the avenue and firing at the houses, chang-\\ning their aim when I came and sending their bullets at me. This way was closed,\\nand I ran back into the avenue, to find the main body of the troops still nearer.\\nObeying instinct, I ran straight ahead at a great pace and directly toward the\\nCapitol. I would have tried another side street, but I feared that I would dash\\ninto a British company, for they seemed to be approaching from almost every di-\\nrection, and I ran on toward the great building, which rose white and massive in\\nthe misty twilight. More muskets were discharged at me, and the troops shouted\\nin delight like hunters at a fox chase but I had little fear of their bullets, which\\nstruck bushes and houses, but never my body.\\nI dashed around a little patch of shrubbery, took a few leaps, and was then\\nat the Capitol. I believed that the troops had lost sight of me, and I would hide\\nin the building until the darkest part of the night came, when I would escape to\\nthe country. I listened for a moment behind one of the pillars, and then entered\\nthe Capitol. Books and parchments were scattered upon the floors, but around\\nme was utter silence, and the darkness of night had gathered already in the lone\\nrooms and halls. On a table in one of the rooms a candle burned dimly. How\\nit came to be lighted I know not, but it sputtered there and threw its flickering\\nflame on the marble walls like one of the torches that some religions burn at the\\nfeet of the dead.\\nWhen I stepped heavily upon a stone floor the great building rumbled as the\\necho fled through hall and corridor, and the succeeding silence and desolation\\noppressed me. I went into the Senate chamber, where I had listened :o the elo-\\nquence of Mr. Clay urging on the war, and walked down between the rows of de-\\nserted desks, some with rolls of papers lying upon them, and faced the Vice-\\nPresident s chair, sitting there an emblem of emptiness and abandonment. It\\nwas now more than twilight in the silent chamber, for within those walls the dark-\\nness had come, and it was only my accustomed eyes that enabled me to see even\\nthen the walls and chairs and desks became shadowy, while the feeble rays of light\\nthat filtered through the windows made a pallid and ghostly hue where they fell.\\nIt was to me a dim chamber of the dead, and mv brain was excited with the wild", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0396.jp2"}, "397": {"fulltext": "JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER 389\\nbattle and flight of the day, the heat and dust, the shame and disgrace of the rout,\\nand my presence alone there in that darkening room, from which the rightful oc-\\ncupants had fled. My heart was filled with varying emotions, shame, anger, ex-\\ncitement my feet became light as air, and my brain swelled with strange ideas. I\\nwalked down the aisle and up to the Vice-President s chair, in which I took my\\nseat and faced the empty chairs of the senators.\\nIt was a fine chair, a big chair, but I filled it, for I say again that my brain\\nswelled with the excitement and battle of the day and held strange ideas. I\\nlooked down at the rows of silent desks and empty chairs, formless in the dark,\\nand facing me like phantoms, and I trembled with indignation at those who had\\noccupied them and had fled. I threw up my hand, and it struck a gavel on a little-\\nmarble-topped table by my side. The Vice-President s gavel He, too, was\\ngone. Then I would wield it for him\\nI rapped once, twice, thrice, on the marble table for order. The resonant\\nstone gave back the sound, and the dim chamber echoed with it. The rows of\\ndesks, looking more than ever in the thickening dusk hke phantoms of men, faced\\nme, ordered and silent.\\nI rose to my feet, the gavel still in my hand.\\nSenators, pillars of your country, I said, speaking clearly and distinctly,\\nfor years we were threatened with war, and we had no recourse but war. Then\\nyou brought us war. Is it not so?\\nNo answer no dissent.\\nThen you brought us war, I say, and you did right and, still holding the\\nblessings of peace in view, you made no preparations for it. You gave us war,\\nbut you denied us any army or arms. Is it not true?\\nNo answer.\\nDoes the senator from Massachusetts deny it He does not Does the\\nsenator from South Carolina deny it? Does the senator from New York deny\\nit? They do not. Then, be it resolved that we are sluggards and blockheads\\nand unfit for our posts. Does any one oppose the resolution?\\nNo answer.\\nUnanimously adopted. Let it be entered upon the record, Mr. Clerk, that\\nthe noble senators, by unanimous resolution, have decided that they are sluggards\\nand blockheads and unfit for their posts. Moreover, gentlemen of the Senate,\\nwhen the enemy appeared at your gates you organized no resistance, but fled in\\nhaste and disgrace from your capital, leaving it to its fate. Therefore, be it re-\\nsolved, gentlemen of the Senate, that we are cowards, one and all; rank, scurvy\\ncowards. Does any one oppose the resolution?\\nNo answer.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0397.jp2"}, "398": {"fulltext": "390 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nUnanimously adopted. Enter it upon the record, Mr. Clerk, that the sen-\\nators, by unanimous resolution, have decided that they are cowards.\\nPresent arms Take aim\\nThe command, loud and sharp, came through the windows and recalled me\\nto what was passing outside. I sprang from the chair and running to the win-\\ndow looked out, but I took only one brief look. The British companies were\\ndrawn up, muskets presented and aimed at the windows of the Capitol. Between\\ntheir lines I could see Major Northcote on his horse, his face still flushed with all\\nthe joy of insolent triumph, and I knew that he more than any other had helped to\\nguide and lead them there. He had used his time in Washington well for him\\ntoo well for us.\\nFire\\nThree hundred muskets were discharged at once, and the bullets smashed\\ninto the windows of the Capitol. The glass over my head was shattered into a\\nthousand pieces, and poured down a rain of bits and splinters upon me. The\\nbullets whistled through the air and pattered upon the opposite walls. I re-\\nmained crouched where I was under the window, for I expected a second volley,\\nand it came quickly. Thev were so close that the flame from the muskets seemed\\nto flash in at the windows the glass left by the first discharge rattled upon the\\nfloor, the smoke pufifed in, and the whole building resounded and echoed with the\\nvolleys. The second discharge was succeeded by a stream of scattering shots,\\nand then I heard them shouting and cursing at the doors and pouring into the\\nbuilding.\\nI had rushed into the Capitol through instinct, thinking that I might find a\\nsafe hiding-place for a while in its deserted halls. In the fierce wars of the French\\nRevolution and those that came after, nearly every capital city of Europe had\\nbeen taken, and always they had been spared. The armies of the French republic\\nand the Napoleonic empire had entered capital after capital on the continent of\\nEurope, and they had harmed none if Moscow was burned it was not Napoleon s\\nsoldiers, but its own inhabitants, who burned it. The English and the Cossacks\\nhad been in Paris, and they had left Paris as it was but when the English, from\\nwhom we are descended, entered our new little capital of Washington, just rising\\nfrom bush and marsh, they raged with the mad lust that savages have for de-\\nstruction.\\nAs I sprang into one of the halls I saw the soldiers rushing into the building,\\nsome with lighted torches in their hands and others firing their muskets at the\\nceiling, the walls, chandeliers anything that was large enough to be a target.\\nAll were wild with that insane fury which in Malay countries they call running\\namuck. All were yelling and cursing, and the building resounded with the din\\nand confusion. Outside, their atlmiral, Cockburn, galloped up and down on a", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0398.jp2"}, "399": {"fulltext": "JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER 391\\nwhite mare, followed by her foal, a ferocious and ludicrous figure, bellowing to\\nhis men, egging them on, cursing the building and the nation that had built it.\\nTruly the better England was dead, that night\\nI ran down a hall and toward one of the back windows, hoping to escape\\nthrough it, but some soldiers there blocked my way. The whole building\\nswarmed with them they were everywhere, shouting and firing pistols and mus-\\nkets and setting torches to wooden furniture or whatever else inflammable they\\ncould find. Twice I saw Major Northcote, torch aloft, and shouting to the men\\nto spare nothing. His seemed to be the most ruthless hand in all that ruthless\\nband. Some of the halls and rooms were as light as day, for in places the in-\\nterior of the building was already in a bright blaze in others, which the flames\\nhad not yet reached, it was still dark. Columns of smoke poured down the halls,\\nand the crackling of burning material mingled with the shouts and oaths of the\\ntroops. In the half light and the savage orgie no one noticed me, though more\\nthan once I brushed against the soldiers as I sought some way of escape. All\\nseemed to be closed to me the British were everywhere in the building, and out-\\nside they surrounded it. In the dusk of the dim halls, with the men thinking of\\nnothing but to destroy the senseless wood and stone, I could escape notice, but\\noutside, where so many torches flared and officers and soldiers looked on, they\\nwould be sure to mark me the moment I appeared. I felt for the first time a fear\\nfor my life, but I did not think of surrender, and had I thought of it, the idea\\nwould have been dismissed the next moment, since I could expect no quarter from\\nthese men.\\nThe flames were roaring now and licked out at the windows, showers of\\nsparks formed a luminous core for the columns of smoke which poured down the\\nhalls, and the snapping and popping were like the incessant crackling of pistol\\nshots. The soldiers, their work well done, were rushing from the building, and\\nI fled alone into a small room, where I paused like a wild beast chased from his\\nlair by fire. I stood there by a window, half strangled by the smoke and scorched\\nby the flying sparks. Behind me the flames roared, and across at the other wing\\nthey shot far above the roof, casting a wide circuit of light around the burning\\nbuilding. I saw Major Northcote rush out, mount his horse, and ride up by the\\nside of General Ross and Admiral Cockburn. The three sat together for a few\\nmoments, on their horses, looking at the flaming Capitol, then they gave com-\\nmands to the soldiers, who turned about and marched down the avenue toward\\nthe White House.\\nI stood there yet a little longer watching them as they marched, until the\\ncrash of falling woodwork behind me said that it was time to go then, letting\\nmyself down from the window, I dropped lightly to the earth outside. I shrank\\nfor a little against the wall of the building that I might be protected by its shadow,", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0399.jp2"}, "400": {"fulltext": "392 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nfor there were still straggling soldiers about, drunk with success and more real\\nliquor, firing their muskets and ready for murder.\\nA light wind was fanning the fire, which was increasing fast, and the walls\\ngrew hot. Cinders and half-burned pieces of wood were falling about me, and\\nsmoked or burned in the grass where they fell. I made a dash and crossed the\\ncircle of light unnoticed. Then, skulking in the darkness behind the houses and\\n])atches of bushes, I followed the general direction in which Ross and Cockburn\\nhad gone, turning occasionally to look back at the Capitol, now a mass of fire, yet\\nwith the white of the marble still gleaming here and there through the sheets of\\nflame. All about it the earth was lighted up, but beyond lay the encircling rim of\\ndarkness, and above it the clouds of smoke mingled with other clouds which were\\ndrifting across the sky and formed a sombre canopy.\\nThe English were hastening toward the President s house, and in a few min-\\nutes I saw columns of flame shooting up from its roof and bursting from the win-\\ndows, while soldiers carrying loot from the rooms rushed about showing their\\nspoils. Then the torch was set to the Treasury, and at the same time the flames\\nshot up from the navy-yard, where the buildings and the incomplete ship on the\\ndock were burning. All the time the shouting and cursing and indiscriminate\\nfiring went on. The soldiers shot at any one they met not wearing their uni-\\nform, and I saw a man named Lewis murdered in the street because he rebuked\\nthem for savagery. Higher and higher rose the flames from the doomed build-\\nings, and drunken soldiers danced by their light, while others broke down the\\ndoors of houses and ransacked them for plunder.\\nI saw that my curiosity, the strange fascination that this wild scene, smack-\\ning of the bloody deeds of antiquity, had for me, had led me again into danger.\\nI had approached too near the avenue, and hearing soldiers shouting in the cross\\nstreets behind me, I pushed open the door of a little negro cabin that stood on\\nPennsylvania avenue and entered. I had now all my wits about me and knew\\nwhat I was doing. There was no sign of life in the place, and it was too humble\\nand mean for any one to search there for plunder. In one corner was a ladder\\nleading to a little loft, the eaves of which sloped almost to the ceiling of the first\\nfloor. But I went lightly up the ladder, which I pulled into the loft after me, and\\nthen I squeezed myself down between the floor and the sloping roof, where I\\ncould look out through a little foot-square window, without any glass in it, and\\nsee what passed.\\nThe night was far advanced, and yet the soldiers still rioted, their command-\\ners apparently making no effort to restore order, but seeking rather to increase\\nthe wildness and savagery of the orgie. What an opportunity it would have\\nbeen for a little army of our regular troops, which fought so bravely on other\\nfields All the British forces would have been routed in half an hour. But -he", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0400.jp2"}, "401": {"fulltext": "JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER 393\\nthought brought only bitterness and shame, for that Httle army of regular troops\\nwas not there.\\nThe flames from the burning buildings still lighted up Washington, and had\\nit been a solidly built city, instead of a scattered village with a few detached and\\nsplendid structures, the whole of it would have been on fire before this. But\\neven as it was the flames were increasing, and the clouds of smoke widened and\\ndarkened. There were other clouds, too, piling up in the sky, and a west wind\\nwas moaning. The cinders and ashes driven by the gusts were falling every-\\nwhere, and a fine gray dust sifted in at my little window and lodged upon my face.\\nDespite the gigantic bonfires of the burning buildings, the night began to\\ngrow darker, the moan of the wind grew to a shriek in the far southwest the\\nclouds were piling up higher and higher big, black and threatening. The fig-\\nures of the rioting soldiers grew shadowy, mere black lines against the fiery back-\\nground.\\nMy brain still throbbed with excitement, and my hands felt hot to the touch\\nof each other, but I had no thought of rest. I could not have slept if I had tried,\\nand I lay there with my face in the hole in the wall which served as a window and\\nwatched, as the sack of the city went on.\\nThe advancing clouds dimmed the light of the fires, the shots became few,\\nthen ceased, the figures of the soldiers, save in the brightest light, melted from\\nblack lines into nothing, but the clouds of ashes grew thicker. The shouting died,\\nand after it came a stillness broken only by the sweep of the flames and the rush of\\nthe wind. I looked up at the sky not a star, not a strip of moonlight was there\\nthe heavy gray clouds of smoke had gathered against the darker background of\\nother clouds, and through both shone a red gleam from the fires below. The air\\nwas dense and heavy, and its closeness, the red-black of the sky, the feeling left\\nby the wild scenes of the night, seemed to portend a convulsion of Nature an\\nearthquake, perhaps. Aly own senses were oppressed. Brain and heart felt as if\\nthey were clogged up.\\nThe wind was whistling and shrieking around the little cabin. The air grew\\npurer under its breath, and the flames of the burning city bent far over as it swept\\nagainst them. In the southwest the clouds were of a jetty blackness, but suddenly\\nthey parted before a flash of lightning which cut the sky like a sword blade from\\nthe center of the heavens to the earth.\\nThe glare of the lightning upon my eyeballs was so strong that the red gleam\\nin the air lingered after the flash was gone and the clouds had closed again over\\nits track. The rumble of thunder came from the far southwest, and the wind\\nshrieked its delight. The columns of fire bent farther over before its rush, and it\\nseemed to me that ribbons of flame were torn ofif to float a little in the air and\\nvanish. Toward the burning White House a few distorted figures were yet vis-", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0401.jp2"}, "402": {"fulltext": "394 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nible against the red background, but they, too, soon fled after the other soldiers\\nwho were seeking shelter.\\nThe thunder began to rumble again and did not cease, but came nearer\\nthe unbroken shriek of the wind was like the wailing of a thousand bagpipes, and\\ndrops of cold rain, driven like pistol balls, struck me in the face. The lightning\\nbegan an incessant play in the heavens, flashing here and reappearing there with\\nsuch rapidity and intensity that my eyes ached, though I did not cease to look.\\nThe raindrops thickened into a shower and then into a steady rush, swept on by\\nthe wind. The thunder now cracked and rolled incessantly, and after all tlie\\nwild events of the day and evening, with the city burning around me, I was be-\\nholding at midnight of a hot August night a fierce storm of thunder and light-\\nning. Nature seems to set her most terrible efforts against those of man. Tlie\\nrain poured as if the bottom of all the clouds had dropped out, and in the street\\na river of mud and water was running. The buildings burned bravely on for a\\nwhile but the flood was too great for the flames, and though they fought long,\\nthey began to smoulder at last and then went out, but left only blackened walls,\\nall else being consumed. The city w^as then in darkness, save for the light of two\\nor three camp-fires which glimmered through the wet and blackness of the\\nstorm, and, exhausted with the exertion and excitement of the day and night,\\nthough thinking nothing of sleep, I slept.", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0406.jp2"}, "403": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 395\\nTHE ELOPEMENT\\nFAC-SIMILE OF MANUSCRIPT PAGES FROM THK BOW OF ORANGE RIBBON\\nBY AMELIA E. BARR\\n^/^^^^^^^^^^j^--/-^7^", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0407.jp2"}, "404": {"fulltext": "AMELIA E. BARR\\n396", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0408.jp2"}, "405": {"fulltext": "AMELIA E. BARR 397\\nLaid, ^/^Z^4^^.%--f", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0409.jp2"}, "406": {"fulltext": "398 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\ni,^ ^^A^ Jid(_ duJ. PmAj/L ,\u00c2\u00ab5!\u00c2\u00ab;\u00c2\u00a3^a6 M^^ TfU^L./^y\\n(JIcILl ^^AoL ^Tfe^ A^^^^.a^^^^^^\\nU^itC M^ 0/\\nJ ^izh^ ,:i^t/-^r^^^^^^^^^^J^", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0410.jp2"}, "407": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 399\\nODIN MOORE S CONFESSION\\nA CHRISTMAS STORY\\nBY JULIAN HAWTHORNE\\n1^ T was two o clock on Christmas morning when Odin Moore, accom-\\npanied by two or three boon companions as jolly and noisy as himself,\\nmounted the steps of his lodgings in West Twenty-third Street, New\\nYork. The moon, past her prime, shone down on the street, which\\nwas covered with dingy snow, except where the long narrow line of\\nthe sidewalks had been cleared. Odin Moore thrust his pass-key\\ninto the lock.\\nCome in, you fellows! he said to the others. Cigars and whiskey!\\nWe ll make a night of it! No shirking now in you go!\\nNo more in mine, thank you, replied one; I m ofif to bed.\\nSo m I, added another. I ll have bad nough headache as tis. You re\\nthe devil when you get started! Nough s good s a feast. Bye-bye!\\nThey stumbled down the steps, and, linking arms, started up the street.\\nOdin ]\\\\Ioore looked after them with sullen contempt for a moment, then turned\\nthe key in the lock, entered, and closed the door behind him with a bang that\\nechoed along the silent and frozen street.\\nAs he passed down the dark passage leading to his room, he shivered. Not\\nthat he was cold he had too much liquor in him for that. But he knew that he\\nwas going to pass a bad quarter of an hour, and he dreaded it. These lonely\\nsmall hours of the night were hateful to him. Though he despised the men with\\nwhom he associated, he could ill spare their society at such times.\\nHowever, with a shrug of the shoulders, he opened the door of his room\\nand went in, and, stepping quickly to the table, turned up the gas. Then he cast\\nhis eyes about him with a rapid, covert glance. The room was empty.\\nIt was a fair-sized room, tastefully decorated and furnished. There were\\nlow bookshelves round the walls, and above them were ranged some good oil\\npaintings, engravings, and etchings. On the mantelpiece, above the open fire-\\nplace, were photographs of half a dozen handsome women, all of them actresses,\\nor otherwise publicly known. The oblong writing-table, covered with morocco\\nleather, was littered with papers and magazines. On either side of the fire-\\nplace was a deep-seated easy chair and there was a comfortable sofa beneath the\\nwindt)w. Nothing cheap, commonplace or inelegant was visible. Odin Moore\\nevidently possessed culture, a love of beauty, and means to gratify his tastes.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0411.jp2"}, "408": {"fulltext": "JULIAN HAWTHORNE\\n400", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0412.jp2"}, "409": {"fulltext": "JULIAN HAWTHORNE 401\\nHe sat down at the table, opened the cupboard on the right-hand side, and\\ntook out a decanter of whiskey and a box of cigars. He rose again the next mo-\\nment, took off his heavy overcoat and sealskin cap, and heaped coal upon the\\nembers of the grate. Then he returned to his chair, lit a cigar, and poured out a\\nwineglass full of whiskey. As he did so, he noticed a letter lying on the writing-\\npad on the table.\\nHe took it up and examined the handwriting, which seemed to have a dim\\nfamiliarity, though he could not identify it.\\nNot a woman, at all events, he said to himself. Well, I ll open it.\\nChristmas present, perhaps he added, with a half laugh, as he broke the seal.\\nThe letter was from Maurice Matlock. Moore had not seen him and had\\nscarcely heard from him in nearly ten years. But they had once been great\\nfriends. Then Matlock had gone West, and out of Moore s knowledge.\\nThe letter said that he was married, and had come to live in New York. He\\nwas still following literature as a profession, with no remarkable results, either\\nin fame or money. But I am very fortunate in other respects, the letter went on,\\nand I hope you will come and see for yourself at once. We shall expect you\\nall day to-morrow. I have told my wife all about you that you were and are\\nthe best fellow in the world; so she is almost as anxious to see you as I am. I\\nhave just finished a volume of poems, which my wife thinks are very good, and I\\nhope to get them published in the Spring. Come and tell me what you think of\\nthem.\\nMarried, and still writing poetry, is he? commented Odin Moore, laying\\ndown the letter. And thinks I am the best fellow in the world Evidently he\\nhasn t changed much. Neither have I except that what was always in me has\\ncome out. Still, it would surprise Maurice if I were to tell him the story of the\\nlast few years perhaps he wouldn t be so eager to introduce me to his wife\\nWonder whether she s pretty Pshaw Probably not. Maurice was never cut\\nout to get on in this world and he d be sure to marry the wrong woman either\\na shrew or a fool. Not that he need be afraid of me, if she were a goddess.\\nThough I m not a saint, I can draw the line where I choose, and I should draw\\nit at\\nHe stopped abruptly. The same nervous shiver that had overtaken him in\\nthe passage returned. He clenched his teeth and put a restraint upon himself.\\nHe was sitting with one elbow on the table, in which position his back was half\\nturned towards the fireplace. Above the bookcase, on the side of the room op-\\nposite him as he sat, were two engravings from pictures by Michael Angelo, one\\nof the creation of Eve, the other of the Fall. Odin fastened his gaze upon these,\\nand kept it there as long as he could. But it was no use the impulse to turn\\nround was too strong, and after a minute he yielded to it.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0413.jp2"}, "410": {"fulltext": "402 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nFirst lie shifted his position in his chair, crossing the left leg over the right\\nthen he turned his face. His eyes now rested upon the easy-chair to the left of\\nthe fireplace. It had been empty a moment before, but now a figure was seated\\nin it.\\nOdin regarded this figure, not with terror, but with poignant repugnance.\\nHe had seen it a hundred times before, and was perfectly aware that it was a\\nhallucination. He knew that, were he to rise and go to the easy-chair, the figure\\nwould be no longer there but he also knew that it would simply have changed\\nits position to some other part of the room. When its visitations first began,\\nsome years ago, he had consulted medicine, science and philosophy for an ex-\\nplanation and cure. Explanations he had obtained in abundance but a cure, not\\nyet. The figure was the visible projection of his own mind, thought, or nature.\\nIt was visible only to himself, but it was none the less one of the most real and\\nhideous of his experiences. It was easy to say that it was an image formed in\\nthe brain, and affecting the optic nerves in such a manner as to assume apparent\\nexternal form for, whatever might be said about it, there it was, and there it re-\\nmained, until, in obedience to the unknown law of its being, it vanished. But\\nnothing that Odin could do or think would hasten its departure by one moment.\\nIt was the figure of a man of commanding height and bearing, about forty\\nyears of age, with a broad, impending brow overshadowing gloomy eyes. It was\\nthe same face and figure that would have confronted Odin had he looked into a\\nmirror only there was something in the expression of this countenance, and in\\nthe influence of the whole apparition, wdiich no reflection in a mirror could reveal.\\nIt revealed the interior of a heart it disclosed the secret of a sin. Human beings\\ncould be kept in ignorance, or deceived but Odin s double knew Odin with the\\ncertainty of self-knowledge.\\nThe gloomy eyes of the figure met those of Odin.\\nAre you sure that you will draw the line there? it seemed to ask.\\nMaurice is the only man I ever respected, Odin replied, and I shall respect\\nwhatever he loves and respects. I have not lost the power of being honorable.\\nYou loved and respected a woman once, answered the other. The op-\\nportunity came and you betrayed her. A\\\\ hat you have done once, you will do\\nagain.\\nShe had been taken from me by unfair means, exclaimed Odin. She\\ncared nothing for the man who married her. The law that parted us was unjust,\\nand I was justified in taking it into my own hands.\\nIf you were justified, why, when she died, did you not confess what you had\\ndone? If you were honorable, why did you allow yourself to benefit by her\\ndeath\\nI did nothing; I only accepted what fate brought, Odin replied. She", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0414.jp2"}, "411": {"fulltext": "JULIAN HAWTHORNE 403\\ndied with the sin unknown to the world; should I have blackened her memory?\\nThe will that was found was unsigned had it been valid, do you think I would\\nhave contested it? I was next of kin, and I inherited. I hated the man and\\nhis money but he was at the bottom of the sea, and no one but I had any claim.\\nThe money seems to have served you well, for all you hated it, said the\\nother, with a gloomy smile.\\nYou know whether or not I have been happy, returned Odin, with a groan.\\nI had the making of a good man in me, but fate has been against me. I was\\npoor, to begin with, and yet I had the temperament and the love of beautiful\\nthings that need money to gratify them. I loved a beautiful and good woman,\\nand, because I was poor, I had to stand by and see her given to another. Every-\\nthing tender in me has been hardened everything trustful has been deceived\\neverything hopeful has been disappointed\\nAnd everything pure has been polluted, interrupted the other.\\nLet Him who made me answer for it, then Why did He not fit me to my\\nsurroundings He has mocked me from the beginning even the gift of fortune,\\nwhen it came at last, was so given as to make me seem to myself like a felon. I\\nhad looked forward to wealth as the means not only of being happy myself, but\\nof making others so, and of surrounding myself with friends who loved and hon-\\nored me. But the devil who tempted me to my first sin has made it the means of\\ndragging me into others I have lost my good name and social repute, till I can\\ncall scarcely one worthy man my friend, and not one worthy woman And that\\nis what is called Divine mercy God give me the chance, even now, and I would\\ndo as well as any man\\nB_, and by is easily said responded the other. It is the old story but\\nthe evil is not in your circumstances, but in you. If you were transported to-\\nmorrow to the Garden of Eden, before night you would be on your belly with the\\nserpent\\nI deny it cried Odin, passionately. To-day is Christmas, when Christ\\ncame to help men in their struggle against the Evil One. If Christ be living still,\\nI ask Him to help me, and I will not prove unworthy.\\nHe started t\u00c2\u00a9 his feet as he spoke but the chair by the fireplace was empty\\nhe was alone.\\nThe sun rose clear on Christmas morning, and the bells chimed through the\\npure frosty air. It was nearly noon when Odin arrived at the address that Mat-\\nlock had given him, and rang the door-bell. He had hardly kicked the snow ofif\\nhis boots, when the door was opened by a lovely young woman, whose face had a\\nsweeter brightness than the sunshine itself, as she smiled upon the visitor.\\nAre vou Mr. Moore? she asked.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0415.jp2"}, "412": {"fulltext": "404 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nYes, said he, gazing at her.\\nI was sure of it! she exclaimed. I am Maurice s wife. She held out\\nher hand, which Odin took in his. You are to come right in, she went on.\\njMaurice has just gone out to get something for dinner. He ll be back directly\\nit s just round the corner. How glad he ll be He said he didn t believe you\\nwould come to-day, but I said I knew you would. And so you are Odin Moore\\nWell you look just the way I hoped you would\\nI m sure I m glad of it! said Odin.\\nMaurice s wife was of medium height, and beautifully formed. Her hair was\\nbrown and wavy, her eyes long, sweet and sparkling, her skin cream and rose.\\nHer dress was severely simple, of a soft woollen fabric, gray trimmed with red\\nbut it suited her well. Her hands and wrists were extremely beautiful in shape,\\nbut Odin could see that she was not afraid to do her cooking, sweeping, and, per-\\nhaps, washing with them. But what impressed him most about her was the over-\\nflowing joyousness of her expression and manner. It was something to which\\nhe was by no means accustomed in women. Happiness seemed to flow in her\\nveins, dance in her eyes, and make music in her voice. She was happy because\\nher husband loved her, because she loved him, because she believed in a good\\nGod. and because she thought the world was beautiful and kind. And of that\\nworld, of which as yet she knew so little, she evidently thought that Odin was a\\nmost agreeable and favorable specimen. How should a friend of her husband\\nbe other than good and delightful\\nAfter a while Odin unfolded a voluminous paper that he held in his hand, and\\ndisclosed a magnificent bunch of roses.\\nI thought you might like some flowers he began.\\nShe interrupted him with a scream of joy.\\nOh, Mr. Moore Was ever anything so splendid Oh, how can I thank\\nyou Oh, what will Maurice say How could you know how I love roses\\nAnd at Christmas, too It is like a miracle\\nShe took the glowing heap of fragrance in her arms, caressed them with her\\nhands, dipped her lovely face into them, talked to them and reveled in them.\\nThen she got water, vases and pitchers, and, with Odin s assistance and advice,\\ndisposed the superb blossoms about the little room, whose plainness and sim-\\nplicity they made beautiful and did not mock, after the gracious habit of flowers.\\nBefore this pleasant task was completed the door opened, and Maurice Matlock\\nappeared.\\nAs he grasped Odin s hand and looked in his face, Odin perceived that the\\nyears which had passed, though they had brought hardships and poverty to his\\nfriend, had also deepened his heart and enriched his mind that he was a larger\\nand a better man than when thcv had last met. On the other hand, he was con-", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0416.jp2"}, "413": {"fulltext": "JULIAN HAWTHORNE 405\\nscious that he himself had grown shallower and baser. But Maurice either could\\nnot or would not see this. His generous and trustful temper would admit the ex-\\nistence of nothing that was not noble and honest in the man that he had known\\nand loved. Odin was the dear old Odin, dearer than ever after their long parting.\\nAnd Odin felt stimulated and purified by the mere glow of his friend s belief and\\nsupport.\\nHereupon the conversation became animated and general. Maurice had\\nbought a turkey and two mince-pies, which were examined and appraised, and\\nborne off to the kitchen to be cooked. But/as the cooking involved the absence\\nof Mrs. Matlock, of whom nothing could be seen beyond occasional glimpses\\nthrough the kitchen door, as she bent over the stove or reached down the dishes,\\nOdin insisted that he and Maurice should go in and help her so the two men took\\nofif their coats, and became assistant cooks, amidst great jollity and laughter.\\nMoreover, Odin turned out to be something of a culinary genius, and, under his\\nworkmanship, the turkey took on a savor ravishing to the senses the vegetables\\nassumed the aspect of the most recherche French delicacies and a soup, contain-\\ning flavors of everything appetizing, materialized itself, as it seemed, out of noth-\\ning at all. Everything that Odin did increased the delight and admiration of\\nMaurice and Juliet for Juliet was her name; and Odin had never in his life\\nlaughed so much, or had so good a time. Never, moreover, had he heard such\\nlovely laughter as was continually bubbling up between Juliet and Maurice.\\nThey were so much in love with each other, and so happy about it, that the least\\nthing was enough to set them off. No man and woman were ever better matched\\nthan these two, although they probably had not a thousand dollars in the world\\nand Maurice was at least thirty-five years old, while Juliet was barely twenty.\\nBut to hear them laugh, you would have thought and Odin seriously began to\\nthink they must be a stray pair of Christmas angels.\\nIn about two hours dinner was ready. And then the recollection came over\\nOdin, like a gust of impure air suddenly taking the place of the perfume of violets\\nand lilies, that he was engaged to lunch that afternoon with a party at an uptown\\nhotel. They were to have a private room, and were to be a very choice com-\\npany. Blanche Downey was to be there, and Kitty St. Clair, and Mrs. Merton\\nSendamore, and Madamoiselle Anastasie Mignault, of the French opera com-\\npany. Of the other sex, besides Odin, there would be Jack Philpot, Vandermeer\\nTen Stryke, whose father had left him seven millions, and the Marquis de Thri-\\ndace, who was said to have fought seventeen duels, and to have eloped with a\\ndozen women. After the lunch they were to take a grand sleighride in the Park,\\nand finish the evening with the theatre and a champagne supper. All this on one\\nside, and Maurice and Juliet s turkey and mince-pies on the other.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0417.jp2"}, "414": {"fulltext": "4o6 BEST TPIINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nI m afraid I must go, he said, the hght fading from his face and the\\nresonance from his voice. I have an appointment at three o clock.\\nOdin, don t say so! exclaimed Maurice, with an accent of consternation,\\nOh, Mr. Moore, you are joking cried Juliet, setting the soup-tureen down\\nwith a thump and gazing at him with a startled look.\\nI would much rather stay here, said Odin, but\\nThis is the first Christmas dinner Juliet and I have had together, inter-\\nrupted Maurice. It will not be Christmas if you go.\\nYou take all my appetite away, added Juliet, the corners of her mouth\\ndrooping.\\nGod bless you both! then I will stay! exclaimed Odin, the blood rushing\\ninto his face. You are the first people who ever cared what I did!\\nIt was long since he had felt such a genuine and pure emotion. To be liked\\nto be thought well of and by such persons as Maurice and Juliet seemed too\\ngood news to be true. You do not deserve it, said a voice within him. But\\nI will try to deserve it, he answered himself, and their belief will help me.\\nHappiness was now restored, and was all the brighter for the brief inter-\\nruption. Such Christmas cheer as those three friends derived from their turkey\\nand mince-pies was not to be paralleled in New York. They ate and talked and\\nlaughed and the Croton water tasted better than champagne and after dinner\\nOdin made some exquisite black coflfee, which filled the room with a delicious\\naroma, and was just the right thing after the pie. Finally they cleared the table\\nand washed the dishes and then Maurice proposed that they should have some\\nsinging. Odin had a fine bass voice but he reflected what song he would\\nprobably be singing at that moment had he been in the private room of the\\nuptown hotel, with Mile. Anastasie and the rest of them and the thought turned\\nhim cold. But Juliet s pure soprano, supported by her husband s baritone,\\nlaunched out with Milton s Christmas hymn and after a verse or two had been\\nsung, Odin s deep tones joined them. It seemed as if his innocent youth were\\ncome again, as the sublime words made music in the little room. By the time the\\nhymn was finished, the short day was over, and twilight had come. Odin again\\nrose to go.\\nWe can t give you leave of absence for some time yet said Maurice,\\npromptly pushing him back into his chair. Now comes a matter of business.\\nYou remember those poems that I mentioned in my letter? Well, you must\\nhear me read some of them, and give me your opinion.\\nOh, I m so glad exclaimed Juliet. No one has heard them yet but I, and\\nMaurice is afraid to believe what I say of them. But we shall both believe you\\nSo saying, she lighted the lamp, and Maurice, with the simplicity of a boy\\nand the eloquence of a lover, began to read from his manuscript. Odin sat on", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0418.jp2"}, "415": {"fulltext": "JULIAN HAWTHORNE 407\\nthe sofa, and Juliet on a chair behind her husband. When a noble or beautiful\\npassage was read, her eyes would seek Odin s, and his smile and nod brought\\nthe joyful glow to her cheeks and eyes. They were indeed such poems as a\\nman might wish his dearest friend to write.\\n;f:\\nThis was the beginning of a new life for Odin Moore. He had been lonely\\nand unsatisfied till now. His mother had died when he was a child, and brothers\\nor sisters he had none. His father was poor, and the son had passed an arid\\nand comfortless youth. He studied law, and, for several years, worked hard for\\nsmall returns. Comparatively late in life he had fallen passionately in love with\\na woman beautiful in form and feature, and of an afifectionate but feeble-willed\\nnature. His rival was his own cousin, a wealthy merchant by the name of Philip\\nGraham. The parents of the girl strongly supported Graham s suit, and she\\nallowed herself to be influenced by them. Her marriage gave a sinister turn to\\nOdin s career and she herself was scarcely less unhappy than he. After the\\nlapse of a year of wedded life, circumstances obliged her husband to go to\\nEngland on a business errand, and he left his wife behind him. What happened\\nthen was never certainly known to any one save Odin and herself enough to\\nsay that it was the deepest and most passionate experience of both their lives.\\nAt length a letter was received from Graham announcing his speedy return.\\nFour days after its arrival Mrs. Graham died. Had she lived, no doubt her secret\\nand Odin s would have been declared. Odin was left to await the husband s\\nreturn. But the husband never came. On the day of his wife s death, his vessel\\nhad collided with another on the ocean, and only a dozen survivors, among whom\\nhe was not numbered, reached New York.\\nHe left a large property, of which Odin, his enemy, but also his nearest\\nliving relative, was heir. His papers were searched for a will, but only the draft\\nof one was found, unsigned and unattested, which bequeathed his fortune to his\\nwife and sister-in-law, who was then a mere child and of whom Odin knew\\nnothing. The family attempted to set up a claim under this document, but it\\nwas not allowed, and Odin became a rich man. For the sin that he had sinned,\\nthe secret of which was known to no living mortal but himself, this was the pun-\\nishment\\nThe power and the luxury that he had always craved were become his at\\nthe moment when the only being with whom he would have cared to share them\\nwas taken from the world. Odin was completely demoralized, and grasped at\\nwhatever pleasure of whatever kind was within his reach. He had a grievance\\nagainst Providence, as well as against the world. He fell into evil ways, and was\\nhaunted by evil thoughts and influences. And yet there was in him the making\\nof a noble and useful man.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0419.jp2"}, "416": {"fulltext": "4o8 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nThe unexpected meeting with the Matlocks was like a sudden opening of\\nheaven through the clouds. Odin s temperament w^as naturally reverent and re-\\nligious, and he believed this w^as a last effort of his Creator to redeem him. They\\nwere the only people on earth who believed him to be all that his best ambition\\nhad aimed to make him. Their other acquaintances in New York were very few,\\nand none of these knew anything about Odin Moore, so that there was no danger\\nof their learning anything of his past history. For his part, he cut loose, entirely\\nand at once, from all his recent associations and companions. He lived wholly\\nfor the Matlocks. In a hundred ways, with and without their knowledge, he\\nhelped and befriended them. Maurice s book was published, and was an imme-\\ndiate success and by that, and by Odin s effort, a way was opened to him to\\nget permanent and profitable employment. Prosperity came to them more and\\nmore happiness was theirs always and it was to Odin, under God, that their\\ntruest and warmest love and thanks were given.\\nAnd during all this time the gloomy phantom who had haunted Odin s soli-\\ntude had not once approached him.\\nDecember came round again, and one evening, as was his custom, Odin went\\nup to pass an hour with his friends. He found them looking over a box of\\npapers.\\nWhat have you got there? he demanded, cheerfully, drawing up a chair.\\nAre you looking for the title-deeds to an estate in Eldorado\\nWe have found something very like it, replied Maurice, with a laugh.\\nIf this paper had been signed, Juliet would have been a great heiress.\\nBut then, perhaps, you wouldn t have married me! said Juliet, laying her\\ncheek on his shoulder.\\nOdin took up the document and glanced over it. He recognized it almost\\nimmediately. It was the unsigned will of Philip Graham.\\nWhat has this to do with you he asked, laying it down again.\\nMrs. Graham was my sister, replied Juliet. She was nearly ten years\\nolder than I, and married a rich man. They both died suddenly, about the same\\ntime. This will shows that he meant to leave his money to her and me but it\\ncouldn t be legally proved, so some relative of his stepped in and got everything.\\nI think he might have given me a little, just to help Maurice along a little.\\nWe have got Odin, said Maurice, and he is better than a dozen fortunes.\\nWhy, where are you gomg? exclaimed Juliet, as Odin turned away and\\ntook up his hat. Supper will be ready in a minute. You must stay.\\nAnother time, was all that Odin could say and he went out.\\nWhat became of him during the next few hours, he never knew. At mid-\\nnight he found himself at the door of his lodgings. As he entered his room, he", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0420.jp2"}, "417": {"fulltext": "JULIAN HAWTHORNE 409\\nglanced with an instinctive foreboding at the easy-chair by the fireplace. Yes\\nthe well-remembered figure was there once more.\\nAfter all, then, your sin has found you out it seemed to say.\\nI have decided what to do, returned Odin. To-morrow I will have a deed\\nexecuted, giving her half my property.\\nDo you suppose she would accept it without an explanation? And are\\nyou ready to explain?\\nI had not thought of that! said Odin, with a shudder. No, no! Well,\\nthen, I will have a will drawn, and bequeath it\\nThe face smiled. Are you certain they will outlive you? And, in the\\nmeanwhile, on what footing will you associate with them as a benefactor, or as a\\npensioner?\\nOdin groaned. What can I do, then?\\nYou can confess was the reply.\\nConfess? cried Odin. Tell them all the secret of my wickedness with\\nmy own lips Destroy all their belief in me, and love for me, which I have been\\nbuilding up this year past Cut myself ofi from all future hope and happiness\\nI cannot I will not It would be as great a wrong to them as to me\\nYou can confess but you will not because you dare not said the voice\\nquietly. Your honesty is at an end you will henceforth live the life of a liar\\nand a thief towards those whom you call your friends. It is as I said the evil is\\nnot in your circumstances, but in you.\\nOdin fell on his knees, and bent his forehead till it touched the floor. It\\nwas a struggle such as no life can bear but once. Help! help! he muttered,\\nagain and again. O God, help!\\nThe next day was Christmas Eve. Odin spent the morning at a lawyer s,\\nwhere he had a will made, signed and witnessed, leaving all property he should die\\npossessed of to Maurice Matlock. He had restrained his first impulse to make\\nJuliet his legatee. Those who can read his heart may know why. This will\\nwas merely a precautionary measure. He had made up his mind what to do.\\nHe purposed taking an elevated train uptown. As he reached the ticket-\\nwindow, a train came up to the station, where a confused crowd of persons was\\nwaiting. They thronged together, trying to force their way on the car platforms.\\nOdin was belated, and was about to desist from the attempt, when he all at once\\ncaught sight of Juliet. She was clinging to the closed wicket of one of the plat-\\nforms, which had been closed upon her as she was about jto step on the train.\\nThe train was already in motion, and she evidently feared to step of\u00c2\u00a5 again.\\nOdin sprang forward, scattering all before him. He got to the wicket while\\nthe car was still a score of yards from the end of the station. Grasping it with", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0421.jp2"}, "418": {"fulltext": "410 r.l-ST rillNH^S l-ROM AMI-.RIC.W l.lTKRATrKE\\nowe liaiul, lu passed the tUlior arm round Juliet s waist, ami with a mii;-hty effort\\nswuu-; hei- sate o\\\\er the wieket ami on the platt onu of th.e ear. At the same\\nuiomeut his shouKler eame mi eoutaet with the railing at the end of the station,\\nhis hand slipped, he felt himself phm_L;in^ downward lhrou!.;h the air. There was\\na ileadly shoek, and he knew no more.\\nr ut. in the depths of that abyss of uneonseiousness, tireams by and by came\\nto him: he thoui^iit he heard the sound of distant Net familiar voices: light glim-\\nmered before his eyes: then he was in a well-known room, autl faces two faces\\nthat he lo\\\\ ed bent over him.\\nMusi he die. Mamiee? said Juliet.\\n1 would i;i\\\\e m\\\\ life to save him, Maurice answered; but it camiot be.\\nOod bless him! lie was a friend indeed! We shall never know another\\nman so noble and so generous, said Juliet, sobbing.\\nOdin tried to speak, but cou\\\\d not. Heath had prevented his confession;\\nbut he felt at iK\\\\ice, for in death he saw the mercy of God. He would not be\\nforced to grieve those jnire souls that loved him, by the story of his sin. Vet.\\nb\\\\- his death, right would be (.lone to them. Darkness closed around him again:\\nbut in its depths lie saw glinunering the holy light of forgiveness.\\nIt was Chiistmas morning.", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0422.jp2"}, "419": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 41\\nIN SCHOOL-DAYS\\nBY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\nREPRODUCKl) I KOM lUS ORIGINAI^ MANUSCKII T\\nU,^px^ -^^--Ca.^^.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0423.jp2"}, "420": {"fulltext": "JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\n4ia", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0424.jp2"}, "421": {"fulltext": "JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER\\n413", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0425.jp2"}, "422": {"fulltext": "414 BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0426.jp2"}, "423": {"fulltext": "BEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE 415\\nA DETAIL\\nBY STEPHEN CRANE\\nHE tiny old lady in the black dress and curious little black bonnet\\nhad at first seemed alarmed at the sound made by her feet upon the\\nstone pavements. But later she forgot all about it, for she suddenly\\ncame into the tempest of the Sixth avenue shopping district, where\\nfrom the streams of people and vehicles went up a roar like that\\nfrom headlong mountain torrents.\\nShe seemed then like a chip that catches, recoils, turns, and wheels, a re-\\nluctant thing in the clutch of the impetuous river. She hesitated, faltered, de-\\nbated with herself. Frequently she seemed about to address people then of a\\nsudden she would evidently lose her courage. Meanwhile the torrent jostled\\nher, swung her this and that way.\\nAt last, however, she saw two young women gazing in at a shop window.\\nThey were well-dressed girls they wore gowns with enormous sleeves that made\\nthem look like full-rigged ships with all sails set. They seemed to have plenty\\nof time they leisurely scanned the goods in the window. Other people had\\nmade the tiny old woman much afraid, because obviously they were speeding\\nto keep such tremendously important engagements. She went close to them\\nand peered in at the same window. She watched them furtively for a time.\\nThen finally she said: Excuse me! The girls looked down at this old face\\nwith its two large eyes turned toward them. Excuse me, but can you tell me\\nwhere I can get any work\\nFor an instant the two girls stared. Then they seemed about to exchange a\\nsmile, but, at the last moment, they checked it. The tiny old lady s eyes were\\nupon them. She was quaintly serious, silently expectant. She made one marvel\\nthat in that face the wrinkles showed no trace of experience, knowledge they\\nwere simply little, soft, innocent creases. As for her glance, it had the trustful-\\nness of ignorance and the candor of babyhood.\\nI want to get something to do, because I need the money, she continued,\\nsince in their astonishment they had not replied to her first question. Of course,\\nI m not strong and I couldn t do very much, but I can sew well, and in a house\\nwhere there was a good many men folks I could do all the mending. Do you\\nknow any place where they would like me to come?\\nThe young women did then exchange a smile, but it was a subtly tender\\nsmile, the verge of personal grief.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0427.jp2"}, "424": {"fulltext": "4i6\\nBEST THINGS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE\\nWell, no, madam, hesitatingly said one of them at last. I don t think I\\nknow any one.\\nA shade passed over the tiny old lady s face, a shadow of the wing of disap-\\npointment. Don t you? she said, with a little struggle to be brave in her voice.\\nThen the girl hastily continued But if you will give me your address, I\\nmay find some one, and if I do, I will surely- let you know of it.\\nThe tiny old lady dictated her address, bending over to watch the girl write\\non a visiting card with a little silver pencil. Then she said: I thank you very\\nmuch. She bowed to them, smiling, and went on down the avenue.\\nAs for the two girls, they went to the curb and watched this aged figure,\\nsmall and frail, in its black gown and curious black bonnet. At last, the crowd,\\nthe innumerable wagons, intermingling and changing with uproar and riot, sud-\\ndenlv engulfed it.\\nL JL10", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0428.jp2"}, "425": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0429.jp2"}, "426": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3104", "width": "2159", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0430.jp2"}, "427": {"fulltext": ".V\\n%c\\nr^.\\n.V\\n;/,,\u00e2\u0080\u009e^V y\\n4,\\nX-^ ^.^J^*^\\no\\n,0 c.", "height": "3071", "width": "2164", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0431.jp2"}, "428": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3227", "width": "2356", "jp2-path": "bestthingsfromam00bach_0432.jp2"}}