W.B.Yeats - "The Hour Glass"

Phillipe de Massa - "Zibeline, v1"

Edgar Rice Burroughs - "People Out Of Time"

Various - "Junior Classics, V6"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Lothair

B >> Benjamin Disraeli >> Lothair




"Something like that?" said Mr. Ruby, who by this time had slid into his
proper side of the counter, and was unlocking the glass cases;
"something like that?" and he placed before Lothair a string of pretty
pearls with a diamond clasp. "With the earrings, twenty-five hundred,"
he added; and then, observing that Lothair did not seem enchanted, he
said, "This is something quite new," and he carelessly pushed toward
Lothair a magnificent necklace of turquoises and brilliants.

It was impossible not to admire it -- the arrangement was so novel and
yet of such good taste; but, though its price was double that of the
pearl necklace, Mr. Ruby did not seem to wish to force attention to it,
for he put in Lothair's hands almost immediately the finest emerald
necklace in the world, and set in a style that was perfectly ravishing.

"The setting is from the Campana collection," said Mr. Ruby. "They
certainly understood things in those days, but I can say that, so far as
mere workmanship is concerned, this quite equals them. I have made one
for the empress. Here is a black pearl, very rare, pear-shape, and set
in Golconda diamonds -- two thousand guineas -- it might be suspended to
a necklace, or worn as a locket. This is pretty," and he offered to
Lothair a gigantic sapphire in brilliants and in the form of a bracelet.

"The finest sapphire I know is in this ring," added Mr. Ruby, and he
introduced his visitor to a tray of precious rings. "I have a pearl
bracelet here that your lordship might like to see," and he placed
before Lothair a case of fifty bracelets, vying with each other in
splendor.

"But what I want," said Lothair, "are pearls."

"I understand," said Mr. Ruby. "This is a curious thing," and he took
out a paper packet. "There!" he said, opening it and throwing it before
Lothair so carelessly that some of the stones ran over the glass
covering of the counter. "There, that is a thing, not to be seen every
day -- packet of diamonds, bought of an Indian prince, and sent by us to
be cut and polished at Amsterdam -- nothing can be done in that way
except there -- and just returned -- nothing very remarkable as to size,
but all of high quality -- some fine stones -- that for example," and he
touched one with the long nail of his little finger; "that is worth
seven hundred guineas, the whole packet worth perhaps ten thousand
pounds."

"Very interesting," said Lothair, "but what I want are pearls. That
necklace which you have shown me is like the necklace of a doll. I want
pearls, such as you see them in Italian pictures -- Titians and
Giorgiones -- such as a Queen of Cyprus would wear. I want ropes of
pearls."

"Ah!" said Mr. Ruby, "I know what your lordship means. Lady Bideford
had something of that kind. She very much deceived us -- always told us
her necklace must be sold at her death, and she had very bad health. We
waited, but when she went, poor lady, it was claimed by the heir, and is
in chancery at this very moment. The Justinianis have ropes of pearls
-- Madame Justiniani of Paris, I have been told, gives a rope to every
one of her children when they marry -- but there is no expectation of a
Justiniani parting with any thing. Pearls are troublesome property, my
lord. They require great care; they want both air and exercise; they
must be worn frequently; you cannot lock them up. The Duchess of Havant
has the finest pearls in this country, and I told her grace, 'Wear them
whenever you can; wear them at breakfast,' and her grace follows my
advice -- she does wear them at breakfast. I go down to Havant Castle
every year to see her grace's pearls, and I wipe every one of them
myself, and let them lie on a sunny bank in the garden, in a westerly
wind, for hours and days together. Their complexion would have been
ruined had it not been for this treatment. Pearls are like girls, my
lord -- they require quite as much attention."

"Then you cannot give me what I want?" said Lothair.

"Well, I can, and I cannot," said Mr. Ruby. "I am in a difficulty. I
have in this house exactly what your lordship requires, but I have
offered them to Lord Topaz, and I have not received his answer. We have
instructions to inform his lordship of every very precious jewel that we
obtain, and give him the preference as a purchaser. Nevertheless, there
is no one I could more desire to oblige than your lordship -- your
lordship has every claim upon us, and I should be truly glad to find
these pearls in your lordship's possession if I could only see my way.
Perhaps your lordship would like to look at them?"

"Certainly, but pray do not leave me here alone with all these
treasures," said Lothair, as Mr. Ruby was quitting the apartment.

"Oh! my lord, with you!"

"Yes, that is all very well; but, if any thing is missed hereafter, it
will always be remembered that these jewels were in my possession, and I
was alone. I highly object to it." But Mr. Ruby had vanished, and did
not immediately reappear. In the mean time it was impossible for
Lothair to move: he was alone, and surrounded with precious necklaces,
and glittering rings, and gorgeous bracelets, with loose diamonds
running over the counter. It was not a kind or an amount of property
that Lothair, relinquishing the trust, could satisfactorily deliver to a
shopman. The shopman, however honest, might be suddenly tempted by
Satan, and take the next train to Liverpool. He felt therefore relieved
when Mr. Ruby reentered the room, breathless, with a velvet casket. "I
beg pardon, my lord, a thousand pardons, but I thought I would just run
over to Lord Topaz, only in the square close by. His lordship is at
Madrid, the only city one cannot depend on communications with by
telegraph. Spaniards strange people, very prejudiced, take all sorts of
fancies in their head. Besides, Lord Topaz has more pearls than he can
know what to do with, and I should like your lordship to see these," and
he opened the casket.

"Exactly what I want," exclaimed Lothair; "these must be the very pearls
the Queen of Cyprus wore. What is their price?"

"They are from Genoa, and belonged to a doge," said Mr. Ruby; "your
lordship shall have them for the sum we gave for them. There shall be
no profit on the transaction, and we shall be proud of it. We gave for
them four thousand guineas."

"I will take them with me," said Lothair, who was afraid, if lie left
them behind, Lord Topaz might arrive in the interval.



CHAPTER 34


Lothair had returned home from his last visit to Belmont agitated by
many thoughts, but, generally speaking, deeply musing over its mistress.
Considerable speculation on religion, the churches, the solar system,
the cosmical order, the purpose of creation, and the destiny of man, was
maintained in his too rapid progress from Roehampton to his Belgravian
hotel; but the association of ideas always terminated the consideration
of every topic by a wondering and deeply interesting inquiry when he
should see her again. And here, in order to simplify this narrative, we
will at once chronicle the solution of this grave question. On the
afternoon of the next day, Lothair mounted his horse with the intention
of calling on Lady St. Jerome, and perhaps some other persons, but it is
curious to observe that he soon found himself on the road to Roehampton,
where he was in due time paying a visit to Theodora. But what is more
remarkable is that the same result occurred every day afterward.
Regularly every day he paid a visit to Belmont. Nor was this all; very
often he paid two visits, for he remembered that in the evening Theodora
was always at home. Lothair used to hurry to town from his morning
visit, dine at some great house, which satisfied the demands of society,
and then drive down to Roehampton. The guests of the evening saloon,
when they witnessed the high ceremony of Lothair's manner, which was
natural to him, when he entered, and the welcome of Theodora, could
hardly believe that a few hours only had elapsed since their separation.

And what was the manner of Theodora to him when they were alone?
Precisely as before. She never seemed in the least surprised that he
called on her every day, or even twice a day. Sometimes she was alone,
frequently she had companions, but she was always the same, always
appeared gratified at his arrival, and always extended to him the same
welcome, graceful and genial, but without a spark of coquetry. Yet she
did not affect to conceal that she took a certain interest in him,
because she was careful to introduce him to distinguished men, and would
say, "You should know him, he is master of such a subject. You will
hear things that you ought to know." But all this in a sincere and
straightforward manner. Theodora had not the slightest affectation; she
was always natural, though a little reserved. But this reserve appeared
to be the result of modesty, rather than of any desire of concealment.
When they were alone, though always calm, she would talk with freedom
and vivacity; but in the presence of others she rather led to their
display, and encouraged them, often with a certain degree of adroit
simplicity, to descant on topics which interested theme or of which they
were competent to treat. Alone with Lothair, and they were often alone,
though she herself never obtruded the serious subjects round which he
was always fluttering, she never avoided them, and without involving
herself in elaborate arguments, or degenerating into conversational
controversy, she had a habit of asking a question, or expressing a
sentiment, which greatly affected his feelings or perplexed his
opinions.

Had not the season been long waning, this change in the life of Lothair
must have been noticed, and its cause ultimately discovered. But the
social critics cease to be observant toward the end of July. All the
world then are thinking of themselves, and have no time to speculate on
the fate and fortunes of their neighbors. The campaign is too near its.
close; the balance of the season must soon be struck, the great book of
society made. In a few weeks, even in a few days, what long and subtle
plans shattered or triumphant! -- what prizes gained or missed! -- what
baffled hopes, and what broken hearts! The baffled hopes must go to
Cowes, and the broken hearts to Baden. There were some great ladies who
did remark that Lothair was seldom seen at balls; and Hugo Bohun, who
had been staying at his aunt Lady Gertrude's villa for change of air,
did say to Bertram that he bad met Lothair twice on Barnes Common, and
asked Bertram if he knew the reason why. But the fact that Lothair was
cruising in waters which their craft never entered combined with the
lateness of the season to baffle all the ingenuity of Hugo Bohun, though
he generally found out every thing.

The great difficulty which Lothair had to apprehend was with his Roman
Catholic friends. The system of the monsignori was never to let him be
out of sight, and his absence from the critical function had not only
disappointed but alarmed them. But the Jesuits are wise men; they never
lose their temper. They know when to avoid scenes as well as when to
make them. Monsignore Catesby called on Lothair as frequently as
before, and never made the slightest allusion to the miscarriage of
their expectations. Strange to say, the innocent Lothair, naturally so
straightforward and so honorable, found himself instinctively, almost it
might be said unconsciously, defending himself against his invaders with
some of their own weapons. He still talked about building his
cathedral, of which, not contented with more plans, he even gave orders
that a model should be made, and he still received statements on points
of faith from Father Coleman, on which he made marginal notes and
queries. Monsignore Catesby was not altogether satisfied. He was
suspicious of some disturbing cause, but at present it baffled him.
Their hopes, however, were high; and they had cause to be sanguine. In
a month's time or so, Lothair would be in the country to celebrate his
majority; his guardian the cardinal was to be his guest; the St. Jeromes
were invited, Monsignore Catesby himself. Here would be opportunity and
actors to avail themselves of it.

It was a very few days after the first evening visit of Lothair to
Belmont that he found himself one morning alone with Theodora. She was
in her bowery boudoir, copying some music for Madame Phoebus, at least in
the intervals of conversation. That had not been of a grave character,
but the contrary when Lothair rather abruptly said, "Do you agree, Mrs.
Campian, with what Mr. Phoebus said the other night, that the greatest
pain must be the sense of death?"

"Then mankind is generally spared the greatest pain," she replied, "for
I apprehend few people are sensible of death -- unless indeed," she
added, "it be on the field of battle; and there, I am sure, it cannot be
painful."

"Not on the field of battle?" asked Lothair, inducing her to proceed.

"Well, I should think for all, on the field of battle, there must be a
degree of excitement, and of sympathetic excitement, scarcely compatible
with overwhelming suffering; but, if death were encountered there for a
great cause, I should rather associate it with rapture than pain."

"But still a good number of persons must die in their beds and be
conscious," said Lothair.

"It may be, though I should doubt it. The witnesses of such a demise
are never impartial. All I have loved and lost have died upon the field
of battle; and those who have suffered pain have been those whom they
have left behind; and that pain," she added with some emotion, "may
perhaps deserve the description of Mr. Phoebus."

Lothair would not pursue the subject, and there was rather an awkward
pause. Theodora herself broke it, and in a lighter vein, though
recurring to the same theme, she said with a slight smile: "I am
scarcely a competent person to consult upon this subject, for, to be
candid with you, I do not myself believe in death. There is a change,
and doubtless a great one, painful it may be, certainly very perplexing,
but I have a profound conviction of my immortality, and I do not believe
that I shall rest in my grave in saecula saeculorum, only to be convinced
of it by the last trump."

"I hope you will not leave this world before I do," said Lothair, "but,
if that sorrow be reserved for me, promise that to me, if only once, you
will reappear."

"I doubt whether the departed have that power," said Theodora, "or else
I think my heroes would have revisited me. I lost a father more
magnificent than Jove, and two brothers brighter than Apollo, and all of
them passionately loved me -- and yet they have not come; but I shall
see them -- and perhaps soon. So you see, my dear lord," speaking more
briskly, and rising rather suddenly from her seat, "that for my part I
think it best to arrange all that concerns one in this world while one
inhabits it, and this reminds me that I have a little business to fulfil
in which you can help me," and she opened a cabinet and took out a flat
antique case, and then said, resuming her seat at her table: "Some one,
and anonymously, has made me a magnificent present; some strings of
costly pearls. I am greatly embarrassed with them, for I never wear
pearls or anything else, and I never wish to accept presents. To return
them to an unknown is out of my power, but it is not impossible that I
may some day become acquainted with the donor. I wish them to be kept
in safety, and therefore not by myself, for my life is subject to too
great vicissitudes. I have therefore placed them in this case, which I
shall now seal and intrust them to your care, as a friend in whom I have
entire confidence. See," she said, lighting a match, and opening the
case, "here are the pearls -- are they not superb? -- and here is a note
which will tell you what to do with them in case of my absence, when you
open the case, which will not be for a year from this day. There, it is
locked. I have directed it to you, and I will seal it with my father's
seal."

Lothair wag about to speak. "Do not say a word," she said "this seal is
a religious ceremony with me." She was some little time fulfilling it,
so that the impression might be deep and clear. She looked at it
earnestly while the wax was cooling, and then she said, "I deliver the
custody of this to a friend whom I entirely trust. Adieu!" and she
disappeared.

The amazed Lothair glanced at the seal. It was a single word, "ROMA,"
and then, utterly mystified, he returned to town with his own present.



CHAPTER 35


Mr. Phoebus had just finished a picture which he had painted for the
Emperor of Russia. It was to depart immediately from England for its
northern home, except that his imperial majesty had consented that it
should be exhibited for a brief space to the people of England. This
was a condition which Mr. Phoebus had made in the interests of art, and
as a due homage alike to his own patriotism and celebrity.

There was to be a private inspection of the picture at the studio of the
artist, and Mr. Phoebus had invited Lothair to attend it. Our friend had
accordingly, on the appointed day, driven down to Belmont and then
walked to the residence of Mr. Phoebus with Colonel Campian and his wife.
It was a short and pretty walk, entirely through the royal park, which
the occupiers of Belmont had the traditionary privilege thus to use.

The residence of Mr. Phoebus was convenient and agreeable, and in
situation not unlike that of Belmont, being sylvan and sequestered. He
had himself erected a fine studio, and added it to the original
building. The flower-garden was bright and curious, and on the lawn was
a tent of many colors, designed by himself and which might have suited
some splendid field of chivalry. Upon gilt and painted perches, also,
there were paroquets and macaws.

Lothair on his arrival found many guests assembled, chiefly on the lawn.
Mr. Phoebus was highly esteemed, and had distinguished and eminent
friends, whose constant courtesies the present occasion allowed him
elegantly to acknowledge. There was a polished and gray-headed noble
who was the head of the patrons of art in England, whose nod of
approbation sometimes made the fortune of a young artist, and whose
purchase of pictures for the nation even the furious cognoscenti of the
House of Commons dared not question. Some of the finest works of Mr.
Phoebus were to be found in his gallery; but his lordship admired Madame
Phoebus even more than her husband's works, and Euphrosyne as much as her
sister. It was sometimes thought, among their friends, that this young
lady had only to decide in order to share the widowed coronet; but
Euphrosyne laughed at every thing, even her adorers; and, while her
witching mockery only rendered them more fascinated, it often prevented
critical declarations.

And Lady Beatrice was there, herself an artist, and full of aesthetical
enthusiasm. Her hands were beautiful, and she passed her life in
modelling them. And Cecrops was there, a rich old bachelor, with, it
was supposed, the finest collection of modern pictures extant. His
theory was, that a man could not do a wiser thing than invest the whole
of his fortune in such securities, and it led him to tell his numerous
nephews and nieces that he should, in all probability, leave his
collection to the nation.

Clorinda, whose palace was always open to genius, and who delighted in
the society of men who had discovered planets, excavated primeval
mounds, painted pictures on new principles, or composed immortal poems
which no human being could either scan or construe, but which she
delighted in as "subtle" and full of secret melody, came leaning on the
arms of a celebrated plenipotentiary, and beaming with sympathy on every
subject, and with the consciousness of her universal charms.

And the accomplished Sir Francis was there, and several R. A. s of
eminence, for Phoebus was a true artist, and loved the brotherhood, and
always placed them in the post of honor.

No language can describe the fascinating costume of Madame Phoebus and
her glittering sister. "They are habited as sylvans," the great artist
deigned to observe, if any of his guests could not refrain from admiring
the dresses; which he had himself devised. As for the venerable patron
of art in Britain, he smiled when he met the lady of the house, and
sighed when he glanced at Euphrosyne; but the first gave him a beautiful
flower, and the other fastened it in his button-hole. He looked like a
victim bedecked by the priestesses of some old fane of Hellenic
loveliness, and proud of his impending fate. What could the Psalmist
mean in the immortal passage? Three-score-and-ten, at the present day,
is the period of romantic passions. As for our enamoured sexagenarians,
they avenge the theories of our cold-hearted youth.

Mr. Phoebus was an eminent host. It delighted him to see people pleased,
and pleased under his influence. He had a belief, not without
foundation, that every thing was done better under his roof than under
that of any other person. The banquet in the air on the present
occasion could only be done justice to by the courtly painters of the
reign of Louis XV. Vanloo, and Watteau, and Lancres, would have caught
the graceful group and the well-arranged colors, and the faces, some
pretty, some a little affected; the ladies on fantastic chairs of
wicker-work, gilt and curiously painted; the gentlemen reclining on the
turf, or bending behind them with watchful care. The little tables all
different, the soups in delicate cups of S vres, the wines in golden
glass of Venice, the ortolans, the Italian confectionery, the endless
bouquets, were worthy of the soft and invisible music that resounded
from the pavilion, only varied by the coquettish scream of some macaw,
jealous, amid all this novelty and excitement, of not being noticed.

"It is a scene of enchantment," whispered the chief patron of British
art to Madame Phoebus.

"I always think luncheon in the air rather jolly," said Madame Phoebus.

"It is perfect romance!" murmured the chief patron of British art to
Euphrosyne.

"With a due admixture of reality," she said, helping him to an enormous
truffle, which she extracted from its napkin. "You know you must eat it
with butter."

Lothair was glad to observe that, though in refined society, none were
present with whom he had any previous acquaintance, for he had an
instinctive feeling that if Hugo Bohun had been there, or Bertram, or
the Duke of Brecon, or any ladies with whom he was familiarly
acquainted, he would scarcely have been able to avail himself of the
society of Theodora with the perfect freedom which he now enjoyed. They
would all have been asking who she was, where she came from, how long
Lothair had known her, all those questions, kind and neighborly, which
under such circumstances occur. He was in a distinguished circle, but
one different from that in which he lived. He sat next to Theodora, and
Mr. Phoebus constantly hovered about them, ever doing something very
graceful, or saying something very bright. Then he would whisper a word
to the great Clorinda, who flashed intelligence from her celebrated
eyes, and then he made a suggestion to the aesthetical Lady Beatrice, who
immediately fell into enthusiasm and eloquence, and took the opportunity
of displaying her celebrated hands.

The time had now arrived when they were to repair to the studio and view
the picture. A curtain was over it, and then a silken rope across the
chamber, and then some chairs. The subject of the picture was Hero and
Leander, chosen by the heir of all the Russias himself, during a late
visit to England.

"A fascinating subject," said old Cecrops to Mr. Phoebus, "but not a very
original one."

"The originality of a subject is in its treatment," was the reply.

The theme, in the present instance, was certainly not conventionally
treated. When the curtain was withdrawn, they beheld a figure of
life-like size, exhibiting in undisguised completeness the perfection of
the female form, and yet the painter had so skilfully availed himself of
the shadowy and mystic hour, and of some gauze-like drapery, which
veiled without concealing his design, that the chastest eye might gaze
on his heroine with impunity. The splendor of her upstretched arms held
high the beacon-light, which thew a glare upon the sublime anxiety of
her countenance, while all the tumult of the Hellespont, the waves, the
scudding sky, the opposite shore revealed by a blood-red flash, were
touched by the hand of a master who had never failed.

The applause was a genuine verdict, and the company after a time began
to disperse about the house and gardens. A small circle remained, and,
passing the silken rope, approached and narrowly scrutinized the
picture. Among these were Theodora and Lothair, the chief patron of
British art, an R. A. or two, Clorinda, and Lady Beatrice.