Alan Alexander Milne - "Mr. Pim Passes By"

Oscar Wilde - "The Happy Prince and Other Tales"

Henry Ford - "My Life and Work"

John Lothrop Motley - "The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1572 73"

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




Lady St. Jerome was alone, and rose from her writing-table to receive
him. And then -- for she was a lady who never lost a moment -- she
resumed some work, did not interfere with their conversation. Her
talking resources were so happy and inexhaustible, that it signified
little that her visitor, who was bound in that character to have
something to say, was silent and moody.

"My lord," she continued, "has taken the Palazzo Agostini for a term. I
think we should always pass our winters at Rome under any circumstances,
but -- the cardinal has spoken to you about the great event -- if that
comes off, of which, between ourselves, whatever the world may say, I
believe there is no sort of doubt, we should not think of being absent
from Rome for a day during the council."

"Why! it may last years," said Lothair. "There is no reason why it
should not last the Council of Trent. It has in reality much more to
do."

"We do things quicker now," said Lady St. Jerome.

"That depends on what there is to do. To revive faith is more difficult
than to create it."

"There will be no difficulty when the Church has assembled," said Lady
St. Jerome. "This sight of the universal Fathers coming from the
uttermost ends of the earth to bear witness to the truth will at once
sweep away all the vain words and vainer thoughts of this unhappy
century. It will be what they call a great fact, dear Lothair; and when
the Holy Spirit descends upon their decrees, my firm belief is the whole
world will rise as it were from a trance, and kneel before the divine
tomb of St. Peter."

"Well, we shall see," said Lothair.

"The cardinal wishes you very much to attend the council. He wishes you
to attend it as an Anglican, representing with a few others our laity.
He says it would have the very best effect for religion."

"He spoke to me."

"And you agreed to go?"

"I have not refused him. If I thought I could do any good I am not sure
I would not go," said Lothair; "but, from what I have seen of the Roman
court, there is little hope of reconciling our differences. Rome is
stubborn. Now, look at the difficulty they make about the marriage of a
Protestant and one of their own communion. It to cruel, and I think on
their part unwise."

"The sacrament of marriage is of ineffable holiness," said Lady St.
Jerome.

"I do not wish to deny that," said Lothair, "but I see no reason why I
should not marry a Roman Catholic if I liked, without the Roman Church
interfering and entirely regulating my house and home."

"I wish you would speak to Father Coleman about this," said Lady St.
Jerome.

"I have had much talk with Father Coleman about many things in my time,"
said Lothair, "but not about this. By-the-by, have you any news of the
monsignore?"

"He is in Ireland, arranging about the Oecumenical Council. They do not
understand these matters there as well as we do in England, and his
holiness, by the cardinal's advice, has sent the monsignore to put
things right."

"All the Father Colemans in the world cannot alter the state of affairs
about mixed marriages," said Lothair; "they can explain, but they cannot
alter. I want change in this matter, and Rome never changes."

"It is impossible for the Church to change," said Lady St. Jerome,
"because it is Truth."

"Is Miss Arundel at home?" said Lothair.

"I believe so," said Lady St. Jerome.

"I never see her now," he said, discontentedly. "She never goes to
balls, and she never rides. Except occasionally under this roof, she is
invisible."

'"Clare does not go any longer into society," said Lady St. Jerome.

"Why?"

"Well, it is a secret," said Lady St. Jerome, with some disturbance of
countenance and speaking in a lower tone; "at least at present; and yet
I can hardly on such a subject wish that there should be a secret from
you -- Clare is about to take the veil."

"Then I have not a friend left in the world," said Lothair, in a
despairing tone.

Lady St. Jerome looked at him with an anxious glance. "Yes," she
continued; "I do not wish to conceal it from you, that for a time we
could have wished it otherwise -- it has been, it is a trying event for
my lord and myself -- but the predisposition, which was always strong,
has ended in a determination so absolute, that we recognize the Divine
purpose in her decision, and we bow to it."

"I do not bow to it," said Lothair; "I think it barbarous and unwise."

"Hush, hush! dear friend."

"And does the cardinal approve of this step?"

"Entirely."

"Then my confidence in him is entirely destroyed," said Lothair.



CHAPTER 88


It was August, and town was thinning fast. Parliament still lingered,
but only for technical purposes; the political struggle of the session
having terminated at the end of July. One social event was yet to be
consummated -- the marriages of Lothair's cousins. They were to be
married on the same day, at the same time, and in the same place.
Westminster Abbey was to be the scene, and, as it was understood that
the service was to be choral, great expectations of ecclesiastical
splendor and effect were much anticipated by the fair sex. They were,
however, doomed to disappointment, for, although the day was fine, the
attendance numerous and brilliant beyond precedent, Lord Culloden would
have "no popery." Lord Carisbrooke, who was a ritualist, murmured, and
was encouraged in his resistance by Lady Clanmorne and a party, but, as
the Duke of Brecon was high and dry, there was a want of united action,
and Lord Culloden had his way.

After the ceremony, the world repaired to the mansion of Lord Culloden
in Belgrave Square, to inspect the presents, and to partake of a dinner
called a breakfast. Cousin Lothair wandered about the rooms, and had
the satisfaction of seeing a bracelet with a rare and splendid sapphire
which he had given to Lady Flora, and a circlet of diamond stars which
he had placed on the brow of the Duchess of Brecon. The St. Aldegondes
were the only members of the Brentham family who were present. St.
Aldegonde had a taste for marriages and public executions, and Lady St.
Aldegonde wandered about with Lothair, and pointed out to him
Corisande's present to his cousins.

"I never was more disappointed than by your family leaving town so early
this year," he said.

"We were quite surprised."

"I am sorry to bear your sister is indisposed."

"Corisande! she is perfectly well."

"I hope the duchess's headache is better," said Lothair. "She could not
receive me when I called to say farewell, because she had a headache."

"I never knew mamma to have a headache," said Lady St. Aldegonde.

"I suppose you will be going to Brentham?"

"Next week."'

"And Bertram too?"

"I fancy that we shall be all there."

"I suppose we may consider now that the season is really over!"

"Yes; they stayed for this. I should not be surprised if every one in
these rooms had disappeared by to-morrow."

"Except myself," said Lothair.

"Do you think of going abroad again?"

"One might as well go," said Lothair, "as remain."

"I wish Granville would take me to Paris. It seems so odd not to have
seen Paris. All I want is to see the new streets and dine at a caf ."

"Well, you have an object; that is something," said Lothair. "I have
none."

"Men have always objects," said Lady St. Aldegonde. "They make business
when they have none, or it makes itself. They move about, and it
comes."

"I have moved about a great deal," said Lothair, "and nothing has come
to me but disappointment. I think I shall take to croquet, like that
curious gentleman I remember at Brentham."

"Ah! you remember every thing."

"It is not easy to forget any thing at Brentham," said Lothair. "It is
just two years ago. That was a happy time."

"I doubt whether our reassembling will be quite as happy this year,"
said Lady St. Aldegonde, in a serious tone. "This engagement of Bertram
is an anxious business; I never saw papa before really fret. And there
are other things which are not without vexation -- at least to mamma."

"I do not think I am a great favorite of your mamma," said Lothair.
"She once used to be very kind to me, but she is so no longer."

"I am sure you mistake her," said Lady St. Aldegonde, but not in a tone
which indicated any confidence in her remark. "Mamma is anxious about
my brother, and all that."

"I believe the duchess thinks that I am in some way or other connected
with this embarrassment; but I really had nothing to do with it, though
I could not refuse my testimony to the charms of the young lady, and my
belief she would make Bertram a happy man."

"As for that, you know, Granville saw a great deal more of her, at least
at Jerusalem, than you did, and he has said to mamma a great deal more
than you have done."

"Yes; but she thinks that, had it not been for me, Bertram would never
have known the Phoebus family. She could not conceal that from me, and
it has poisoned her mind."

"Oh! do not use such words."

"Yes; but they are true. And your sister is prejudiced against me
also."

"That I am sure she is not," said Lady St. Aldegonde, quickly.
"Corisande was always your friend."

"Well, they refused to see me, when we may never meet again for months,
perhaps for years," said Lothair, "perhaps never."

"What shocking things you are saying, my dear lord, to-day! Here, Lord
Culloden wants yon to return thanks for the bridesmaids. You must put
on a merry face."

The dreary day at last arrived, and very quickly, when Lothair was the
only person left in town. When there is nobody you know in London, the
million that go about are only voiceless phantoms. Solitude in a city
is a trance. The motion of the silent beings with whom you have no
speech or sympathy, only makes the dreamlike existence more intense. It
is not so in the country; the voices of Nature are abundant, and, from
the hum of insects to the fall of the avalanche, something is always
talking to you.

Lothair shrank from the streets. He could not endure the dreary glare
of St. James's and the desert sheen of Pall Mall. He could mount his
horse in the park, and soon lose himself in suburban roads that he once
loved. Yes; it was irresistible; and he made a visit to Belmont. The
house was dismantled, and the gardens shorn of their lustre, but still
it was there; very fair in the sunshine, and sanctified in his heart.
He visited every room that he had frequented, and lingered in her
boudoir. He did not forget the now empty pavilion, and he plucked some
flowers that she once loved, and pressed them to his lips, and placed
them near his heart. He felt now what it was that made him unhappy: it
was the want of sympathy.

He walked through the park to the residence of Mr. Phoebus, where he had
directed his groom to meet him. His heart beat as he wandered along,
and his eye was dim with tears. What characters and what scenes had he
not become acquainted with since his first visit to Belmont! And, even
now, when they had departed, or were absent, what influence were they
not exercising over his life, and the life of those most intimate with
him! Had it not been for his pledge to Theodora, it was far from
improbable that he would now have been a member of the Roman Catholic
Church, and all his hopes at Brentham, and his intimacy with the family
on which he had most reckoned in life for permanent friendship and
support, seemed to be marred and blighted by the witching eyes of that
mirthful Euphrosyne, whose mocking words on the moonlit terrace at
Belmont first attracted his notice to her. And then, by association of
ideas, he thought of the general, and what his old commander had said at
their last interview, reminding him of his fine castle, and expressing
his conviction that the lord of such a domain must have much to do.

"I will try to do it," said Lothair; "and will go down to Muriel
tomorrow."



CHAPTER 89


Lothair, who was very sensible to the charms of Nature, found at first
relief in the beauties of Muriel. The season was propitious to the
scene. August is a rich and leafy month, and the glades and avenues and
stately trees of his parks and pleasaunces seemed, at the same time, to
soothe and gladden his perturbed spirit. Muriel was still new to him,
and there was much to examine and explore for the first time. He found
a consolation also in the frequent remembrance that these scenes had
been known to those whom he loved. Often in the chamber, and often in
the bower, their forms arose; sometimes their voices lingered in his
ear; a frolic laugh, or whispered words of kindness and enjoyment. Such
a place as Muriel should always be so peopled. But that is impossible.
One cannot always have the most agreeable people in the world assembled
under one's roof. And yet the alternative should not be the loneliness
he now experienced. The analytical Lothair resolved that there was no
happiness without sympathy.

The most trying time were the evenings. A man likes to be alone in the
morning. He writes his letters and reads the newspapers, attempts to
examine his steward's accounts, and if he wants society can gossip with
his stud-groom. But a solitary evening in the country is gloomy,
however brilliant the accessories. As Mr. Phoebus was not present,
Lothair violated the prime principles of a first-class Aryan education,
and ventured to read a little. It is difficult to decide which is the
most valuable companion to a country eremite at his nightly studies, the
volume that keeps him awake or the one that sets him a-slumbering.

At the end of a week Lothair had some good sport on his moors -- and
this reminded him of the excellent Campian, who had received and
answered his letter. The colonel, however, held out but a faint
prospect of returning at present to Europe, though, whenever he did, he
promised to be the guest of Lothair. Lothair asked some of his
neighbors to dinner, and he made two large parties to slaughter his
grouse. They were grateful and he was popular, but "we have not an idea
in common," thought Lothair, as, wearied and uninterested, he bade his
last guest his last good-night. Then Lothair paid a visit to the
lord-lieutenant, and stayed two nights at Agramont Castle. Here he met
many county notables, and "great was the company of the preachers;" but
the talk was local or ecclesiastical, and, after the high-spiced
condiments of the conversation to which he was accustomed, the present
discourse was insipid even to nausea. He sought some relief in the
society of Lady Ida Alice, but she blushed when she spoke to him, and
tittered when he replied to her; and at last he found refuge in pretty
Mrs. Ardenne, who concluded by asking him for his photograph.

On the morrow of his return to Muriel, the servant bringing in his
letters, he seized one in the handwriting of Bertram, and, discarding
the rest, devoured the communication of his friend, which was eventful.

It seems that the Phoebus family had returned to England, and were at
Brentham, and had been there a week. The family were delighted with
them, and Euphrosyne was an especial favorite. But this was not all.
It seems that Mr. Cantacuzene had been down to Brentham, and stayed,
which he never did anywhere, a couple of days. And the duke was
particularly charmed with Mr. Cantacuzene. This gentleman, who was only
in the earlier term of middle age, and looked younger than his age, was
distinguished in appearance, highly polished, and singularly acute. He
appeared to be the master of great wealth, for he offered to make upon
Euphrosyne any settlement which the duke desired. He had no son, and
did not wish his sons-in-law to be sighing for his death. He wished his
daughters, therefore, to enjoy the bulk of their inheritances in his
lifetime. He told the duke that he had placed one hundred thousand
pounds in the names of trustees on the marriage of Madame Phoebus, to
accumulate, "and when the genius and vanity of her husband are both
exhausted, though I believe they are inexhaustible," remarked Mr.
Cantacuzene, "it will be a nest's-egg for them to fall back upon, and at
least save them from penury." The duke had no doubt that Mr.
Cantacuzene was of imperial lineage. But the latter portion of the
letter was the most deeply interesting to Lothair. Bertram wrote that
his mother had just observed that she thought the Phoebus family would
like to meet Lothair, and begged Bertram to invite him to Brentham. The
letter ended by an urgent request, that, if disengaged, he should arrive
immediately.

Mr. Phoebus highly approved of Brentham. All was art, and art of a high
character. He knew no residence with an aspect so thoroughly Aryan.
Though it was really a family party, the house was quite full; at least,
as Bertram said to Lothair on his arrival, "there is only room for you
-- and you are in your old quarters."

"That is exactly what I wished," said Lothair.

He had to escort the duchess to dinner. Her manner was of old days. "I
thought you would like to meet your friends," she said.

"It gives me much pleasure, but much more to find myself at Brentham."

"There seems every prospect of Bertram being happy. We are enchanted
with the young lady. You know her, I believe, well? The duke is highly
pleased with her, father, Mr. Cantacuzene -- he says one of the most
sensible men he ever met, and a thorough gentleman, which he may well
be, for I believe there is no doubt he is of the highest descent --
emperors they say, princes even now. I wish you could have met him, but
he would only stay eight-and-forty hours. I understand his affairs are
vast."

"I have always heard a considerable person; quite the head of the Greek
community in this country -- indeed, in Europe generally."

"I see by the morning papers that Miss Arundel has taken the veil."

"I missed my papers to-day," said Lothair, a little agitated, "but I
have long been aware of her intention of doing so."

"Lady St. Jerome will miss her very much. She was quite the soul of the
house."

"It must be a great and painful sacrifice," said Lothair; "but, I
believe, long meditated. I remember when I was at Vauxe, nearly two
years ago, that I was told this was to be her fate. She was quite
determined on it."

"I saw the beautiful crucifix you gave her, at Mr. Ruby's."

"It was an homage to her for her great goodness to me when I was ill at
Rome -- and it was difficult to find any thing that would please or suit
her. I fixed on the crucifix, because it permitted me to transfer to it
the earth of the holy places, which were included in the crucifix, that
was given to me by the monks of the Holy Sepulchre, when I made my
pilgrimage to Jerusalem."

In the evening St. Aldegonde insisted on their dancing, and he engaged
himself to Madame Phoebus. Bertram and Euphrosyne seemed never
separated; Lothair was successful in inducing Lady Corisande to be his
partner.

"Do you remember your first ball at Crecy House?" asked Lothair. "You
are not nervous now?"

"I would hardly say that," said Lady Corisande, "though I try not to
show it."

"It was the first ball for both of us," said Lothair. "I have not
danced so much in the interval as you have. Do you know, I was
thinking, just now, I have danced oftener with you than with any one
else?"

"Are not you glad about Bertram's affair ending so well?"

"Very; he will be a happy man. Every body is happy, I think, except
myself."

In the course of the evening, Lady St. Aldegonde, on the arm of Lord
Montairy, stopped for a moment as she passed Lothair, and said: "Do you
remember our conversation at Lord Culloden's breakfast? Who was right
about mamma?"

They passed their long summer days in rambling and riding, and in
wondrous new games which they played in the hall. The striking feature,
however, were the matches at battledore and shuttlecock between Madame
Phoebus and Lord St. Aldegonde, in which the skill and energy displayed
were supernatural, and led to betting. The evenings were always gay;
sometimes they danced; more or less they always had some delicious
singing. And Mr. Phoebus arranged some tableaux most successfully.

All this time, Lothair hung much about Lady Corisande; he was by her
side in the riding-parties, always very near her when they walked, and
sometimes he managed unconsciously to detach her from the main party,
and they almost walked alone. If he could not sit by her at dinner, he
joined her immediately afterward, and whether it were a dance, a
tableau, or a new game, somehow or other he seemed always to be her
companion.

It was about a week after the arrival of Lothair, and they were at
breakfast at Brentham, in that bright room full of little round tables
which Lothair always admired, looking, as it did, upon a garden of many
colors.

"How I hate modern gardens!" said St. Aldegonde. "What a horrid thing
this is! One might as well have a mosaic pavement there. Give me
cabbage-roses, sweet-peas, and wall-flowers. That is my idea of a
garden. Corisande's garden is the only sensible thing of the sort."

"One likes a mosaic pavement to look like a garden," said Euphrosyne,
"but not a garden like a mosaic pavement."

"The worst of these mosaic beds," said Madame Phoebus, "is, you can never
get a nosegay, and if it were not for the kitchen-garden, we should be
destitute of that gayest and sweetest of creations."

"Corisande's garden is, since your first visit to Brentham," said the
duchess to Lothair. "No flowers are admitted that have not perfume. It
is very old-fashioned. You must get her to show it you."

It was agreed that after breakfast they should go and see Corisande's
garden. And a party did go -- all the Phoebus family, and Lord and Lady
St. Aldegonde, and Lady Corisande, and Bertram, and Lothair.

In the pleasure-grounds of Brentham were the remains of an ancient
garden of the ancient house that had long ago been pulled down. When
the modern pleasure-grounds were planned and created, notwithstanding
the protests of the artists in landscape, the father of the present duke
would not allow this ancient garden to be entirely destroyed, and you
came upon its quaint appearance in the dissimilar world in which it was
placed, as you might in some festival of romantic costume upon a person
habited in the courtly dress of the last century. It was formed upon a
gentle southern slope, with turfen terraces walled in on three sides,
the fourth consisting of arches of golden yew. The duke had given this
garden to Lady Corisande, in order that she might practise her theory,
that flower-gardens should be sweet and luxuriant, and not hard and
scentless imitations of works of art. Here, in their season, flourished
abundantly all those productions of Nature which are now banished from
our once delighted senses; huge bushes of honey-suckle, and bowers of
sweet-pea and sweet-brier, and jessamine clustering over the walls, and
gillyflowers scenting with their sweet breath the ancient bricks from
which they seemed to spring. There were banks of violets which the
southern breeze always stirred, and mignonette filled every vacant nook.
As they entered now, it seemed a blaze of roses and carnations, though
one recognized in a moment the presence of the lily, the heliotrope, and
the stock. Some white peacocks were basking on the southern wall, and
one of them, as their visitors entered, moved and displayed its plumage
with scornful pride. The bees were busy in the air, but their homes
were near, and you might watch them laboring in their glassy hives.

"Now, is not Corisande quite right?" said Lord St. Aldegonde, as he
presented Madame Phoebus with a garland of woodbine, with which she said
she would dress her head at dinner. All agreed with him, and Bertram
and Euphrosyne adorned each other with carnations, and Mr. Phoebus placed
a flower on the uncovered head of Lady St. Aldegonde, according to the
principles of high art, and they sauntered and rambled in the sweet and
sunny air amid a blaze of butterflies and the ceaseless hum of bees.

Bertram and Euphrosyne had disappeared; and the rest were lingering
about the hives while Mr. Phoebus gave them a lecture on the apiary and
its marvellous life. The bees understood Mr. Phoebus, at least he said
so, and thus his friends had considerable advantage in this lesson in
entomology. Lady Corisande and Lothair were in a distant comer of the
garden, and she was explaining to him her plans; what she had done and
what she meant to do.

"I wish I had a garden like this at Muriel," said Lothair.

"You could easily make one."

"If you helped me."

"I have told you all my plans," said Lady Corisande.

"Yes; but I was thinking of something else when you spoke," said
Lothair.

"That was not very complimentary."

"I do not wish to be complimentary," said Lothair, "if compliments mean
less than they declare. I was not thinking of your garden, but of you."

"Where can they have all gone?" said Lady Corisande, looking round. "We
must find them."

"And leave this garden?" said Lothair. "And I without a flower, the
only one without a flower? I am afraid that is significant of my lot."