H. W. C. Davis - "Medieval Europe"

Henry James - "Nona Vincent"

L. Muhlbach - "Joseph II. and His Court"

Albert Einstein - "Relativity: The Special and General Theory"

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




"I thought universities were universal," said Lothair, "and had
something to do with every thing."

"I cannot conceive any society of any kind without religion," said the
lady.

Lothair glanced at her beautiful brow with devotion as she uttered these
words.

Colonel Campian began to talk about horses. After that the professor
proved to him that he was related to Edmund Campian, the Jesuit; and
then he got to the Gunpowder Plot, which, he was not sure, if
successful, might not have beneficially influenced the course of our
history. Probably the Irish difficulty would not then have existed.

"I dislike plots," said the lady; "they always fail."

"And, whatever their object, are they not essentially immoral?" said
Lothair.

"I have more faith in ideas than in persons," said the lady. "When a
truth is uttered, it will, sooner or later, be recognized. It is only
an affair of time. It is better that it should mature and naturally
germinate than be forced."

"You would reduce us to lotus-eaters," exclaimed the professor. "Action
is natural to man. And what, after all, are conspiracies and
revolutions but great principles in violent action?"

"I think you must be an admirer of repose," said Lothair to the lady, in
a low voice.

"Because I have seen something of action in my life;" said the lady,
"and it is an experience of wasted energies and baffled thoughts."

When they returned to the saloon, the colonel and the professor became
interested in the constitution and discipline of the American
universities. Lothair hung about the lady, who was examining some views
of Oxford, and who was ascertaining what she had seen and what she had
omitted to visit. They were thinking of returning home on the morrow.

"Without seeing Blenheim?" said Lothair.

"Without seeing Blenheim," said the lady; "I confess to a pang; but I
shall always associate with that name your great kindness to us."

"But cannot we for once enter into a conspiracy together," said Lothair,
"and join in a happy plot and contrive to go? Besides, I could take you
to the private gardens, for the duke has given me a perpetual order, and
they are really exquisite."

The lady seemed to smile.

"Theodora," said the colonel, speaking from the end of the room, "what
have you settled about your train to-morrow?"

"We want, to stay another day here," said Theodora, "and go to
Blenheim."



CHAPTER 25


They were in the private gardens at Blenheim. The sun was brilliant
over the ornate and yet picturesque scene.

"Beautiful, is it not?" exclaimed Lothair.

"Yes, certainly beautiful," said Theodora. "But, do you know, I do not
feel altogether content in these fine gardens? The principle of
exclusion on which they are all founded is to me depressing. I require
in all things sympathy. You would not agree with me in this. The
manners of your country are founded on exclusion."

"But, surely, there are times and places when one would like to be
alone."

"Without doubt," said the lady; "only I do not like artificial
loneliness. Even your parks, which all the world praises, do not quite
satisfy me. I prefer a forest where all may go -- even the wild
beasts."

"But forests are not at command," said Lothair.

"So you make a solitude and call it peace," said the lady, with a slight
smile. "For my part, my perfect life would be a large and beautiful
village. I admire Nature, but I require the presence of humanity. Life
in great cities is too exhausting; but in my village there should be
air, streams, and beautiful trees, a picturesque scene, but enough of my
fellow-creatures to insure constant duty."

"But the fulfilment of duty and society, founded on what you call the
principle of exclusion, are not incompatible," said Lothair.

"No, but difficult. What should be natural becomes an art; and in every
art it is only the few who can be first rate."

"I have an ambition to be a first-rate artist in that respect," said
Lothair, thoughtfully.

"That does you much honor," she replied, "for you necessarily embark in
a most painful enterprise. The toiling multitude have their sorrows,
which, I believe, will some day be softened, and obstacles hard to
overcome; but I have always thought that the feeling of satiety, almost
inseparable from large possessions, is a surer cause of misery than
ungratified desires."

"It seems to me that there is a great deal to do," said Lothair.

"I think so," said the lady.

"Theodora," said the colonel, who was a little in advance with the
professor, and turning round his head, "this reminds me of Mirabel," and
he pointed to the undulating banks covered with rare shrubs, and
touching the waters of the lake.

"And where is Mirabel?" said Lothair.

"It was a green island in the Adriatic," said the lady, "which belonged
to Colonel Campian; we lost it in the troubles. Colonel Campian was
very fond of it. I try to persuade him that our home was of volcanic
origin, and has only vanished and subsided into its native bed."

"And were not you fond of it?"

"I never think of the past," said the lady.

"Oxford is not the first place where I had the pleasure of meeting you,"
Lothair ventured at length to observe.

"Yes, we have met before, in Hyde Park Gardens. Our hostess is a clever
woman, and has been very kind to some friends of mine."

"And have you seen her lately?"

"She comes to see us sometimes. We do not live in London, but in the
vicinity. We only go to London for the opera, of which we are devotees.
We do not at all enter general society; Colonel Campian only likes
people who interest or amuse him, and he is fortunate in having rather a
numerous acquaintance of that kind."

"Rare fortune!" said Lothair.

"Colonel Campian lived a great deal at Paris before we marred," said the
lady, "and in a circle of considerable culture and excitement. He is
social, but not conventional."

"And you -- are you conventional?"

"Well, I live only for climate and the affections," said the lady "I am
fond of society that pleases me, that is, accomplished and natural and
ingenious; otherwise I prefer being alone. As for atmosphere, as I look
upon it as the main source of felicity, you may be surprised that I
should reside in your country. I should myself like to go to America,
but that would not suit Colonel Campian; and, if we are to live in
Europe, we must live in England. It is not pleasant to reside in a
country where, if you happen to shelter or succor a friend, you may be
subject to a domiciliary visit."

The professor stopped to deliver a lecture or address on the villa of
Hadrian. Nothing could be more minute or picturesque than his
description of that celebrated pleasaunce. It was varied by portraits
of the emperor and some of his companions, and, after a rapid glance at
the fortunes of the imperial patriciate, wound up with some conclusions
favorable to communism. It was really very clever, and would have made
the fortune of a literary society.

"I wonder if they had gravel-walks in the villa of Hadrian?" said the
colonel. "What I admire most in your country, my lord, are your
gravel-walks, though that lady would not agree with me that matter."

"You are against gravel-walks," said Lothair.

"Well, I cannot bring myself to believe that they had gravel-walks in
the garden of Eden," said the lady.

They had a repast at Woodstock, too late for luncheon, too early for
dinner, but which it was agreed should serve as the latter meal.

"That suits me exactly," said the lady; "I am a great foe to dinners,
and indeed to all meals. I think when the good time comes we shall give
up eating in public, except perhaps fruit on a green bank with music."

It was a rich twilight as they drove home, the lady leaning back in the
carriage silent. Lothair sat opposite to her, and gazed upon a
countenance on which the moon began to glisten, and which seemed
unconscious of all human observation.

He had read of such countenances in Grecian dreams; in Corinthian
temples, in fanes of Ephesus, in the radiant shadow of divine groves.



CHAPTER 26


When they had arrived at the hotel, Colonel Campian proposed that they
should come in and have some coffee; but Theodora did not enforce this
suggestion; and Lothair, feeling that she might be wearied, gracefully
though unwillingly waived the proposal. Remembering that on the noon of
the morrow they were to depart, with a happy inspiration, as he said
farewell, he asked permission to accompany them to the station.

Lothair walked away with the professor, who seemed in a conservative
vein, and graciously disposed to make several concessions to the customs
of an ancient country. Though opposed to the land laws, he would
operate gradually, and gave Lothair more than one receipt how to save
the aristocracy. Lothair would have preferred talking about the lady
they had just quitted, but, as he soon found the professor could really
give him no information about her, he let the subject drop.

But not out of his own mind. He was glad to be alone and brood over the
last two days. They were among the most interesting of his life. He
had encountered a character different from any he had yet met, had
listened to new views, and his intelligence had been stimulated by
remarks made casually, in easy conversation, and yet to him pregnant
with novel and sometimes serious meaning. The voice, too, lingered in
his ear, so hushed and deep, and yet so clear and sweet. He leaned over
his mantel-piece in teeming reverie.

"And she is profoundly religious," he said to himself; "she can conceive
no kind of society without religion. She has arrived at the same
conclusion as myself. What a privilege it would be to speak to her on
such subjects!"

After a restless night the morrow came. About eleven o'clock Lothair
ventured to call on his new friends. The lady was alone; she was
standing by the window, reading an Italian newspaper, which she folded
up and placed aside when Lothair was announced.

"We propose to walk to the station," said Theodora; "the servants have
gone on. Colonel Campian has a particular aversion to moving with any
luggage. He restricts me to this," she said, pointing to her satchel,
in which she had placed the foreign newspaper, "and for that he will not
be responsible."

"It was most kind of you to permit me to accompany you this morning,"
said Lothair; "I should have been grieved to have parted abruptly last
night."

"I could not refuse such a request," said the lady; "but do you know, I
never like to say farewell, even for four-and-twenty hours? One should
vanish like a spirit."

"Then I have erred," said Lothair, "against your rules and principles."

"Say my fancies," said the lady, "my humors, my whims. Besides, this is
not a farewell. You will come and see us. Colonel Campian tells me you
have promised to give us that pleasure."

"It will be the greatest pleasure to me," said Lothair; "I can conceive
nothing greater." And then hesitating a little, and a little blushing,
he added, "When do you think I might come?"

"Whenever you like," said the lady; "you will always find me at home.
My life is this: I ride every day very early, and far into the country,
so I return tamed some two or three hours after noon, and devote myself
to my friends. We are at home every evening, except opera nights; and
let me tell you, because it is not the custom generally among your
compatriots, we are always at home on Sundays."

Colonel Campian entered the room; the moment of departure was at hand.
Lothair felt the consolation of being their companion to the station.
He had once hoped it might be possible to be their companion in the
train; but he was not encouraged.

"Railways have elevated and softened the lot of man," said Theodora,
"and Colonel Campian views them with almost a religious sentiment. But
I cannot read in a railroad, and the human voice is distressing to me
amid the whirl and the whistling, and the wild panting of the loosened
megatheria who drag us. And then those terrible grottos -- it is quite
a descent of Proserpine; so I have no resources but my thoughts."

"And surely that is sufficient," murmured Lothair.

"Not when the past is expelled," said the lady.

"But the future," said Lothair.

"Yes, that is ever interesting, but so vague that it sometimes induces
slumber."

The bell sounded; Lothair handed the lady to her compartment.

"Our Oxford visit," she said, "has been a great success, and mainly
through you."

The colonel was profuse in his cordial farewells, and it seemed they
would never have ended had not the train moved.

Lothair remained upon the platform until it was out of sight, and then
exclaimed, "Is it a dream, or shall I ever see her again?"



CHAPTER 27


Lothair reached London late in the afternoon. Among the notes and cards
and letters on his table was a long and pressing dispatch from Mr.
Putney Giles awaiting his judgment and decision on many points.

"The central inauguration, if I may use the term," said Mr. Putney
Giles, "is comparatively easy. It is an affair of expense and of labor
-- great labor; I may say unremitting labor. But your lordship will
observe the other points are not mere points of expense and labor. We
have to consult the feelings of several counties where your lordship
cannot be present, at least certainly not on this occasion, and yet
where an adequate recognition of those sentiments which ought to exist
between the proprietor and all classes connected with him ought to be
secured. Then Scotland: Scotland is a very difficult business to
manage. It is astonishing how the sentiment lingers in that country
connected with its, old independence. I really am quite surprised at
it. One of your lordship's most important tenants wrote to me only a
few days back that great dissatisfaction would prevail among your
lordship's friends and tenantry in Scotland, if that country on this
occasion were placed on the same level as a mere English county. It
must be recognized as a kingdom. I almost think it would be better if
we could persuade Lord Culloden, not to attend the English inauguration,
but remain in the kingdom of Scotland, and take the chair and the lead
throughout the festal ceremonies. A peer of the realm, and your
lordship's guardian, would impart something of national character to
the proceedings, and this, with a judicious emblazoning on some of the
banners of the royal arms of Scotland, might have a conciliatory effect.
One should always conciliate. But your lordship, upon all these points,
and especially with reference to Lord Culloden, must be a much better
judge than I am."

Lothair nearly gave a groan. "I almost wish," he thought, "my minority
would never end. I am quite satisfied with things as they are. What is
the kingdom of Scotland to me and all these counties? I almost begin to
feel that satiety which she said was inseparable from vast possessions."

A letter from Bertram, reminding him that he had not dined at White's as
he had promised, and suggesting some new arrangement, and another from
Monsignore Catesby, earnestly urging him to attend a most peculiar and
solemn function of the Church next Sunday evening, where the cardinal
would officiate and preach, and in which Lady St. Jerome and Miss
Arundel were particularly interested, did not restore his equanimity.

A dinner at White's! He did not think he could stand a dinner at
White's. Indeed, he was not sure that he could stand any dinner
anywhere, especially in this hot weather. There was a good deal in what
she said: "One ought to eat alone."

The ecclesiastical function was a graver matter. It had been long
contemplated, often talked about, and on occasions looked forward to by
him even with a certain degree of eagerness. He wished he had had an
opportunity of speaking with her on these matters. She was eminently
religious; that she had voluntarily avowed. And he felt persuaded that
no light or thoughtless remark could fall from those lips. He wondered
to what Church she belonged? Protestant or papal? Her husband, being
an American, was probably a Protestant, but he was a gentleman of the
South, and with nothing puritanical about him. She was a European, and
probably of a Latin race. In all likelihood she was a Roman Catholic.

It was Wednesday evening, and his valet reminded him that he was engaged
to dine with Lord and Lady Montairy.

Lothair sighed. He was so absorbed by his new feelings that he shrunk
from society with a certain degree of aversion. He felt it quite out of
his power to fulfil his engagement. He sent an excuse. It was
Lothair's first excuse. In short, he "threw over" the Montairys, to
whom he was so much attached, whom he so much admired, and whose society
he had hitherto so highly prized.

To "throw over" a host is the most heinous of social crimes. It ought
never to be pardoned. It disjoints a party, often defeats the
combinations which might affect the results of a season, and generally
renders the society incoherent and unsatisfactory. If the outrage could
ever be condoned, it might be in the instance of a young man very
inexperienced, the victim of some unexpected condition of nervous
feelings over which the defaulter has really no control.

It was evening, and the restless Lothair walked forth without a purpose,
and in a direction which he rarely visited. "It is a wonderful place,"
said he, "this London; a nation, not a city; with a population greater
than some kingdoms, and districts as different as if they were under
different governments and spoke different languages. And what do I know
of it? I have been living here six months, and my life has been passed
in a park, two or three squares, and half a dozen streets!"

So he walked on and soon crossed Oxford Street, like the Rhine a natural
boundary, and then got into Portland Place, and then found himself in
the New Road, and then he hailed a cruising Hansom, which he had
previously observed was well horsed.

"'Tis the gondola of London," said Lothair as he sprang in.

"Drive on till I tell you to stop."

And the Hansom drove on, through, endless boulevards, some bustling,
some dingy, some tawdry and flaring, some melancholy and mean; rows of
garden gods, planted on the walls of yards full of vases and divinities
of concrete, huge railway halls, monster hotels, dissenting chapels in
the form of Gothic churches, quaint ancient almshouses that were once
built in the fields, and tea-gardens and stingo-houses and knackers'
yards. They were in a district far beyond the experience of Lothair,
which indeed had been exhausted when he had passed Eustonia, and from
that he had been long separated. The way was broad but ill-lit, with
houses of irregular size but generally of low elevation, and sometimes
detached in smoke-dried gardens. The road was becoming a bridge which
crossed a canal, with barges and wharves and timber-yards, when their
progress was arrested by a crowd. It seemed a sort of procession; there
was a banner, and the lamp-light fell upon a religious emblem. Lothair
was interested, and desired the driver not to endeavor to advance. The
procession was crossing the road and entering a building.

"It's a Roman Catholic chapel," said a bystander in answer to Lothair.
"I believe it is a meeting about one of their schools. They always have
banners."

"I think I will get out," said Lothair to his driver. "This, I suppose,
will pay your fare."

The man stared with delight at the sovereign in his astonished palm, and
in gratitude suggested that he should remain and wait for the gentleman,
but the restless Lothair declined the proposal.

"Sir, sir," said the man, leaning down his head as low as possible from
his elevated seat, and speaking in a hushed voice, "you are a real
gentleman. Do you know what all this is?"

"Yes, yes; some meeting about a Roman Catholic school."

The man shook his head. "You are a real gentleman, and I will tell you
the truth. They meet about the schools of the order of St. Joseph --
over the left -- it is a Fenian meeting."

"A Fenian meeting?"

"Ay, ay, and you cannot enter that place without a ticket. Just you
try! However, if a gentleman like you wants to go, you shall have my
ticket," said the cab-driver; "and here it is. And may I drive
to-morrows as true a gentleman as I have driven to-day!"

So saying, he took a packet from his breast-pocket, and opening it
offered to Lothair a green slip of paper, which was willingly accepted.
"I should like above all things to go," he said, and he blended with the
rear of those who were entering the building. The collector of the
tickets stared at Lothair and scrutinized his pass, but all was in
order, and Lothair was admitted.

He passed through a house and a yard, at the bottom of which was a
rather spacious building. When he entered it, he saw in an instant it
was not a chapel. It was what is called a temperance-hall, a room to be
hired for public assemblies, with a raised platform at the end, on which
were half a dozen men. The hall was tolerably full, and Lothair came in
among the last. There were some children sitting on a form placed
against the wall of the room, each with a bun which kept them quiet; the
banner belonged to this school, and was the banner of St. Joseph.

A man dressed like a pries and known as Father O'Molloy, came forward.
He was received with signs of much sympathy, succeeded by complete
silence. He addressed them in a popular and animated style on the
advantages of education. They knew what that was, and then they
cheered. . Education taught them to know their rights. But what was the
use of knowing their rights unless they enforced them? That was not to
be done by prayer-books, but by something else, and something else
wanted a subscription.

This was the object of the meeting and the burden of all the speeches
which followed, and which were progressively more outspoken than the
adroit introductory discourse. The Saxon was denounced, sometimes with
coarseness, but sometimes in terms of picturesque passion; the vast and
extending organization of the brotherhood was enlarged on, the great
results at hand intimated; the necessity of immediate exertion on the
part of every individual pressed with emphasis. All these views and
remarks received from the audience an encouraging response; and when
Lothair observed men going round with boxes, and heard the clink of
coin, he felt very embarrassed as to what he should do when asked to
contribute to a fund raised to stimulate and support rebellion against
his sovereign. He regretted the rash restlessness which had involved
him in such a position.

The collectors approached Lothair, who was standing at the end of the
room opposite to the platform, where the space was not crowded.

"I should like to speak to Father O'Molloy," said Lothair; "he is a
priest, and will understand my views."

"He is a priest here," said one of the collectors with a sardonic laugh,
"but I am glad to say you will not find his name in the directory.
Father O'Molloy is on the platform and engaged."

"If you want to speak to the father, speak from where yon are," said the
other collector. "Here, silence! a gentleman wants to address the
meeting."

And there was silence, and Lothair felt extremely embarrassed, but he
was not wanting, though it was the first time in his life that he had
addressed a public meeting.

"Gentlemen," said Lothair, "I really had no wish to intrude upon you;
all I desired was to speak to Father O'Molloy. I wished to tell him
that it would have given me pleasure to subscribe to these schools. I
am not a Roman Catholic, but I respect the Roman Catholic religion. But
I can do nothing that will imply the slightest sanction of the opinions
I have heard expressed this evening. For your own sakes -- " but here a
yell arose which forever drowned his voice.

"A spy, a spy!" was the general exclamation. "We are betrayed! Seize
him! Knock him over!" and the whole meeting seemed to have turned their
backs on the platform and to be advancing on the unfortunate Lothair.
Two of the leaders on the platform at the same time leaped down from it,
to direct as it were the enraged populace.

But at this moment a man who had been in the lower part of the hall, in
the vicinity of Lothair and standing alone, pushed forward, and by his
gestures and general mien arrested somewhat the crowd, so that the two
leaders who leaped from the platform and bustled through the crowd came
in contact with him.

The stranger was evidently not of the class or country of the rest
assembled. He had a military appearance, and spoke with a foreign accent
when he said, "This is no spy. Keep your people off."

"And who are you?" inquired the leader thus addressed.

"One accustomed to be obeyed," said the stranger.

"You may be a spy yourself," said the leader.

"I will not undertake to say that there are no spies in this room," said
the stranger, "but this person is not one, and anybody who touches this
person will touch this person at his peril. Stand off, men!" And they
stood off. The wave retreated backward, leaving the two leaders in
front. A couple of hundred men, a moment before apparently full of
furious passion and ready to take refuge in the violence of fear, were
cowed by a single human being.