J. A. Mitchell - "The Last American"

Floyd Dell - "King Arthur's Socks and Other Village Plays"

E. P. Roe - "A Knight Of The Nineteenth Century"

Thornton W. Burgess - "Old Mother West Wind"

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: Love and Life

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> Love and Life




"Mrs. Aylward may be a respectable housekeeper, though far too lavish
of butcher's meat, but I should never have recourse to her on a matter
of decorum," said Mrs. Phoebe.

Aurelia's cheeks burnt, but she still defended herself. "I have heard
from my father and my sister," she said, "and they make no objection."

"Hoity-toity! What means this heat, miss?" exclaimed Mrs. Phoebe;
"I am only telling you, as a kindness, what we should have thought
becoming with regard even to a blood relation of our own."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Aurelia; "but, you see, you are so much nearer
his age, that the cases are not alike."

She said it in all simplicity, and did not perceive, at first, why the
two sisters drew themselves up in so much offence, or why Mrs. Hunter
cried, "Oh, fie, for shame, you saucy chit! Bless me!" she continued,
more good-naturedly, "Cousin Phoebe, times are changed since we were
young, and poor Sir Jovian and his brother were the county beaux.
The child is right enough when one comes to think of it; and for my
part, I should be glad that poor Mr. Amyas had some one young and
cheerful about him. It is only a pity his nephew, the young baronet,
never comes down to see him."

"Like mother like son," said Mrs. Phoebe; "I grieve to think what
the old place will come to."

"Well," said Mrs. Hunter, "I do not hear the young gentleman ill
spoken of; though, more's the pity, he is in a bad school with
Colonel Mar for his commanding officer, the fine gallant who is
making his mother the talk of the town!"

The gossip and scandal then waxed fast and furious on the authority
of Mrs. Hunter's sister, but no one paid any more attention to
Aurelia, except that when there was an adjournment to the next room,
she was treated with such double stiffness and ceremony as to make
her feel that she had given great offence, and was highly disapproved
of by all but Mrs. Hunter. And Aurelia could not like her, for her
gossip had been far broader and coarser than that of the Mistresses
Treforth, who, though more bitter were more of gentlewomen. Happily
much of what passed was perfectly unintelligible to Betty's carefully
shielded pupil, who sat all the time with the cat on her lap, listening
to its purring music, but feeling much more inclined to believe nothing
against my Lady, after her father's example, than to agree with those
who were so evidently prejudiced. Tea was brought in delicate
porcelain cups, then followed cards, which made the time pass less
drearily till supper. This consisted of dishes still tinier than
those at dinner, and it was scarcely ended when it was announced
that Jumbo had come for Miss Delavie.

Gladly she departed, after an exchange of curtsies, happily not
hearing the words behind her:--

"An artful young minx."

"And imagine the impudence of securing Jumbo's attendance, forsooth!"

"Nay," said Mrs. Hunter, "she seemed to me a pretty modest young
gentlewoman enough."

"Pretty! Yes, she comes of my Lady's own stock, and will be just
such another."

"Yes; it is quite plain that it is true that my Lady sent her here
because she had been spreading the white apron for the young baronet."

"And now she is trying her arts on poor cousin Amyas Belamour. You
heard how she would take no advice, and replied with impertinence."

"Shall you give my Lady a hint?"

"Not I. I have been treated with too much insolence by Lady Belamour
to interfere with her again," said Mrs. Phoebe, drawing herself up;
"I shall let things take their course unless I can remonstrate with
my own kinsman."




CHAPTER XIII. THE FLUTTER OF HIS WINGS.


Then is Love's hour to stray!
Oh, how he flies away!--T. MOORE.


Meanwhile Aurelia, mounted on a pair of pattens brought by the negro
to keep her above the dew, was crossing the park by the light of a
fine hunter's moon, Jumbo marching at a respectful distance in the
rear. He kept on chuckling to himself with glee, and when she looked
round at him, he informed her with great exultation that "Mas'r had
not been alone. His honour had been to see him. Mas'r so glad."

"Sir Amyas!" exclaimed Aurelia: "Is he there still?"

"No, missie. He went away before supper."

"Did he see the young ladies?"

"Oh, yes, missie. He came before mas'r up, quite promiskius," said
Jumbo, who loved a long word. "I tell him, wait till mas'r be dress,
and took him to summer parlour. He see little missies out in garden;
ask what chil'ren it was. His Hounour's sisters, Miss Fay, Missie
Letty, Missie Amy, I say! His Honour wonder. 'My sisters,' he say,
'my sisters here,' and out he goes like a flash of lightning and was
in among them."

Aurelia's first thought was "Oh, I hope they were clean and neat, and
that they behaved themselves. I wish I had been at home." Wherewith
followed the recollection that Sir Amyas had been called her beau,
and her cheeks burnt; but the recent disagreeable lecture on etiquette
showed her that it would only have led to embarrassment and vexation
to have had any question of an interview with a young gentleman by so
little her elder. Nor would she have known what to say to him. Old
Mr. Belamour in the dark was a very different matter, and she had
probably had an escape from much awkwardness.

Molly received her with her favourite exclamation: "Lawk, miss, and
who do you think have been here?"

"Jumbo told me, Molly."

"Ain't he a perfect pictur of a man? And such a gentleman! He gave
me a whole goolden guinea for my good care of his little sisters, and
says he: 'Their father shall hear of them, and what little ladies
they be.'"

"I am glad they behaved themselves prettily."

"Yes, that they did, ma'am. It was good luck that they had not been
grubbing in their gardens as you lets 'em do, ma'am, but they was all
as clean as a whistle, a picking up horse-chestnuts under the big tree
at the corner of the bowling green, when out on the steps we sees him,
looking more like an angel than a man, in his red coat, and the goold
things on his shoulders, and out he comes! Miss Amy, she was afeard
at first: 'Be the soldiers a coming?' says she, and runs to me; but
Miss Letty, she holds out her arms, and says "It's my papa,' and Miss
Fay, she stood looking without a word. Then when his Honour was in
among them: "My little sisters, my dear little sisters,' says he,
'don't you know me?' and down he goes on one knee in the grass, never
heeding his beautiful white small-clothes, if you'll believe me, miss,
and holds out his arms, and gets Miss Fay into one arm, and Miss
Letty into t'other, and then Miss Amy runs up, and he kisses them
all. Then miss Letty says again 'Are you my papa from foreign parts?'
and he laughs and says: 'No, little one, I'm your brother. Did you
never hear of your brother Amyas?' and Miss Fay stood off a little
and clapped her little hands, and says: 'O brother Amyas, how beautiful
you are!'"

Aurelia could not help longing to know whether she had been mentioned,
but she did not like to inquire, and she was obliged to rest satisfied
with the assurance that her little girls had comported themselves like
jewels, like lambs, like darling lumps of sugar, or whatever metaphors
were suggested by the imagination of Molly, who had, apparently, usurped
the entire credit of their good manners. It was impossible to help
feeling a little aggrieved, or, maugre [in spite of--D.L.] all
inconvenient properties to avoid wishing to have been under the horse-
chestnut tree, even though she might have shown herself just such a
bashful little speechless fool as she had been when Sir Amyas had
danced with her at Carminster.

She was destined to hear a good deal more of the visitor the next day.
The children met her with the cry of "Cousin Aura, our brother"--"our
big beautiful brother--Brother Amyas."--They were with difficulty
calmed into saying their prayers, and Amoret startled the little
congregation by adding to "bless by father, my mother, my brothers
and sisters," "and pray bless big brother Amyas best of all, for I
love him very much indeed!"

All day little facts about "brother Amyas" kept breaking out. Brother
Amyas had beautiful gold lace, brother Amyas had a red and white
feather; brother Amyas had given Fay and Letty each a ride on his
shoulder, but Amy was afraid; brother Amyas said their papa would
love them very much. He had given them each a new silver shilling,
and Amoret had in return presented him with her doll's beautiful
pink back-string that Cousin Aura had made for her. This wonderful
brother had asked who had taught them to be such pretty little
gentlewomen, and at this Aurelia's heart beat a little, but
provoking Fidelia replied: "I told him my Mammy Rolfe taught me
to be genteel," and Letty added: "And he said Fay was a conceited
little pussy cat."

A strange indefinable feeling between self-respect and shyness made
Aurelia shrink from the point-blank question whether the ungrateful
little things had acknowledged their obligations to her. She was
always hoping they would say something of their own accord, and
always disappointed.

Evening came, and she eagerly repaired to the dark room, wondering,
yet half dreading to enter on the subject, and beginning by an
apology for having by no means perfected herself in Priam's visit
to Achilles.

"If you have been making visits," said Mr. Belamour: "I too have had
a visitor."

"The children told me so," she answered.

"He was greatly delighted with them," said Mr. Belamour.

"While they, poor little things, never were more happy in their lives.
He must have been very kind to them, yet he did not know that they
were here."

"His mother is not communicative respecting them. Ladies who love
power seek to preserve it by making little mysteries."

"It was to see you, sir, that he came."

"Yes. He ingenuously avowed that he had always been urged to do so
by his stepfather, but his mother has always put obstacles in the
way, and assured him that he would not gain admission. I have
certainly refused to see her, but this is a very different matter--
my brother's only child, my godson, and my ward!"

"I am very glad he has come to see you, sir, and I am sure it has
given you pleasure."

"Pleasure in seeing that he is a lad of parts, and of an ingenuous,
affectionate, honest nature, but regret in perceiving how I failed
in the confidence that his father reposed in me."

"But, sir, you could not help it!"

"Once I could not. It was, I know not how long, before I knew that
my brother was no more; and thinking myself dead to the world and
the world to me, I took no heed to what, it now seems to me, I was
told of guardianship to the boy. I was incapable of fulfilling any
such charge, and I shunned the pain of hearing of it," he continued,
rather as if talking to himself than to his auditor. "When I could,
I gave them my name and they asked no more. Yet what did they tell
me of a sealed letter from my brother, addressed to me? True, I
heard of it more than once, but I could ask no one to read it to
me, and I closed my ears. In Wayland's hands I knew the youth was
well cared for, and only now do I feel that I have ill requited my
brother's confidence."

"Indeed, sir, I cannot see how you could have done otherwise," said
Aurelia, who could not bear to hear his tone of self-reproach.

"My amiable visitor!" he exclaimed, as though recalled to a sense of
her presence. "Excuse the absence of mind which has inflicted on you
the selfish murmurs of the old recluse. Tell me how you prospered
with my cousins, whom I remember as sprightly maidens. Phoebe had
somewhat of the prude, Delia of the coquette."

"I could imagine what you say of Mistress Phoebe, sir, better than of
Mistress Delia."

"Had they any guests to meet you?"

"A Mrs. Hunter, sir, from Brentford, a doctor's wife I suppose."

"You are right. She was a cousin of theirs on the other side of the
house, a loud-voiced buxom lass, who was thought to have married
beneath here when she took Dr. Hunter; but apparently they have
forgiven her."

Mr. Belamour was evidently much interested and amused by Aurelia's
small experiences and observations, such as they were. In spite of
the sense of past omission which had been aroused by his nephew's
visit, it had evidently raised his spirits, for he laughed when
Aurelia spiced her descriptions with a little playful archness, and
his voice became more cheery.

So, too, it was on the ensuing evening when Aurelia, to compensate
for the last day's neglect, came primed with three or four pages of
the conversation between Priam and Achilles, which she rehearsed with
great feeling, thinking, like Pelides himself, of her own father and
home. It was requited with a murmured "Bravo," and Mr. Belamour
then begged of her, if she were not weary, to favour him with the
Nightingale Song, Jumbo as usual accompanying her with his violin.
At the close there was again a "Bravo! Truly exquisite!" in a tone
as if the hermit were really finding youth and life again. Once
more at his request, she sang, and was applauded with even more
fervour, with a certain tremulous eagerness in the voice. Yet
there was probably a dread of the excitement being too much, for
this was followed by "Thank you, kind songstress, I could listen for
ever, but it is becoming late, and I must not detain you longer."

She found herself handed out of the room, with somewhat curtailed good
nights, although nine o'clock, her usual signal, had not yet struck.
When she came into the lamplit hall, Jumbo was grinning and nodding
like a maniac, and when she asked what was the matter, he only rolled
his eyes, and said, "Missie good! Mas'r like music!"

The repressed excitability she had detected made her vaguely nervous
(not that she would have so called herself), and as the next day was
the blank Sunday, she appeased and worked off her restlessness by
walking with the children to Sedhurst church. It was the sixteenth
Sunday after Trinity, and the preacher, who had caught somewhat of
the fire of Wesley and Whitfield, preached a sermon which arrested her
attention, and filled her with new thoughts. Taking the Epistle and
Gospel in connection, he showed the death-in-life of indifference, and
the quickening touch of the Divine Love, awakening the dead spirit into
true life. On that life, with its glow of love, hope, and joy, the
preacher dwelt with enthusiasm such as Aurelia had never heard, and
which carried her quite out of herself. Tears of emotion trembled
in her eyes, and she felt a longing desire to walk on in that path
of love to her Maker, whom she seemed to have never known before.

She talked with a new fervour to the children of the birds and flowers,
and all the fair things they loved, as the gifts of their Father in
Heaven; and when she gathered them round the large pictured Bible, it
was to the Gospel that she turned as she strove to draw their souls
to the appreciation of the Redeeming Love there shown. She saw in
Fay's deep eyes and thoughtful brow that the child was taking it in,
though differently from Amy, who wanted to kiss the picture, while
Letty asked those babyish material questions about Heaven that puzzle
wiser heads than Aurelia's to answer.

So full was she of the thought, that she forgot her sense of something
strange and unaccountable in Mr. Belamour's manner before the evening,
nor was there anything to remind her of it afresh, for he was as calmly
grave and kindly courteous as ever; and he soon led her to pour forth
all her impressions of the day. Indeed she repeated to him great part
of the sermon, with a voice quivering with earnestness and emotion.
He was not stirred in the same way as she had been, saying in his
pensive meditative way, "The preacher is right. Love is life. The
misfortune is when we stake our all on one love alone, and that melts
from us. Then indeed there is death--living death!"

"But there is never-failing love, and new life that never dies!"
cried Aurelia, almost transported out of herself.

"May you ever keep hold of both unobscured, my sweet child," he
returned, with a sadness that repressed and drove her back into
herself again, feeling far too childish and unworthy to help him
to that new life and love; though her young heart yearned over
him in his desolation, and her soul was full of supplication for
him.




CHAPTER XIV. THE CANON OF WINDSOR.


Turn, gentle hermit of the dale.--GOLDSMITH.


"My child, will you do me a favour?" said Mr. Belamour the next
evening, in a tone no longer formal, but paternal. "Take this
packet" (he put one into the girl's hand) "to the light and inform
me what is the superscription."

It was a thick letter, with a large red wax seal, bearing the well
known arms of Belamour and Delavie, and the address was


To AMYAS BELAMOUR, ESQ., K.C.,

OF THE INNER TEMPLE, LONDON.
To be opened after my death.]

JOVIAN BELAMOUR.
Dec. 14th, 1727.


"I thought so," said Mr. Belamour, when she returned to him with
intelligence. "Little did my poor brother guess how long it would
be unopened! Will my gentle friend confer another obligation on
me?"

Aurelia made her ready assent, hoping to be asked to read the letter,
when he continued, "I cannot read this myself. Even could I bear the
light, the attempt to fix my eyes sends darts shooting through my
brain, which would take away my very power of comprehension. But,"
he continued, "there are only two men living to whom I could entrust
my brother's last words to me. One, your own good father, is out of
reach; the other has frequently proffered his good offices and has
been rejected. Would you add to your kindness that of writing to
entreat my old friend, Dr. Godfrey, to favour with a visit one who
has too often and ungratefully refused him admission."

Feminine curiosity felt balked, but Aurelia was ashamed of the
sensation, and undertook the task. Instructions were given her
that she was to write--


"If Amyas Belamour's old Schoolfellow and Friend can overlook and
pardon the undeserved Rebuffs to His Constancy and Solicitude for
a lonely and sullen Wretch, and will once more come and spend a
Night at Bowstead, he will confer an inestimable Favour upon one
who is more sensible of his Goodness than when it has been
previously offered."


This letter, written in Aurelia's best Italian hand, on a large sheet
of paper, she brought with her the next evening. She was bidden to
fold down the exact place for the signature, which Mr. Belamour
proceeded to affix, and she was then to carry it to the candles in
the lobby, and there fold, seal, and address it to the Reverend
Edward Godfrey, D.D., Canon of Windsor, Windsor. She found the A.
Belamour very fairly written except that it was not horizontal, and
she performed the rest of the task with ladylike dexterity, sealing
it with a ring that had been supplied for the purpose. It did not,
as she expected, bear the Belamour sheaf of arrows, but was a gem,
representing a sleeping Cupid with folded wings, so beautiful that
she asked leave to take another impression for Harriet, who collected
seals, after the fashion of the day.

"You are welcome," Mr. Belamour replied. "I doubt its great antiquity,
since the story of Cupid and Psyche cannot be traced beyond Apuleius.
I used it because Dr. Godfrey will remember it. He was with me at
Rome when I purchased it."

The ring was of the size for a lady's finger, and Aurelia durst ask
no more.

How the letter was sent she knew not, but Mrs. Aylward was summoned
to Mr. Belamour's room, and desired to have a room ready at any time
for his friend.

Three days later, towards sunset, a substantial-looking clergyman,
attended by two servants, rode up to the door; and was immediately
appropriated by Jumbo, disappearing into the mysterious apartments;
Aurelia expected no summons that night, but at the usual hour, the
negro brought a special request for the honour of her society; and
as she entered the dark room, Mr. Belamour said, "My fair and
charitable visitor will permit me to present to her my old and
valued friend, Dr. Godfrey." He laid the hand he had taken on one
that returned a little gentlemanly acknowledgment, while a kind
fatherly voice said, "The lady must pardon me if I do not venture
to hand her to her chair."

"Thank you, sir, I am close to my seat."

"Your visitors acquire blind eyes, Belamour," said Dr. Godfrey,
cheerfully.

"More truly they become eyes to the blind," was the answer. "I feel
myself a man of the world again, since this amiable young lady has
conned the papers on my behalf, and given herself the trouble of
learning the choicest passages of the poets to repeat to me."

"You are very good, sir," returned Aurelia; "it is my great pleasure."

"That I can well believe," said Dr. Godfrey. "Have these agreeable
recitations made you acquainted with the new poem on the _Seasons_
by Mr. James Thomson?"

"No," replied Mr. Belamour, "my acquaintance with the _belles letters_
ceased nine years ago."

"The descriptions have been thought extremely effective. Those of
autumn were recalled to my mind on my way."

Dr. Godfrey proceeded to recite some twenty lines of blank verse, for
in those days people had more patience and fewer books, and exercised
their memories much more than their descendants do. Listening was far
from being thought tedious.


"'But see the fading many-coloured roads,
Shade deepening over shade, the country round
Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk and dim,
Of every hue, from wan, declining green,
To sooty dark.'"


The lines had a strange charm to one who had lived in darkness through
so many revolving years. Mr. Belamour eagerly thanked his friend, and
on the offer to lend him the book, begged that it might be ordered for
him, and that any other new and interesting work might be sent to him
that was suitable to the fair lips on which he was dependent.

"You are secure with Mr. Thomson," said the Doctor. "Hear the
conclusion of his final hymn."


"'When even at last the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there with new powers
Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go
Where Universal Love not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns,
From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable;
Come then expressive Silence, mine the praise.'"


"'Universal Love!'" repeated Mr. Belamour; "the poet sings as you
do, my amiable friend! I can conceive the idea better than I could
a few months ago."

"'From seeming evil, still educing good,'"

quoted Dr. Godfrey earnestly, as if feeling his way.

"More of this another time," said Mr. Belamour hastily. "What say
the critics respecting this new aspirant?"

The ensuing conversation much interested Aurelia, as it was on the
men of letters whose names had long been familiar to her, and whom
the two gentlemen had personally known. She heard of Pope, still
living at Twickenham, and of his bickerings with Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu; of young Horace Walpole, who would never rival his father
as a politician, but who was beginning his course as a _dilettante_,
and actually pretending to prefer the barbarous Gothic to the classic
Italian. However, his taste might be improved, since he was going to
make the grand tour in company with Mr. Gray, a rising young poet, in
whom Dr. Godfrey took interest, as an Etonian and a Cantab.

At nine o'clock Mr. Belamour requested Miss Delavie to let him depute
to her the doing the honours of the supper table to his friend, who
would return to him when she retired for the night.

Then it was that she first saw the guest, a fine, dignified clergyman,
in a large grey wig, with a benignant countenance, reminding her of the
Dean of Carminster. When she was little, the Dean had bestowed on her
comfits and kisses; but since she had outgrown these attentions, he was
wont to notice her only by a condescending nod, and she would no more
have thought of conversing with him at table than in his stall in the
cathedral. Thus it was surprising to find herself talked to, as Betty
might have been, by this reverend personage, who kindly satisfied her
curiosity about the King, Queen, and Princesses, but with a discretion
which did not diminish that blind loyalty which saw no defects in "our
good king," though he was George II. She likewise answered a few
questions about Mr. Belamour's tastes and habits, put in a very
different manner from those of the Mistress Treforth, and as soon
as supper was over she rose and retired.

She did not see Dr. Godfrey again until he was ready for a late
breakfast, having been up nearly the whole night with his friend.
His horses were ordered immediately after the meal, as he had an
appointment in London, and he presently looked up, and said,