Jean de La Fontaine - "The Tales and Novels, v19: King Candaules &c."

Harry Leon Wilson - "Merton of the Movies"

John Lothrop Motley - "History of the United Netherlands, 1595 96"

Constant - "The Private Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, v8"

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: My Young Alcides

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> My Young Alcides




Prometesky preferred staying at home. He seemed suffering and weary,
and said that perhaps he should wander about and renew his
acquaintance with the country; and so Harold and I set off together
on the drive, which, as I well knew, would be the most agreeable part
of the day.

Very lovely it was as we passed in the morning freshness of the
glowing summer day through lanes wreathed with dog-roses and white
with May, looking over grass-fields with silvery ripples in the
breeze into woods all golden and olive-green above with young
foliage, and pink below with campion flowers, while the moorland
beyond was in its glory of gorse near at hand, and purple hills
closing the distance. I remember the drive especially, because
Harold looked at the wealth of gay colouring so lovingly, comparing
it with the frequently parched uniformity of the Bush, regretting
somewhat the limited range, but owning there were better things than
unbounded liberty.

When we reached Therford he would not go to the house with me, nor
seek to see Eustace before the wedding, saying he should wait in the
churchyard and join us afterwards. So in I went into the scene of
waiting, interspersed with bustle, that always precedes a wedding,
and was handed into the bed-room where the bridesmaids were secluded
till the bride was ready, all save Pippa and the most favoured
cousin, who were arraying her. There were a dozen, and all were
Horsmans except Dora and me. The child made one great leap at me,
and squeezed me, to such detriment of our flimsy draperies that she
was instantly called to order. Her lip pouted, and her brow lowered;
but I whispered two words in her ear, and with a glance in her eye,
and an intent look on her face, she stood, a being strangely changed
from the listless, sullen, defiant creature she had been a minute
before.

Therford was one of those old places where the church is as near as
possible to the manor house, standing on a little elevation above it,
and with a long avenue of Lombardy poplars leading from the south
porch, the family entrance, to the front door of the house, so this
was that pretty thing, a walking, instead of a carriage, wedding. As
one of the procession, I could not see, but the red and white must
have made it very pretty, and the Northchester paper was quite
poetical in its raptures.

All this was, however, forgotten in the terrible adventure that
immediately followed. The general entrance was by the west door,
and close to this I perceived Harold following his usual practice
of getting into the rear and looking over people's heads. When the
service was over, and we waited for the signing of the registers,
most of the spectators, and he among them, went out by this western
door, and waited in the churchyard to see the procession come out.

Forth it came, headed by the bride and bridegroom, both looking their
very handsomest, and we bridesmaids in six couples behind, when, just
as we were clear of the porch, and school-children were strewing
flowers before the pair, there was a strange shuddering cry, and the
great bloodhound, Kirby, with broken chain and foaming jaws--all the
dreadful tokens of madness about him--came rushing up the avenue with
the speed of the wind, making full for his mistress, the bride.
There was not a moment for her to do more than give a sort of
shrieking, despairing command, "Down, Kirby!" when, just as the beast
was springing on her, his throat was seized by the powerful hands
that alone could have grappled with him, and the terrible head,
foaming, and making horrid choking growls, was swung round from her,
and the dog lifted by the back of the neck in the air, struggling and
kicking violently.

Everyone had given back; Hippolyta had thrown herself on Eustace, who
drew her back, crowding on us, into the porch; Harold, still holding
the dog at arm's length, made his voice heard in steady tones, "Will
some one give me my other glove?"

One hand, that which grasped the dog, was gloved, but the free hand
was bare, and it was Dora who first understood, saw the glove at his
feet, sprang to his side, and held it up to him, while he worked his
hand into it, and she pulled it on for him. Then he transferred his
grasp from one hand to the other, and in that moment the powerful
bloodhound made a desperate struggle, and managed to get one paw on
the ground, and writhe itself round so as to fly at his face and make
its teeth actually meet in his beard, a great mouthful of which it
tore out, and we saw it champing the hairs, as he again swung it up,
so that it could only make frantic contortions with its body and
legs, while he held it at arm's length with the iron strength of his
wrists.

This had taken hardly three seconds, and in that time Jack Horsman
and a keeper or two had been able to come up, but no one unarmed
could give efficient aid, and Harold said, "I'll take him to the
yard."

Mr. Horsman led the way, and as the keepers followed with several of
the gentlemen, I was forced to let Harold vanish, carrying at arm's
length that immense dog, still making horrible rabid struggles.

I don't clearly remember how we got back to the house. Somebody had
fainted, I believe, and there was much confusion; but I know nothing
but that there was the report of a pistol, and, almost immediately
after, I saw Harold coming up to the hall door with Dora lying back
in his arms. Then my eyes and ears grew clear, and I flew forward to
ask the dreadful question. "No," he said, "she is only a little
upset." Unperceived, that child had followed him down, holding the
broken chain in which he might have tripped, and had stood by even
while he set the poor beast on his feet, and held it for the merciful
death shot. It seemed that her purpose had been to suck the wound if
he had been bitten, and when once she heard Mr. Horsman exclaim, "All
safe, thank God!" she clung to Harold with an inarticulate gasp, in
one of those hysterical agonies by which her womanhood from time to
time asserted itself. She could not breathe or speak, and he only
begged for a place to lay her down. Old Marianne Horsman, the quiet
one of the family, took us to her own den, and, with me, insisted on
looking well at Harold's hands and face. What might not that horrid
leap have done? But we convinced ourselves that those fangs had only
caught his beard, where there was a visible gap, but no sign of a
wound; and those riding-gloves had entirely guarded his hands. How
blessed the Providence, for ordinarily he never touched gloves, and
common white kid ones would have availed little. There was scarce
time to speak of it, for the child required all our care, and was
only just becoming calmer, as Harold held her, when the bride and
bridegroom came in, she, red and eager, he, white and shaken, to
summon us to the breakfast. "Don't go!" was her moan, half asleep.

Harold bade me go, and as the bride declared they could not sit down
without him, he answered, "Not yet, thank you, I couldn't." And I
remembered that his prompt deed of daring had been in defiance of a
strong nervous antipathy. There was a spasmodic effort in the smile
he attempted, a twitching in the muscles of his throat; he was as
pale as his browned cheeks could become, and his hand was still so
unsteady that he was forced to resign to me the spoonful of cordial
to put into Dora's mouth.

And at that moment Eustace turned and said, "Have you brought the
nuggets?"

Without speaking Harold put his hand into his pocket, and laid them
in Eustace's hand.

"These? you said they were golden apples; I thought they would be
bigger."

"They are wonderful," said Hippolyta; "no one ever had such a
wedding-gift."

"Not that--a debt," said Harold, hoarsely; but Pippa Horsman came and
summoned them, and I was obliged to follow, answering old Marianne's
entreaties to say what would be good for him by begging for strong
coffee, which she promised and ordered, but in the skurry of the
household, it never came.

The banquet, held in a tent, was meant to be a brilliantly merry one.
The cake had a hunt in sugar all round it, and the appropriate motto,
"Hip, hip, hurrah!" and people tried to be hilarious; but with that
awful shock thrilling on everybody's nerves we only succeeded in
being noisy, though, as we were assured, there was no cause for alarm
or grief. The dog had been tied up on suspicion, and had bitten
nothing but one cat, which it had killed. Yet surely grave
thankfulness would have been better for us all, as well as more
comfortable than loud witticisms and excited laughter. I looked at
the two or three clerical members of the clan and wondered at them.

When the moment for healths came, the bride called to her brother,
the head of the house, by his pleasing name of Baby, and sent him to
fetch Harold, whom he brought back with him. Dora was sound asleep,
they said, and room was made for Harold in the bridal neighbourhood
in time to hear the baronet, who had married a Horsman of the last
generation, propose the health of the bride with all the conventional
phrases, and of the bridegroom, as a gentleman who, from his first
arrival, had made it his study to maintain the old character of the
family, and to distinguish himself by intelligent care for the
welfare of his tenants, &c., &c.

Hippolyta must have longed to make the speech in return. We could
see her prompting her husband, and, by means of imitations of Lord
Erymanth, he got through pretty well with his gracious acceptance of
all the praises.

Baby Jack proposed the health of the bridesmaids, adding, more
especially, that of the absent one, as a little heroine; and, after
the response, came a ponderous speech by another kinsman, full of
compliments to Harold's courage in a fulsome style that made me flush
with the vexation it must give him, and the annoyance it would be to
reply. I had been watching him. As a pile of lumps of ice
fortunately stood near him, he had, at every interval, been
transferring one to his glass, filling it up with water, guarding it
from the circling decanters, and taking such a draught at every toast
that I knew his mouth was parched, and I dreaded that sheer worry
would make him utter one of his "young barbarian" bluntnesses; but
what he did was to stand up and say simply, "It is very kind of
Colonel Horsman to speak in this way of my share in the great mercy
and deliverance we have received to-day. It is a matter of the
greatest thankfulness. Let me in return thank the friends here
assembled for their welcome, and, above all, for their appreciation
of my cousin, whose position now fulfils my great wish. Three years
ago we were friendless strangers. Now he has made himself one with
you, and I thank you heartily for it."

I felt rather than heard Nessy Horsman muttering, "pretty well for
the large young man;" and it seemed to occur to no one that friends,
position, and all had been gained for Eustace by Harold himself.
He was requesting permission to take Dora back with us, and it was
granted with some demur, because she must be with Mrs. Randal Horsman
on her return to town on the Monday; a day's lessons could not be
sacrificed, for she was very backward, and had no application; but
Harold undertook that she should meet the lady at the station, and
gained his point.

Clan Horsman knew too well what he had done to deny him anything he
asked. A man who had not only taken a mad dog by the throat, but had
brought home two hundred and twenty pounds worth of gold to lay on
the table, deserved something at their hands, though ice was all he
actually received; but Eustace, when he came to us while the bride
was changing her dress, was in a fretful, fault-finding mood, partly
it may be from the desire to assert himself, as usual, above his
cousin.

He was dissatisfied with the price paid for Boola-Boola. Someone had
told him it would realise four times as much, and when Harold would
have explained that this was unreasonable, he was cut short with the
declaration that the offer ought not to have been accepted without
reference to the other party concerned.

Next he informed Harold, in an off-hand way, that some of the new
improvements at Arghouse would not work, and that he had a new agent--
-a _responsible_ agent--who was not to be interfered with.

There was a certain growl in Harold's "very well," but the climax was
Eustace's indignation when he heard of Prometesky's arrival. He had
worked himself, by way of doing the country squire completely, into a
disgust of the old exile, far out-Heroding what he had heard from
Lord Erymanth, and that "the old incendiary" should be in his house
was a great offence.

"He shall not sleep there another night, neither will I," said
Harold, in a calm voice, but with such a gleam in his eyes as I had
seen when he fell on Bullock.

It had at least the effect of reducing Eustace to his old habit of
subordination, and he fell into an agony of "No, I did not mean that,
and--" stammering out something in excuse about not liking the
servants and all to think he was harbouring a returned convict.

I had taken care of that. I knew how "that that there Fotsky" was
the ogre of the riots, and I had guarded against his identification
by speaking of our guest as the foreign gentleman who had come home
with Mr. Harold, and causing him to be called Count Stanislas; and,
on hearing this, Eustace became so urgent in his entreaties, that
Harold, though much hurt, relented so far as to promise at any rate
to remain till Monday, so that Dora should not detect the offence.

We saw the happy pair off, among the old shoes, to spend some months
abroad, while the old house was revivified for them, and then we had
our own drive home, which was chiefly occupied with Dora, who,
sitting on Harold's knee, seemed to expect her full rescue from all
grievances, and was terribly disappointed to find that he had no
power to remove her from her durance in the London school-room, where
she was plainly the dunce and the black sheep, a misery to herself
and all concerned, hating everyone and disliked by all. To the
little maiden of the Bush, only half tamed as yet, the London school-
room and walks in the park were penance in themselves, and the
company of three steady prim girls, in the idealess state produced by
confinement to a school-room, and nothing but childish books, was as
distasteful to her as she was shocking to them, and her life was one
warfare with them and with their Fraulein. The only person she
seemed able to endure was Nessy Horsman, who was allowed to haunt his
cousin Randal's house, and who delighted in shocking the decorous
monotony of the trio of sisters, finding the vehement little
Australian far more entertaining, while, whether he teased or
stimulated her, she found him the least uncongenial being she met in
Paddington. But what struck me most was the manner in which Harold
spoke to her, not merely spoiling her, and giving her her own way, as
if he were only a bigger child, but saying "It will all get better,
Dora, if you only try to do your best."

"I haven't got any best to do."

"Everybody has."

"But I don't want it to be better. I want to be with you and Lucy."

Then came some reasoning about impossibilities, too low for me to
hear in the noise of the wheels, but ending with "It is only another
thing to conquer. You can conquer anything if you only try, and pray
to God to help you."

"I haven't said my prayers since I went away. They ordered me, and
said I was wicked; but you don't, Harold, do you?" she cried
triumphantly, little expecting the groan she met in answer, "Yes,
indeed I do, Dora. I only wish I had done so sooner."

"I thought it was no use," she said, crying at his tone. "It was so
unkind to take me away from Lucy," and whereas she hardly ever shed
tears and was now far from restored after the fright, when she once
began we could hardly stop her weeping, and were thankful when she
was soothed into another sleep, which we durst not peril by a word.

It deepened and lasted so that Harold carried her upstairs still
asleep, and laid her on her own little bed. Then he came out with me
into my dear old sitting-room, where, without another word, he knelt
in the old place and said, "_That_ psalm, please Lucy."

"I think we ought to give thanks in church," I said, presently.

"Whatever is right," he said fervently.

"It was the greatest escape you ever had," I said.

"Yes," he said, shuddering; "at least it seemed so. I really thought
the dog had bitten me when he flew in my face. It felt just like it,
and I was very near giving up. I don't mean letting him go, but not
heeding whether he touched me or not. It kept on haunting me till I
was alone with Dora, and could examine at the looking-glass."

Of course I was not content till I had likewise again convinced
myself by searching into the beard, and then I added, "Ah! this is
worse than the lion, though then you were really hurt."

"Yes, but there one knew the worst. Besides," he said, again
overcoming a shudder, "I know my feeling about dogs is a weakness
owing to my sin. 'Deliver me from the power of the dog,' to me
expresses all the power of evil."

Then he sat down and took a pen to write to Mr. Crosse. "Harold
Alison wishes to give thanks to Almighty God for a great mercy."

And after that he never alluded to the advenure again. I told the
story to Prometesky in his absence, and we never mentioned it more.

Indeed the next thing Harold said, as he addressed his envelope, was,
"It is a pity to lose this room."

"There is one that I can fit up like it," I said. "All the things
here are mine." And then I was glad to divert his attention by
proposing to go and inspect Mount Eaton, as soon as he had had some
much-needed food, since Prometesky was out, and we at once plunged
into the "flitting" affairs, glad in them to stifle some of the pain
that Eustace had given, but on which we neither of us would dwell.

Was Harold changed, or had he only gone on growing in the course he
had begun? He was as simple and unconsciously powerful as ever, but
there was something there was not before, reminding me of the dawning
of Undine's soul.

He was called off in the middle of our consultation as to the house,
which was our common property, by a message that Mr. Crabbe would be
glad of a few minutes with him.

"Was there any fresh annoyance about the Hydriots?" I asked, when he
came back.

"Oh, no! The rascal is come over to my side. What do you think he
wanted to say? That he had been to look at my grandfather's will,
and he thinks you could drive a coach and horses through it; and he
proposes to me to upset it, and come in as heir-at-law! The
scoundrel!"

"After all," I said, after a pause, "it would be very good for poor
Arghouse if you thought it right."

"_I_ should not be very good for Arghouse if I did such a thing as
that," returned Harold. "No, poor old Eu, I'm not going to disturb
him because he has got out of my hands, and I think she will take
care of the people. I daresay I bullied him more than was bearable."

Would Harold have so forgiven even Eustace's ingratitude three years
ago?




CHAPTER XIV. SUNSET GOLD AND PURPLE.



We had a happy time after that; our Sunday was a very glad and
peaceful one, with our thanksgiving in the morning, and Dora's
pleasure in the dear old children's service in the afternoon. Poor
child, she liked everything that she had only submitted to when she
was with us, and Harold took her away on the Monday in a more
resigned frame of mind, with a kind of promise that she would be good
if the Horsmans would let her.

Then came the removal, and I must say there was some compensation for
the pain of leaving my old home in that sense of snugness and liberty
in our new plenishing, rather like the playing at doll's houses. We
had stable room for Harold's horse and my pony--the kangaroo, alas!
had pined and died the winter that Harold was away; the garden was
practicable, and the rooms were capable of being made home-like and
pleasant.

The Tracys were out of reach for the present. Dermot was gone to
Ireland, and Lady Diana and her daughter were making a long round of
visits among friends, so that there was nothing for it but waiting,
and as it was hopeful waiting, enlivened by Viola's letters to me,
Harold endured it very happily, having indeed much to think about.

There was Prometesky's health. It was ascertained that he must
undergo an operation, and when we found that all the requisite skill
could be had near at hand, I overruled the scruples about alarming or
distressing me. I knew that it would be better for him to be watched
by George Yolland, and for Harold to be at home, and I had come to
love the old man very heartily.

One day of expectation, in which he was the most calm and resolute of
us, one anxious day when they sent me to Miss Woolmer, until Harold
came, thankful and hopeful to fetch me, a few more of nursing
accepted with touching gratitude, and he was soon downstairs again, a
hale old man, though nearly seventy, but more than ever bent on his
retreat to La Trappe. It distressed us much. He seemed so much to
enjoy intelligent talk with Miss Woolmer and the Yollands; he so
delighted in books, and took such fresh interest in all, whether
mechanical or moral, that was doing at the Hydriots--of which, by-
the-by, as first inventor, the company had contrived, at Harold's
suggestion, to make him a shareholder to an extent that would cover
all his modest needs, I could not think how he would bear the change.

"My dear young lady," he said to me, when I tried to persuade him out
of writing the first letter, "you forget how much I have of sin upon
me. Can years of negation of faith, or the ruin of four young lives,
and I know not of how many more, be repented of at ease in your
pleasant town, amid the amiable cares you young people are good
enough to lavish on the old man?"

I made some foolish answer about his having meant all for good and
noble purposes, but he shook his head.

"Error, my dear madam, error excusable, perhaps, in one whose country
has been destroyed. I see, now that I have returned, after years
alone with my God, that the work I tried to precipitate was one of
patience. The fire from heaven must first illuminate the soul, then
the spirit, and then the bonds will be loosed of themselves;
otherwise we do but pluck them asunder to set maniacs free to rush
into the gulf. And as to my influence on my two pupils, your
brothers, I see now that what began in filial rebellion and
disobedience could never end well. I bless God that I have been
permitted to see, in the next generation, the true hero and reformer
I ought to have made of my Ambrose. Ah! Ambrose, Ambrose! noble
young spirit, would that any tears and penance of mine would expiate
the shipwreck to which I led thee!" and he burst into tears.

He had, of course, seen the Roman Catholic priest several times
before encountering the danger of the operation, and was a thoroughly
devout penitent, but of his old Liberalism he retained the intense
benevolence that made the improvements at the potteries a great
delight to him, likewise the historical breadth of understanding that
prevented his thinking us all un-Catholic and unsafe.

It was a great blessing that Harold was not held back but rather
aided and stimulated by the example of the man to whom he most looked
up; but with his characteristic silence, it was long before I found
that, having felt, beside his mother's death-bed, how far his
spiritual wants had outgrown me, he had carried them to Ben Yolland,
though the old morning habit remained unbroken, and he always came to
the little room I had made like my old one.

Ben Yolland had become more entirely chaplain to the Hydriots. Those
two brothers lived together in a curious way at what we all still
called the "Dragon's Head," each with his own sitting-room and one in
common, one fitted as a clergyman's study, the other more like a
surgery; for though George had given up his public practice since he
had been manager of the works, he still attended all the workpeople
and their families, only making them pay for their medicines "when it
was good for them."

Thus the care of the soul and bodies of the Hydriots was divided
between the two, and they seemed to work in concert, although George
showed no symptom of change of opinions, never saying anything openly
to discredit his brother's principles, nay, viewing them as wholesome
restraints for those who were not too scientific to accept them, and
even going to church when he had nothing else to do, but by
preference looking up his patients on a Sunday. He viewed
everything, from religion to vice, as the outcome of certain states
of brain, nerves, and health; and so far from being influenced by the
example of Prometesky, regarded him as a proof of his own theory, and
talked of the Slavonic temperament returning to its normal forms as
the vigour of life departed.