John Lothrop Motley - "The Life of John of Barneveld, 1609"

Thomas Bulfinch - "Legends of Charlemagne"

Horatio Alger [supposed] - "Nothing to Eat"

Oliver Optic - "Haste and Waste"

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: The Long Vacation

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Long Vacation




Indeed, as the Marchioness looked up to the castle, she felt that she
could forgive a good deal to the damsel who had saved the family from
the "sorry Rebecca," who had cried all night, and was still crying,
whenever any more tears would come, and not getting much pity from
any of her relatives. Mr. White told her that she was a little fool
to have expected anything from a young swell; her brother said she
might have known that it was absurd to expect that any one could look
at her when Miss Franceska was by; and Mrs. White observed that it
was wonderful to her to see so little respect shown for maiden
dignity, as to endure to manifest disappointment. Adeline might
speak from ample experience, and certainly her words had a salutary
effect.

However, the Whites en famille were not quite the same externally.
When Lord Rotherwood, after luncheon, went to see old White at the
works, and look after his font, he met with a reception as stiff and
cold as could well be paid to a distinguished customer who was not at
all in fault; and for the first time Mr. White was too busy to walk
back with him to the castle to see Adeline, whom he found, as usual,
on a couch on the terrace in the shade of the house, a pretty picture
among the flowers and vines. She was much more open with him, as
became one who understood more of his point of view.

"Well, Rotherwood, I suppose I am to congratulate you, though it is
scarcely a fair match in a worldly point of view."

"For which I care not a rap. She is a good, simple girl, and a
perfect lady."

"And Victoria? May I ask, does not she think it a misalliance,
considering what these Vanderkists are-—and the Underwoods?"

"There's no one I respect more than Lancelot Underwood. As to
Victoria, she is thankful that it is no worse."

"Ah! I know what you mean, but you can't wonder that my husband
should feel it hard that there should have been some kind of
flirtation. He is fond of Maura, you know, and he does feel that
there must have been some slyness in some one to cause this affair to
have been so suddenly sprung on us."

"Slyness-—aye, I believe there was. Tell me, Ada, had you any notion
that that lad, Gerald Underwood, was engaged to Dolores Mohun?"

"No; who told you?"

"Mysie let it out. She had been warned not to mention it till his
position was ascertained, Maurice's consent and all."

"I must say Mysie should have spoken. It was not fair towards me to
keep it back."

"Still less fair of Maura, if that's her name, to hint at attachment
between Franceska and the boy. That was the embargo upon my poor
fellow. He rushed off to have it out the moment he saw how matters
stood."

"Well, it was a great shame; but girls are girls, especially with
those antecedents, and Maura did not know to the contrary. You will
believe me, Rotherwood, I never had any desire that she should
succeed. I would have sent her away if I could; but you can't wonder
that Mr. White is vexed, and feels as if there had been underhand
dealing."

"I see he is. But you will not let him make it unpleasant for the
Underwoods."

"Oh no, no! They have not much longer to stay. They are in
correspondence about a rheumatic clergyman."

Mrs. White, however, determined not to expose Maura to her husband,
though she reproached her, and was rather shocked by the young lady's
self-defence. It was a natural idea, and no one had ever told her to
the contrary. It was all spite in Mysie Merrifield to proclaim it
after having kept it back so long.

She really was in such a state of mind that Mrs. White was rather
relieved that the Rotherwoods had taken Franceska to San Remo to stay
till Ivinghoe had to depart. Anna was left to send off the little
felicitous note that she had written to her mother.

Each and all were writing letters that would be received with rapture
almost incredulous, for no one but Sophia could have had any
preparation.

"It is pleasant to think of poor Alda's delight," said Geraldine,
over her writing-case. "After all her troubles, to have her utmost
ambition fulfilled at last; and yet-—and yet it does seem turning
that pretty creature over to a life of temptation."

"In good hands," said Clement. "The youth himself is a nice honest
fellow, a mere boy as yet; but it is something to have no harm in him
at two-and-twenty and in the Guards; and his parents are evidently
ready to watch over and guide them."

"If her head does not get turned," sighed Geraldine.

"Just as likely in any other station," replied Clement. "The
protection must come from within, not from the externals; and I do
think that she—-yes, and he too—-have that Guard within them."

"I think the sooner we are away from this place the better," said
Geraldine. "There are such things as cold shoulders, and perhaps
displeasure is in human nature, though it is not our fault."

"Which is the worse for us," laughed her brother, "since we can't beg
pardon."

The cold shoulder was manifested by a note of apology the next
morning from Mr. White. He was too busy to go with Mr. Underwood to
Santa Carmela on this day, but had sent the young quarry-man to act
as guide, and his foreman as interpreter. So Clement had his long
ride on mule-back mostly in silence, though this he scarcely
lamented, for he could better enjoy the mountain peaks and the
valleys bright with rich grass, with anemones of all colours,
hyacinths, strange primulas and gentians, without having to make talk
to Mr. White. But his journey was without result. He did find an
exceedingly old woman keeping sheep and spinning wool with a distaff,
who owned to the name of Cecca Benista. She once had a brother.
Yes, Gian was his name, but he went away, as they all did. He had a
voice bellissima, si bellissima; and some one told her long, long
ago, that he had made his fortune, and formed a company, but he had
never come home—-no, no, and was probably dead, though she had never
heard; and he had sent nothing—-no, no!

Then Clement tried the priest of the curious little church on the
hill-side, a memory of Elijah and the convents on Mount Carmel. The
Parrocco was a courteous man, quite a peasant, and too young to know
much about the past generation. He gave Clement a refection of white
bread, goats' milk cheese, and coffee, and held up his hands on the
declining of his thin wine. There was a kind of register of
baptisms, and Giovanni Batista Benista was hunted out, and it was
found that if alive he would be over seventy years old. But no more
was known, and there was no proof that he was dead twenty-two years
before!

That long day had convinced Geraldine that the pleasantness of
intercourse with the Whites was over, and she was not sorry that a
letter was waiting for Clement to say that the rheumatic clergyman
would arrive, if desired, in another week. This was gladly accepted,
and the question remained, whither should they go? Clement's year of
absence would be over in June, and he was anxious to get home;
besides that, it was desirable to take Francie to her mother as soon
as possible. The only cause for delay was the possibility of
Gerald's extracting something further from his mother, which might
lead to further researches on the Continent; but as most places were
readily accessible from London, this was decided against, and it was
determined to go back to Brompton at the same time as the Rotherwoods
returned from San Remo.

On the last Sunday Mr. White showed himself much more cordial than he
had been since the crisis. He waited in the porch to say—-

"Well, sir, you have given us some very excellent sermons, and I am
sure we are much obliged to you. If I can help you any more in
investigating that unlucky affair of your nephew, do not hesitate to
write to me. I shall be delighted to assist you in coming to your
rights."

"Thank you; though I sincerely hope they are not my rights."

"Ah, well. You are not so advanced in life but that if you came into
anything good, you might marry and start on a new lease! You are
pounds better than when you came here."

Which last clause was so true that Clement could only own it, with
thanks to his good-humoured host, who lingered a little still to
say—-

"I am sorry any vexation arose about those foolish young people, but
you see young women will wish to do the best they can for themselves,
and will make mischief too if one listens to them. A sensible man
won't. That's what I say."

Clement quite agreed, though he was not sensible of having listened
to any of the mischief-making, but he heartily shook hands with Mr.
White, and went away, glad to be at peace.




CHAPTER XXXII. THE TEST OF DAY-DREAMS



Faith's meanest deed more favour bears,
Where hearts and wills are weighed,
Than brightest transports, choicest prayers,
That bloom their hour and fade.-—J. H. NEWMAN.


That return to Brompton was the signal for the numerous worries
awaiting Clement. First, the doctors thought him much improved, but
declared that a return to full work at St. Matthew's would overthrow
all the benefit of his long rest, and would not hear of his going
back, even with another curate, for an experiment.

Then all went down to Vale Leston together. Mr. Ed'dard was welcomed
with rapture by his old flock. Alda had been almost ill with
excitement and delight, and had not words enough to show her ecstasy
over her beautiful daughter, nor her gratitude to Geraldine, to whose
management she insisted on attributing the glorious result. In vain
did Geraldine disclaim all diplomacy, Lady Vanderkist was sure that
all came of her savoir faire. At any rate, it was really comfortable
to be better beloved by Alda than ever in the course of her life!
Alda even intimated that she should be well enough to come to
Brompton to assist in the choice of the trousseau, and the first
annoyance was with Clement for not allotting a disproportioned sum
for the purpose. He declared that Francie ought not to have more
spent on her than was reserved for her sisters, especially as it
would be easy for her to supply all deficiencies, while Alda could
not endure that the future Lady Ivinghoe should have an outfit
unworthy of her rank, even though both Wilmet and Geraldine undertook
to assist.

There were other difficulties, for which the sojourn at Vale Leston
was to be dreaded. Gerald had been of age for two months, and there
were leases to be signed and arrangements made most difficult to
determine in the present state of things. Major and Mrs. Harewood
wanted to wind up their residence in the Priory, and to be able to
move as soon as the wedding was over, since Franceska begged that it
might be at the only home she remembered, and her elders put aside
their painful recollections to gratify her; so that it was fixed for
early August, just a year since her unprepared appearance as Mona.

After all, Alda was really too ill to go to London, and Franceska had
to be sent in charge of her aunt Cherry and of her sister Mary. Lady
Rotherwood would be in town, and might be trusted to have no
unreasonable expectations.

Poor Sophy! Penbeacon's destiny was one of the affairs that could
not be settled, and therewith her own, though her mother could not
succeed in penetrating any of the family with the horror of giving
Lord Ivinghoe such a brother-in-law.

In the midst of the preparations came a letter from Gerald. He did
indeed write every Sunday, but of late his had been hurried letters:
he was so fully occupied and had so much writing on hand that he
could not indulge in more length.


"You have been urging me," he said, "to find out what my mother
knows. I have not liked to press the subject while she was so ill,
as she always met every hint of it with tears and agitation.
However, at last, Lida brought her to it, and we really believe she
knows no more than we do what became of her first husband. She never
heard of him after she fled from him. She was almost a child, and he
had been very cruel to her. But she did tell us where we may be
nearly certain of finding out, namely from Signor Menotti, Via San
Giacomo, Genoa, or his successors, a man who trained singers and
performers, and moreover took charge of Benista's money, and she
thinks he had considerable savings. Poor woman, I believe she had no
idea of the harm she might be doing me, though it was scarcely in
human nature to see prosperity look so aggressive without trying to
profit thereby; and when she had put herself into O'Leary's power,
the notion was to make an income out of me by private threats and
holding their tongues. That I should have any objection to such an
arrangement, except on economical principles, never entered their
heads, and they tried to make as much as possible out of either me or
Clement, by withholding all the information possible till it was paid
for, and our simultaneous refusal to be blackmailed entirely
disconcerted them, and made them furious. Lida said the man was
violent with her mother for letting out even what she did to
trousseau, and the first annoyance was with Clement for not allotting
a disproportioned sum for the purpose. He declared that Francie
ought not to have more spent on her than was reserved for her
sisters, especially as it would be easy for her to supply all
deficiencies, while Alda could not endure that the future Lady
Ivinghoe should have an outfit unworthy of her rank, even though both
Wilmet and Geraldine undertook to assist.

There were other difficulties, for which the sojourn at Vale Leston
was to be dreaded. Gerald had been of age for two months, and there
were leases to be signed and arrangements made most difficult to
determine in the present state of things. Major and Mrs. Harewood
wanted to wind up their residence in the Priory, and to be able to
move as soon as the wedding was over, since Franceska begged that it
might be at the only home she remembered, and her elders put aside
their painful recollections to gratify her; so that it was fixed for
early August, just a year since her unprepared appearance as Mona.

After all, Alda was really too ill to go to London, and Franceska had
to be sent in charge of her aunt Cherry and of her sister Mary. Lady
Rotherwood would be in town, and might be trusted to have no
unreasonable expectations.

Poor Sophy! Penbeacon's destiny was one of the affairs that could
not be settled, and therewith her own, though her mother could not
succeed in penetrating any of the family with the horror of giving
Lord Ivinghoe such a brother-in-law.

In the midst of the preparations came a letter from Gerald. He did
indeed write every Sunday, but of late his had been hurried letters:
he was so fully occupied and had so much writing on hand that he
could not indulge in more length.


"You have been urging me," he said, "to find out what my mother
knows. I have not liked to press the subject while she was so ill,
as she always met every hint of it with tears and agitation.
However, at last, Lida brought her to it, and we really believe she
knows no more than we do what became of her first husband. She never
heard of him after she fled from him. She was almost a child, and he
had been very cruel to her. But she did tell us where we may be
nearly certain of finding out, namely from Signor Menotti, Via San
Giacomo, Genoa, or his successors, a man who trained singers and
performers, and moreover took charge of Benista's money, and she
thinks he had considerable savings. Poor woman, I believe she had no
idea of the harm she might be doing me, though it was scarcely in
human nature to see prosperity look so aggressive without trying to
profit thereby; and when she had put herself into O'Leary's power,
the notion was to make an income out of me by private threats and
holding their tongues. That I should have any objection to such an
arrangement, except on economical principles, never entered their
heads, and they tried to make as much as possible out of either me or
Clement, by withholding all the information possible till it was paid
for, and our simultaneous refusal to be blackmailed entirely
disconcerted them, and made them furious. Lida said the man was
violent with her mother for letting out even what she did to Lance,
and he meant to put a heavy price even on the final disclosure, in
the trust (which I share) that it may prove the key to the mystery.
She had no notion that the doubt was upsetting my position. Poor
thing, she never had a chance in her life-—gipsy breeding at first,
then Benista's tender mercies and the wandering life. She could not
fail to love my father till his requirements piqued her, and it was a
quarrel, exasperated perhaps by the commencement of his illness, over
her neglect of my unlucky self, and her acceptance of Schnetterling's
attentions, that led to her abandoning him. I really do not think
she ever realized that it was a sin. That good Pere Duchamps is the
first priest of any kind she ever listened to, and he has had a great
effect upon her. He would like to extend it to Lida and me, but Lida
is staunch to her well-beloved Mr. Flight as well as to me, and there
is a church on the other side the bay to which I take her when our
patient is well enough to spare her to walk, or we can afford the
crossing. Easter was a comfort there.

"The warm weather has revived the patient, and she may live some
months longer, though she is a mere skeleton. Lida tends her in the
most affectionate manner, and is really a little angel in her way.
She has got some private pupils in music, and is delighted to bring
in grist to the mill, which grinds hard enough to make me realize the
old days you are so fond of recollecting.

"Don't ask me to send you the Lacustrian. I am ashamed of it, and of
my own articles. Nothing will go down here but the most highly
spiced, and it is matter of life and death to us, as long as my
mother lives, to keep on the swaying top of the poplar tree of
popularity. You would despise the need, and talk of Felix, but it is
daily bread, and I cannot let my mother and sister starve for
opinions of mine. One comfort for you is that if I ever do come home
again to reign at Vale Leston, I shall have seen the outcome of
various theories of last year, and proved what is the effect of
having no class to raise a standard or to look up to. I don't think
I shall be quite so bumptious, and I am quite sure I shall value my
Cherie's tenderness much better than I have ever done, more shame for
me! Love to the bride and all at Vale Leston. There is an old age
of novelty about these eastern states, quite disgusting in comparison
with the reverend dignity of such a place as Vale Leston. You never
thought that I appreciated it! You will find no fault with me on
that score now. The lake is beautiful enough, but I begin to hate
the sight of it, especially when a Yankee insists on my telling him
whether we have in all Europe anything better than a duck-pond in
comparison. Little Lida is my drop of comfort, since she has ceased
to be mortally afraid of 'Brother.' Love to all and sundry again.

"Your loving G."


There was a consultation over this letter, which ended in John
Harewood's volunteering to go to Genoa, and find out this Menotti or
his representative, returning in time for the wedding, and hoping
that the uncertainty would thus be over in time for the enjoyment of
a truly prosperous event.

A letter that came before his departure rendered Geraldine doubly
anxious for the decision. Mrs. Henderson sent it to her to read,
saying that it was by Lady Merrifield's advice, since she thought
that it should be known how it was with Gerald, for even to Dolores
he had not told half what Ludmilla related.


"MY DEAREST MRS. HENDERSON,

"It is a long time since I received your dearest, kindest of letters,
and if I did not answer it sooner, it was not from want of gratitude,
but attendance on my poor dear mother and assistance to our landlady
occupies me at every minute that I can spare from giving music
lessons to some private families, and an evening class. I am very
thankful to be able to earn something, so as to take off something of
the burthen on my dear brother's shoulders. For, alas! the care and
support of my mother and me weigh very heavily upon him. The
proprietor of the Lacustrian has parted with his other clerk, and my
brother has the entire business of not only writing, extracting for,
and editing the paper, but of correcting the press, and he dares not
remonstrate or demand better payment, as we live from week to week,
and he could not afford to be dismissed. He is at the office all
day, beginning at six in the morning to meet the central
intelligence, he only rushes home for his meals, and goes back to
work till twelve or one o'clock at night. Even then he cannot sleep.
I hear him tossing about with the pain in his back that sitting at
his desk brings on, and his hands are so tired by writing, and with
the heat, which has been dreadful for the last few weeks, and has
taken away all the appetite he ever had. You would be shocked to see
him, he is so thin and altered; I cannot think how he is to continue
this, but he will not hear of my writing to Lady Travis Underwood.
He is never angry, except when I try to persuade him, and you never
saw anything like his patience and gentleness to my poor mother. She
never did either, she cannot understand it at all. At first she
thought he wanted to coax the confession out of her, and when she
found that it made no difference, she could not recover from her
wonder--he, whom she had deserted in his babyhood, and so cruelly
injured in his manhood, to devote himself to toiling for her sake,
and never to speak harshly to her for one moment. She knew I loved
her, and she had always been good to me, except when O'Leary forced
her to be otherwise, but his behaviour has done more to touch her
heart than anything, and I am sure she is, as Pere Duchamps says, a
sincere penitent. She is revived by the summer heat, and can sit
under the stoop and enjoy the sweet air of the lake; but she is very
weak, and coughs dreadfully in the morning, just when it is cooler,
and my brother might get some sleep. She tries to be good and
patient with us both, and it really does soothe her when my brother
can sit by her, and talk in his cheerful droll way; but he can stay
but a very short time. He has to rush back to his horrid stuffy
office, and then she frets after him and says, 'But what right have I
to such a son?' and she begins to cry and cough."


"Ah!" said Clement, as Geraldine, unable to speak for tears, gave him
the letter. "This is a furnace of real heroism."

"Christian heroism, I am sure," said Geraldine. "Oh, my boy, I am
proud of him. He will be all the better for his brave experiment."

"Yes, he had an instinct that it would be wholesome, besides the
impelling cause. Real hardship is sound training."

"If it is not too hard," said she.

"'Let not their precious balms break my head,'" said Clement.

"I do not like that pain in the back. Remember how he dragged his
limbs when first we had him at home, and how delicate he was up to
thirteen—-only eight years ago!"

"Probably it will not last long enough to do him much harm."

"And how nobly uncomplaining he is!"

"This has brought out all the good we always trusted was in reserve."

"Better than Emilia's experiment," sighed Geraldine.

For Emilia Vanderkist, before her year was over, was at home, having
broken down, and having spent most of her holidays with Mrs. Peter
Brown, the wife of Sir Ferdinand's partner. She had come back, not
looking much the worse for her hospital experience, but with an
immense deal to say of the tyranny of the matron, the rudeness of the
nurses to probationers, the hardness and tedium of the work to which
she had been put, and the hatefulness of patients and of doctors.

Anna sympathized with all the vehemence of her sisterly affection,
and could hardly believe her aunts, who told her that things must
have changed in a wonderful manner since the time of Angela's
experiences, for she had been very happy in the same place, and made
no complaints.

Emilia had written to her cousin Marilda to express her willingness
to return so soon as the Travis Underwoods should come home, and in
the meantime she remained at Vale Leston, not showing quite as much
tolerance as might be expected of the somewhat narrow way of life of
her sisters. She did not like being a lodger, as it were, in Sophy's
bedroom; she found fault with the parlour-maid's waiting, complained
of the noise of the practising of the three little sisters, and
altogether reminded Geraldine of Alda in penance at home.

Major Harewood was detained longer than he expected, for on arriving
at Genoa he found that Menotti had migrated, and had to follow him to
his villa on the Apennines, where, in the first place, he had to
overcome the old man's suspicions that he was come to recover
Benista's means on behalf of his family, and then at last was assured
that the man had been dead long before 1870. Still John Harewood
thought it well to obtain positive evidence, and pursued the quest to
Innspruck, where Menotti averred that the man had been left by his
companions dying in the care of some Sisters of Charity.