T. S. Arthur - "Home Lights and Shadows"

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Geoffrey de Villehardouin - "Memoirs or Chronicle of The Fourth Crusade and The Conquest of Constantinople"

Cherubini - "Pinocchio in Africa"

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: Miss Lou

E >> E. P. Roe >> Miss Lou




Gradually the little household began to adjust itself to the new
order of things, and day by day Mr. and Mrs. Baron were compelled to
see that the few servants who ministered to them were kept at their
tasks by an influence in which they had no part. Almost
imperceptibly, Miss Lou regained her strength, yet was but the
shadow of her former self. Uncle Lusthah gave his attention to the
garden, already getting weed-choked. The best he could hope to do
was to keep up a meagre supply of vegetables, and Zany in the cool
of the day often gave him a helping hand.

Late one afternoon Miss Lou, feeling a little stronger, went to Aun'
Jinkey's cabin and sat down on the doorstep.

"Oh, mammy," she sighed, "I'm so tired, I'm so tired; yet I can do
nothing at all."

"You po' lil chile," groaned Aun' Jinkey, "how dif'ernt you looks
ner w'en you fus sot dar en wish sump'n happen."

"Oh," cried the girl almost despairingly, "too much has happened!
too much has happened! How can God let such troubles come upon us?"

"Eben Uncle Lusthah hab ter say he dunno. He say he des gwine ter
hole on twel de eend, en dat all he kin do."

"Oh, mammy, I'm all at sea. I haven't any strength to hold on and
there doesn't seem anything to hold on to. Oh, mammy, mammy, do you
think he's surely dead?"

"I feared he is," groaned Aun' Jinkey. "Dey say he spook come arter
Perkins en dat w'y de oberseer clared out."

"Oh, horrible!" cried the girl. "If his spirit could come here at
all would it not come to me instead of to that brutal wretch? Oh,
mammy, I don't know which is worse, your religion or your
superstition. You believe in a God who lets such things happen and
you can think my noble friend would come back here only to scare a
man like Perkins. It's all just horrible. Oh, Allan, Allan, are you
so lost to me that you can never look goodwill into my eyes again?"

Tears rushed to her eyes for the first time since she heard the
dreadful tidings, and she sobbed in her mammy's arms till exhausted.

That outburst of grief and the relief of tears given by kindly
nature was the decisive point in Miss Lou's convalescence. She was
almost carried back to her room and slept till late the following
day. When she awoke she felt that her strength was returning, and
with it came the courage to take up the burdens of life. For weeks
it was little more than the courage of a naturally brave,
conscientious nature which will not yield to the cowardice and
weakness of inaction. The value of work, of constant occupation, to
sustain and divert the mind, was speedily learned. Gradually she
took the helm of outdoor matters from her uncle's nerveless hands.
She had a good deal of a battle in respect to Chunk. It was a sham
one on the part of Zany, as the girl well knew, for Chunk's
"tootin'" was missed terribly. Mr. and Mrs. Baron at first refused
point-blank to hear of his returning.

"Uncle," said his ward gravely, "is only your property at stake? I
can manage Chunk, and through him perhaps get others. I am not
responsible for changes which I can't help; I am to blame if I sit
down idly and helplessly and do nothing better than fret or sulk.
Your bitter words of protest are not bread and bring no money. For
your sakes as well as my own you must either act or let me act."

The honorable old planter was touched at his most sensitive point,
and reluctantly conceded, saying, "Oh, well, if you think you can
save any of your property out of the wreck, employ Chunk on your own
responsibility."

So Chunk was reinstated in his granny's cabin and given a share in
all he could raise and secure of the crops. The negro was as shrewd
as Jacob of old, but like the Hebrew patriarch could do much under
the inspiration of his twofold affection for Zany and his young
mistress.

And so the summer and early fall wore away. The railroad line of
communication was maintained, and upon it drifted away Mr. Baron's
former slaves and the great majority of the others in the
neighborhood. The region in which the plantation was situated was so
remote and sparsely settled that it was a sort of border land,
unclaimed and unvisited by any considerable bodies from either
party. Rev. Dr. Williams' congregation had shrunken to a handful. He
officiated at one end of the church, and his plump, black-eyed
daughter led the singing at the other, but it was observed that she
looked discontented rather than devotional. She was keenly alive to
the fact that there was not an eligible man left in the parish.
Uncle Lusthah patiently drove the mules every clear Sunday morning
and Mr. and Mrs. Baron sat in the carriage whose springs Aun' Suke
had sorely tried; but Miss Lou would not go with them. After his
readiness to marry her to her cousin she felt it would be worse than
mockery to listen to Dr. Williams again.

But a deep, yet morbid spiritual change was taking place in the
girl. As of old, she thought and brooded when her hands were busy,
and during her long, solitary evenings on the piazza. Strange to
say, she was drawing much of her inspiration from a grave--the grave
of a rough, profane soldier whom she knew only as "Yarry." There was
something in his self-forgetful effort in her behalf, even when in
the mortal anguish of death, which appealed to her most powerfully.
His heroism, expecting, hoping for no reward, became the finest
thing in her estimation she had ever witnessed. Her own love taught
her why Scoville was attracted by her and became ready to do
anything for her. "That's the old, old story," she mused, "ever
sweet and new, yet old as the world. Poor Yarry was actuated by a
purely unselfish, noble impulse. Only such an impulse can sustain
and carry me through my life. No, no, Mrs. Waldo, I can never become
happy in making others happy. I can never be happy again. The bullet
which killed Allan Scoville pierced my heart also and it is dead,
but that poor soldier taught me how one can still live and suffer
nobly, and such a life must be pleasing to the only God I can
worship." All wondered at the change gradually taking place in the
girl. It was too resolute, too much the offspring of her will rather
than her heart to have in it much gentleness, but it was observed
that she was becoming gravely and patiently considerate of others,
even of their faults and follies. As far as possible, her uncle and
aunt were allowed their own way without protest, the girl
sacrificing her own feelings and wishes when it was possible. They
at last began to admit that their niece was manifesting a, becoming
spirit of submission and deference, when in fact her management of
their affairs was saving them from an impoverishment scarcely to be
endured.

For Mrs. Whately the girl now had a genuine and strong affection,
chilled only by her belief that the plan in regard to the son was
ever in the mother's mind. So indeed it was. The sagacious woman
watched Miss Lou closely and with feelings of growing hope as well
as of tenderness. The girl was showing a patience, a strength of
mind, and, above all, a spirit of self-sacrifice which satisfied
Mrs. Whately that she was the one of all the world for her son.

"I do believe," she thought, "that if I can only make Louise think
it will be best for us all as well as Madison, she will yield. The
spirit of self-sacrifice seems her supreme impulse. Her sadness will
pass away in time, and she would soon learn to love the father of
her children. What's more, there is something about her now which
would hold any man's love. See how her lightest wish controls those
who work for her, even that harum-scarum Zany."

In the late autumn a long-delayed letter threw Mrs. Whately into a
panic of fear and anxiety. A surgeon wrote that her son had been
severely wounded and had lost his left arm, but that he was doing
well.




Here the author laid down his pen. In Mr. Roe's journal, under date
of July 11, is an entry alluding to a conversation with a friend.
That conversation concerned the conclusion of this book, and was, in
effect, substantially the same as the outline given by him in a
letter, part of which is quoted as follows:

"It is not my purpose to dwell further on incidents connected with
the close of the war, as the book may be considered too long
already. It only remains for me now to get all my people happy as
soon as possible. Zany and Chunk 'make up,' and a good deal of their
characteristic love-making will be worked in to relieve the rather
sombre state of things at this stage. Whately returns with his empty
sleeve, more of a hero than ever in his own eyes and his mother's.
Miss Lou thinks him strangely thoughtful and considerate in keeping
away, as he does, after a few short visits at The Oaks. The truth
is, he is wofully disappointed at the change in his cousin's looks.
This pale, listless, hollow-eyed girl is not the one who set him to
reading 'Taming of the Shrew.' That her beauty of color and of
outline could ever return, he does not consider; and in swift
revulsion of feeling secretly pays court elsewhere.

"Mrs. Whately, however, makes up for her son's deficiencies. Utterly
ignorant how affairs are shaping, she works by her representations
upon Miss Lou's sympathies until the weary consent is wrung from the
poor girl--'Nothing matters to me any more! If it makes you all
happy--why--then--But I must wait a year.' She feels that her love
for Allan Scoville will never be less, and that this period of time
is little enough to devote to him in silent memory.

"The delighted aunt hastens to report to her son, who stares rather
blankly, for a lover, as he hears of this concession on his cousin's
part, and without answer, he orders his horse and rides furiously
away. The ride is one that has been very frequently taken since the
young man's return, and pretty soon he is in earnest conversation
with the rosy-cheeked, black-eyed daughter of Dr. Williams. There
seems to be very good understanding between the two, and later, just
at the final scene, it will come out as effectively as can be
portrayed the startling news of their secret marriage.

"The days go on. One afternoon in the late autumn, Aun' Jinkey,
smoking and 'projeckin'' as usual in her cabin, has a vision which
fairly sends her heart, as she will express it, 'right troo de
mouf.' Was it a 'spook,' or had the dead really come back to life?
And I hear her exclaim, throwing up her hands, 'Bress de Lawd, Marse
Scoville, dat you? Whar you drap fum dis yere time? I doan almos'
know you widout de un'fo'm!'

"But the 'vision' will not stop to narrate to the old aunty of his
capture, imprisonment and illness, his release and hurried journey
North. He catches sight of the slight figure of Miss Lou in the
distance near the run, and in a moment is beside her. 'Only death
could keep me from seeking you and living for you always, did I not
tell you, my darling, my darling?'

"And here I will leave them. The reader's imagination will picture
more if more is wished. It is better so."

THE END