Samuel Johnson - "Preface to Shakespeare"

Anna Katherine Green - "The Leavenworth Case"

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

Jane Austen - "Persuasion"

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: Justice in the By Ways

F >> F. Colburn Adams >> Justice in the By Ways




"A great mound! I thought it would come to that," sighs Madame
Montford, impatiently.

"We bury these wretched creatures in an obscure place. Indeed,
Madame, I hold it unnecessary to have anything to distinguish them
when once they are dead. Well, this poor forlorn simpleton then sat
down on a grave, and bid me sit beside him. I did as he bid me, and
soon he went into a deep study, muttering the name of Mag Munday the
while, until I thought he never would stop. So wild and wandering
did the poor fellow seem, that I began to think it a pity we had not
a place, an insane hospital, or some sort of benevolent institution,
where such poor creatures could be placed and cared for. It would be
much better than sending them to the whipping-post--"

"I am indeed of your opinion-of your way of thinking, most
certainly," interpolates Madame Montford, a shadow of melancholy
darkening her countenance.

"At length, he went at it, and repeated over an infinite quantity of
names. It was wonderful to see how he could keep them all in his
head. 'Well, now,' says he, turning to me with an inoffensive laugh,
'she ben't dead. You may bet on that. There now!' he spoke, as if
suddenly becoming conscious of a recently-made discovery. 'Why, she
runned wild about here, as I does, for a time; was abused and
knocked about by everybody. Oh, she had a hard time enough, God
knows that.' 'But that is not disclosing to me what became of her,'
says I; 'come, be serious, Graves.' (We call him this, you see,
Madame, for the reason that he is always among graveyards.) Then he
went into a singing mood, sang two plaintive songs, and had sung a
third and fourth, if I had not stopped him. 'Well,' he says, 'that
woman ain't dead, for I've called up in my mind the whole graveyard
of names, and her's is not among them. Why not, good gentleman, (he
seized me by the arm as he said this,) inquire of Milman Mingle, the
vote-cribber? He is a great politician, never thinks of poor
Graves, and wouldn't look into a graveyard for the world. The
vote-cribber used to live with her, and several times he threatened
to hang her, and would a hanged her-yes, he would, sir-if it hadn't
a been for the neighbors. I don't take much interest in the living,
you know. But I pitied her, poor thing, for she was to be pitied,
and there was nobody but me to do it. Just inquire of the
vote-cribber.' I knew the simpleton never told an untruth, being in
no way connected with our political parties."

"Never told an untruth, being in no way connected with our political
parties!" repeats Madame Montford, who has become more calm.

"I gave him a few shillings, he followed me to the gate, and left me
muttering, 'Go, inquire of the vote-cribber.'"

"And have you found this man?" inquires the anxious lady.

"I forthwith set about it," replies Mr. Snivel, "but as yet, am
unsuccessful. Nine months during the year his residence is the
jail--"

"The jail!"

"Yes, Madame, the jail. His profession, although essential to the
elevation of our politicians and statesmen, is nevertheless
unlawful. And he being obliged to practice it in opposition to the
law, quietly submits to the penalty, which is a residence in the old
prison for a short time. It's a nominal thing, you see, and he has
become so habituated to it that I am inclined to the belief that he
prefers it. I proceeded to the prison and found he had been
released. One of our elections comes off in a few days. The approach
of such an event is sure to find him at large. I sought him in all
the drinking saloons, in the gambling dens, in the haunts of
prostitution-in all the low places where our great politicians most
do assemble and debauch themselves. He was not to be found. Being of
the opposite party, I despatched a spy to the haunt of the committee
of the party to which he belongs, and for which he cribs. I have
paced the colonnade for more than an hour, waiting the coming of
this spy. He did not return, and knowing your anxiety in the matter
I returned to you. To-morrow I will seek him out; to-morrow I will
get from him what he knows of this woman you seek.

"And now, Madame, here is something I would have you examine." (Mr.
Snivel methodically says he got it of McArthur, the antiquary.) "She
made a great ado about a dress that contained this letter. I have no
doubt it will tell a tale." Mr. Snivel draws from his breast-pocket
the letter found concealed in the old dress, and passes it to Madame
Montford, who receives it with a nervous hand. Her eyes become fixed
upon it, she glances over its defaced page with an air of
bewilderment, her face crimsons, then suddenly pales, her lips
quiver-her every nerve seems unbending to the shock. "Heavens! has
it come to this?" she mutters, confusedly. Her strength fails her;
the familiar letter falls from her fingers. For a few moments she
seems struggling to suppress her emotions, but her reeling brain
yields, her features become like marble, she shrieks and swoons ere
Mr. Snivel has time to clasp her in his arms.






CHAPTER XX.

LADY SWIGGS ENCOUNTERS DIFFICULTIES ON HER ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK.





A PLEASANT passage of sixty hours, a good shaking up at the hands of
that old tyrant, sea-sickness, and Lady Swiggs finds the steamer on
which she took passage gliding majestically up New York Bay. There
she sits, in all her dignity, an embodiment of our decayed chivalry,
a fair representative of our first families. She has taken up her
position on the upper deck, in front of the wheel house. As one
after another the objects of beauty that make grand the environs of
that noble Bay, open to her astonished eyes, she contrasts them
favorably or unfavorably with some familiar object in Charleston
harbor. There is indeed a similarity in the conformation. And though
ours, she says, may not be so extensive, nor so grand in its
outlines, nor so calm and soft in its perspective, there is a more
aristocratic air about it. Smaller bodies are always more select and
respectable. The captain, to whom she has put an hundred and one
questions which he answers in monosyllables, is not, she thinks, so
much of a gentleman as he might have been had he been educated in
Charleston. He makes no distinction in favor of people of rank.

Lady Swiggs wears that same faded silk dress; her black crape
bonnet, with two saucy red artificial flowers tucked in at the side,
sits so jauntily; that dash of brown hair is smoothed so exactly
over her yellow, shrivelled forehead; her lower jaw oscillates with
increased motion; and her sharp, gray eyes, as before, peer
anxiously through her great-eyed spectacles. And, generous reader,
that you may not mistake her, she has brought her inseparable
Milton, which she holds firmly grasped in her right hand. "You have
had a tedious time of it, Madam," says a corpulent lady, who is
extensively dressed and jewelled, and accosts her with a familiar
air. Lady Swiggs says not so tedious as it might have been, and
gives her head two or three very fashionable twitches.

"Your name, if you please?"

"The Princess Grouski. My husband, the Prince Grouski," replies the
corpulent lady, turning and introducing a fair-haired gentleman,
tall and straight of person, somewhat military in his movements, and
extremely fond of fingering his long, Saxon moustache. Lady Swiggs,
on the announcement of a princess, rises suddenly to her feet, and
commences an unlimited number of courtesies. She is, indeed, most
happy to meet, and have the honor of being fellow-voyager with their
Royal Highnesses-will remember it as being one of the happiest
events of her life,--and begs to assure them of her high esteem. The
corpulent lady gives her a delicate card, on which is described the
crown of Poland, and beneath, in exact letters, "The Prince and
Princess Grouski." The Prince affects not to understand English,
which Lady Swiggs regrets exceedingly, inasmuch as it deprives her
of an interesting conversation with a person of royal blood. The
card she places carefully between the leaves of her Milton, having
first contemplated it with an air of exultation. Again begging to
thank the Prince and Princess for this mark of their distinguished
consideration, Lady Swiggs inquires if they ever met or heard of Sir
Sunderland Swiggs. The rotund lady, for herself and the prince,
replies in the negative. "He was," she pursues, with a sigh of
disappointment, "he was very distinguished, in his day. Yes, and I
am his lineal descendant. Your highnesses visited Charleston, of
course?"

"O dear," replies the rotund lady, somewhat laconically, "the
happiest days of my life were spent among the chivalry of South
Carolina. Indeed, Madam, I have received the attention and honors of
the very first families in that State."

This exclamation sets the venerable lady to thinking how it could be
possible that their highnesses received the attentions of the first
families and she not know it. No great persons ever visited the
United States without honoring Charleston with their presence, it
was true; but how in the world did it happen that she was kept in
ignorance of such an event as that of the Prince and Princess paying
it a visit. She began to doubt the friendship of her distinguished
acquaintances, and the St. Cecilia Society. She hopes that should
they condescend to pay the United States a second visit, they will
remember her address. This the rotund lady, who is no less a person
than the distinguished Madame Flamingo, begs to assure her she will.

Let not this happy union between Grouski and the old hostess,
surprise you, gentle reader. It was brought about by Mr. Snivel, the
accommodation man, who, as you have before seen, is always ready to
do a bit of a good turn. Being a skilful diplomatist in such
matters, he organized the convention, superintended the wooing, and
for a lusty share of the spoils, secured to him by Grouski, brought
matters to an issue "highly acceptable" to all parties. A sale of
her palace of licentiousness, works of art, costly furniture, and
female wares, together with the good will of all concerned, (her
friends of the "bench and bar" not excepted,) was made for the nice
little sum of sixty-seven thousand dollars, to Madame Grace Ashley,
whose inauguration was one of the most gorgeous fˆtes the history of
Charleston can boast. The new occupant was a novice. She had not
sufficient funds to pay ready money for the purchase, hence Mr.
Doorwood, a chivalric and very excellent gentleman, according to
report, supplies the necessary, taking a mortgage on the
institution, which proves to be quite as good property as the Bank,
of which he is president. It is not, however, just that sort of
business upon which an already seared conscience can repose in
quiet, hence he applies that antidote too frequently used by
knaves-he never lets a Sunday pass without piously attending church.

The money thus got, through this long life of iniquity, was by
Madame Flamingo handed over to the Prince, in exchange for his heart
and the title she had been deluded to believe him capable of
conferring. Her reverence for Princes and exiled heroes, (who are
generally exiled humbugs,) was not one jot less than that so
pitiably exhibited by our self-dubbed fashionable society all over
this Union. It may be well to add, that this distinguished couple,
all smiling and loving, are on their way to Europe, where they are
sure of receiving the attentions of any quantity of "crowned heads."
Mr. Snivel, in order not to let the affair lack that eclat which is
the crowning point in matters of high life, got smuggled into the
columns of the highly respectable and very authentic old "Courier,"
a line or two, in which the fashionable world was thrown into a
flutter by the announcement that Prince Grouski and his wealthy
bride left yesterday, en route for Europe. This bit of gossip the
"New York Herald" caught up and duly itemised, for the benefit of
its upper-ten readers, who, as may be easily imagined, were all on
tip-toe to know the address of visitors so distinguished, and leave
cards.

Mrs. Swiggs has (we must return to her mission) scarcely set foot on
shore, when, thanks to a little-headed corporation, she is fairly
set upon by a dozen or more villanous hack-drivers, each dangling
his whip in her face, to the no small danger of her bonnet and
spectacles. They jostle her, utter vile imprecations, dispute for
the right of carrying her, each in his turn offering to do it a
shilling less. Lady Swiggs is indeed an important individual in the
hands of the hack-drivers, and by them, in a fair way of being torn
to pieces. She wonders they do not recognize her as a distinguished
person, from the chivalric State of South Carolina. The captain is
engaged with his ship, passengers are hurrying ashore, too anxious
to escape the confinement of the cabin; every one seems in haste to
leave her, no one offers to protect her from the clutches of those
who threaten to tear her into precious pieces. She sighs for Sister
Slocum, for Mr. Hadger, for any one kind enough to raise a friendly
voice in her behalf. Now one has got her black box, another her
corpulent carpet-bag-a third exults in a victory over her band-box.
Fain would she give up her mission in disgust, return to the more
aristocratic atmosphere of Charleston, and leave the heathen to his
fate. All this might have been avoided had Sister Slocum sent her
carriage. She will stick by her black box, nevertheless. So into the
carriage with it she gets, much discomfited. The driver says he
would drive to the Mayor's office "and 'ave them ar two coves what's
got the corpulent carpet-bag and the band-box, seed after, if it
wern't that His Honor never knows anything he ought to know, and is
sure to do nothing. They'll turn up, Mam, I don't doubt," says the
man, "but it's next to los'in' on 'em, to go to the Mayor's office.
Our whole corporation, Mam, don't do nothin' but eats oysters,
drinks whiskey, and makes presidents;--them's what they do, Marm."
Lady Swiggs says what a pity so great a city was not blessed with a
bigger-headed corporation.

"That it is, Marm," returns the methodical hack-driver, "he an't got
a very big head, our corporation." And Lady Swiggs, deprived of her
carpet-bag and band-box, and considerably out of patience, is rolled
away to the mansion of Sister Slocum, on Fourth Avenue. Instead of
falling immediately into the arms and affections of that worthy and
very enterprising lady, the door is opened by a slatternly maid of
all work-her greasy dress, and hard, ruddy face and hands-her short,
flabby figure, and her coarse, uncombed hair, giving out strong
evidence of being overtaxed with labor. "Is it Mrs. Slocum hersel'
ye'd be seein'?" inquires the maid, wiping her soapy hands with her
apron, and looking querulously in the face of the old lady, who,
with the air of a Scotch metaphysician, says she is come to spend a
week in friendly communion with her, to talk over the cause of the
poor, benighted heathen. "Troth an' I'm not as sure ye'll do that
same, onyhow; sure she'd not spend a week at home in the blessed
year; and the divil another help in the house but mysel' and
himsel', Mr. Slocum. A decent man is that same Slocum, too," pursues
the maid, with a laconic indifference to the wants of the guest. A
dusty hat-stand ornaments one side of the hall, a patched and
somewhat deformed sofa the other. The walls wear a dingy air; the
fumes of soapsuds and stewed onions offend the senses. Mrs. Swiggs
hesitates in the doorway. Shall I advance, or retreat to more
congenial quarters? she asks herself. The wily hack-driver (he
agreed for four and charged her twelve shillings) leaves her black
box on the step and drives away. She may be thankful he did not
charge her twenty. They make no allowance for distinguished people;
Lady Swiggs learns this fact, to her great annoyance. To the much-
confused maid of all work she commences relating the loss of her
luggage. With one hand swinging the door and the other tucked under
her dowdy apron, she says, "Troth, Mam, and ye ought to be thankful,
for the like of that's done every day."

Mrs. Swiggs would like a room for the night at least, but is told,
in a somewhat confused style, that not a room in the house is in
order. That a person having the whole heathen world on her shoulders
should not have her house in order somewhat surprises the
indomitable lady. In answer to a question as to what time Mr. Slocum
will be home, the maid of all work says: "Och! God love the poor
man, there's no tellin'. Sure there's not much left of the poor man.
An' the divil a one more inoffensive than poor Slocum. It's himsel'
works all day in the Shurance office beyant. He comes home dragged
out, does a dale of writing for Mrs. Slocum hersel', and goes to bed
sayin' nothin' to nobody." Lady Swiggs says: "God bless me. He no
doubt labors in a good cause-an excellent cause-he will have his
reward hereafter."

It must here be confessed that Sister Slocum, having on hand a
newly-married couple, nicely suited to the duties of a mission to
some foreign land, has conceived the very laudable project of
sending them to Aleppo, and is now spending a few weeks among the
Dutch of Albany, who are expected to contribute the necessary funds.
A few thousand dollars expended, a few years' residence in the East,
a few reports as to what might have been done if something had not
interposed to prevent it, and there is not a doubt that this happy
couple will return home crowned with the laurels of having very
nearly Christianized one Turk and two Tartars.

The maid of all work suddenly remembers that Mrs. Slocum left word
that if a distinguished lady arrived from South Carolina she could
be comfortably accommodated at Sister Scudder's, on Fourth Street.
Not a little disappointed, the venerable old lady calls a passing
carriage, gets herself and black box into it, and orders the driver
to forthwith proceed to the house of Sister Scudder. Here she is-and
she sheds tears that she is-cooped up in a cold, closet-like room,
on the third story, where, with the ends of her red shawl, she may
blow and warm her fingers. Sister Scudder is a crispy little body,
in spectacles. Her features are extremely sharp, and her countenance
continually wears a wise expression. As for her knowledge of
scripture, it is truly wonderful, and a decided improvement when
contrasted with the meagre set-out of her table. Tea time having
arrived, Lady Swiggs is invited down to a cup by a pert Irish
servant, who accosts her with an independence she by no means
approves. Entering the room with an air of stateliness she deems
necessary to the position she desires to maintain, Sister Scudder
takes her by the hand and introduces her to a bevy of nicely-
conditioned, and sleek-looking gentlemen, whose exactly-combed
mutton chop whiskers, smoothly-oiled hair, perfectly-tied white
cravats, cloth so modest and fashionable, and mild, studious
countenances, discover their profession. Sister Scudder, motioning
Lady Swiggs aside, whispers in her ear: "They are all very excellent
young men. They will improve on acquaintance. They are come up for
the clergy." They, in turn, receive the distinguished stranger in a
manner that is rather abrupt than cold, and ere she has dispensed
her stately courtesy, say: "how do you do marm," and turn to resume
with one another their conversation on the wicked world. It is
somewhat curious to see how much more interested these gentry become
in the wicked world when it is afar off.

Tea very weak, butter very strong, toast very thin, and religious
conversation extremely thick, make up the repast. There is no want
of appetite. Indeed one might, under different circumstances, have
imagined Sister Scudder's clerical boarders contesting a race for an
extra slice of her very thin toast. Not the least prominent among
Sister Scudder's boarders is Brother Singleton Spyke, whom Mrs.
Swiggs recognizes by the many compliments he lavishes upon Sister
Slocum, whose absence is a source of great regret with him. She is
always elbow deep in some laudable pursuit. Her presence sheds a
radiant light over everything around; everybody mourns her when
absent. Nevertheless, there is some satisfaction in knowing that her
absence is caused by her anxiety to promote some mission of good:
Brother Spyke thus muses. Seeing that there is come among them a
distinguished stranger, he gives out that to-morrow evening there
will be a gathering of the brethren at the "House of the Foreign
Missions," when the very important subject of funds necessary to his
mission to Antioch, will be discussed. Brother Spyke, having levelled
this battery at the susceptibility of Mrs. Swiggs, is delighted to
find some fourteen voices chiming in-all complimenting his peculiar
fitness for, and the worthy object of the mission. Mrs. Swiggs sets
her cup in her saucer, and in a becoming manner, to the great joy of
all present, commences an eulogium on Mr. Spyke. Sister Slocum, in
her letters, held him before her in strong colors; spoke in such
high praise of his talent, and gave so many guarantees as to what he
would do if he only got among the heathen, that her sympathies were
enlisted-she resolved to lose no time in getting to New York, and,
when there, put her shoulder right manfully to the wheel. This
declaration finds her, as if by some mysterious transport, an object
of no end of praise. Sister Scudder adjusts her spectacles, and, in
mildest accents, says, "The Lord will indeed reward such
disinterestedness." Brother Mansfield says motives so pure will
ensure a passport to heaven, he is sure. Brother Sharp, an
exceedingly lean and tall youth, with a narrow head and sharp nose
(Mr. Sharp's father declared he made him a preacher because he could
make him nothing else), pronounces, with great emphasis, that such
self-sacrifice should be written in letters of gold. A unanimous
sounding of her praises convinces Mrs. Swiggs that she is indeed a
person of great importance. There is, however, a certain roughness
of manner about her new friends, which does not harmonize with her
notions of aristocracy. She questions within herself whether they
represent the "first families" of New York. If the "first families"
could only get their heads together, the heathen world would be sure
to knock under. No doubt, it can be effected in time by common
people. If Sister Slocum, too, would evangelize the world-if she
would give the light of heaven to the benighted, she must employ
willing hearts and strong hands. Satan, she says, may be chained,
subdued, and made to abjure his wickedness. These cheering
contemplations more than atone for the cold reception she met at the
house of Sister Slocum. Her only regret now is that she did not sell
old Cicero. The money so got would have enabled her to bestow a more
substantial token of her soul's sincerity.

Tea over, thanks returned, a prayer offered up, and Brother Spyke,
having taken a seat on the sofa beside Mrs. Swiggs, opens his
batteries in a spiritual conversation, which he now and then spices
with a few items of his own history. At the age of fifteen he found
himself in love with a beautiful young lady, who, unfortunately, had
made up her mind to accept only the hand of a clergyman: hence, she
rejected his. This so disturbed his thoughts, that he resolved on
studying theology. In this he was aided by the singular discovery,
that he had a talent, and a "call to preach." He would forget his
amour, he thought, become a member of the clergy, and go preach to
the heathen. He spent his days in reading, his nights in the study
of divine truths. Then he got on the kind side of a committee of
very excellent ladies, who, having duly considered his qualities,
pronounced him exactly suited to the study of theology. Ladies were
generally good judges of such matters, and Brother Spyke felt he
could not do better than act up to their opinions. To all these
things Mrs. Swiggs listens with delight.

Spyke, too, is in every way a well made-up man, being extremely tall
and lean of figure, with nice Saxon hair and whiskers, mild but
thoughtful blue eyes, an anxious expression of countenance, a thin,
squeaking voice, and features sufficiently delicate and regular for
his calling. His dress, too, is always exactly clerical. If he be
cold and pedantic in his manner, the fault must be set down to the
errors of the profession, rather than to any natural inclination of
his own. But what is singular of Brother Spyke is, that,
notwithstanding his passion for delving the heathen world, and
dragging into Christian light and love the benighted wretches there
found, he has never in his life given a thought for that heathen
world at his own door-a heathen world sinking in the blackest pool
of misery and death, in the very heart of an opulent city, over
which it hurls its seething pestilence, and scoffs at the commands
of high heaven. No, he never thought of that Babylon of vice and
crime-that heathen world pleading with open jaws at his own door. He
had no thought for how much money might be saved, and how much more
good done, did he but turn his eyes, go into this dark world (the
Points) pleading at his feet, nerve himself to action, and lend a
strong hand to help drag off the film of its degradation. In
addition to this, Brother Spyke was sharp enough to discover the
fact that a country parson does not enjoy the most enviable
situation. A country parson must put up with the smallest salary; he
must preach the very best of sermons; he must flatter and flirt with
all the marriageable ladies of his church; he must consult the
tastes, but offend none of the old ladies; he must submit to have
the sermon he strained his brain to make perfect, torn to pieces by
a dozen wise old women, who claim the right of carrying the church
on their shoulders; he must have dictated to him what sort of dame
he may take for wife;--in a word, he must bear meekly a deal of
pestering and starvation, or be in bad odor with the senior members
of the sewing circle. Duly appreciating all these difficulties,
Brother Spyke chose a mission to Antioch, where the field of his
labors would be wide, and the gates not open to restraints. And
though he could not define the exact character of his mission to
Antioch, he so worked upon the sympathies of the credulous old lady,
as to well-nigh create in her mind a resolve to give the amount she
had struggled to get and set apart for the benefit of those two
institutions ("the Tract Society," and "The Home of the Foreign
Missions"), all to the getting himself off to Antioch.