Meriwether Lewis et al - "The Journals of Lewis and Clark"

John Lothrop Motley - "The Life of John of Barneveld, 1613 15"

Horace Walpole - "Letters of Horace Walpole, V4"

Frank Gee Patchin - "The Pony Rider Boys in Montana"

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: Our Friend the Charlatan

G >> George Gissing >> Our Friend the Charlatan




The invitation to Lashmar's restaurant-dinner annoyed him a little,
for casual company was by no means to his taste; when it was over,
he felt glad that he had come, and more than ever fretted in spirit
about his personal insignificance, his uselessness in the scheme of
things. He was growing to hate the meaningless symbol which
distinguished him from ordinary men; the sight of an envelope
addressed to him stirred his spleen, for it looked like deliberate
mockery. How if he cast away this empty lordship? Might it not be
the breaking down of a barrier between him and real life? In doing
so, what duty would he renounce? Who cared a snap of the fingers
whether he signed himself "Dymchurch" or "Walter Fallowfield?" It
was long enough since the barony of Dymchurch had justified its
existence by any public service, and, as most people knew, its
private record had small dignity. The likelihood was that he would
never marry, and, unless either of his sisters did so, every day a
more improbable thing, the title might fall into happy oblivion.
What, in deed, did such titles mean nowadays? They were a silly
anachronism, absurdly in contradiction with that scientific teaching
which rules our lives. Lashmar, of course, was right in his demand
for a new aristocracy to oust the old, an aristocracy of nature, of
the born leaders of men. It might be that he had some claim to a
humble position in that spiritual hierarchy, and perhaps the one
manifest way to make proof of it was by flinging aside his tinsel
privilege--an example, a precedent, to the like-minded of his
caste.

Mrs. Toplady had begged him to come and see her. Mrs. Toplady,
vaguely known to him by name, would, but a short time ago, have
turned him to flight; having talked with her at the restaurant, he
inclined to think her a very intelligent and bright-witted woman,
the kind of woman who did a service to Society by keeping it in
touch with modern ideas. After a little uneasy hesitation, he betook
himself to Pont Street. Next, he accepted an invitation to dine
there, and found himself in the company of an old Lady Ogram, of
whom he had never heard, and a girl with an odd name, her niece, who
rather amused him. Calling presently in Pont Street, to discharge
his obligation of ceremony, he found Mrs. Toplady alone, and heard
from her, in easy, half-confidential chat, a great deal about Lady
Ogram and Miss Tomalin, information such as he would never himself
have sought, but which, set off by his hostess's pleasant manner,
entertained and somewhat interested him. For the young lady and her
aged relative shone in no common light as Mrs. Toplady exhibited
them. The baronet's widow became one of the most remarkable women of
her time, all the more remarkable because of lowly origin; Miss
Tomalin, heiress of a great fortune, had pure colonial blood in her
veins, yet pursued with delightful zeal the finest culture of an old
civilisation. As Mrs. Toplady talked thus, the door opened to
admit--Mr. Lashmar, and there was an end of confidences for that day.

So far, Dymchurch had yielded without much reflection to the
friendly pressure which brought him among strangers and disturbed
his habits of seclusion. These dinners and afternoon calls had no
importance; very soon he would be going down into Somerset, where it
might be hoped that he would think out the problems which worried
him, and arrive at some clear decision about the future. But when he
found himself, reluctantly, yet as it seemed inevitably, setting
forth to Mrs. Toplady's "At Home," the reasonable man in him grew
restive. Why was he guilty of this weakness? Years had passed since
he did anything so foolish as to leave home towards the middle of
the night for the purpose of hustling amid a crowd of unknown people
in staircases and drawing-rooms. He saw himself as the victim of
sudden fatuity, own brother to the longest-eared of fashion's
worshippers. Assuredly this should be the last of his concessions.

Inwardly pishing and pshawing, he drifted about the rooms till
brought up beside Miss Tomalin. Then his mood changed. This girl,
with her queer mixture of naivete and conceit and examination-room
pedantry, decidedly amused him. Was she a type of the young
Canadian? He knew nothing of her life at Northampton, and thought
she had come over from Canada only a year or two ago. Yes, she
amused him. By contrast with the drawing-room young lady, of whom he
had always been afraid, she seemed to have originality of character,
spontaneity of talk. Of course her learning was not exactly
profound; the quality of her mind left something to be desired; her
breeding fell short of what is demanded by the fastidious; but there
was something healthy and genuine about her, which made these
deficiencies a matter for indulgence rather than for censure. And
then, she was by no means ill-looking. Once or twice he caught an
aspect of her features which had a certain impressiveness; with
nature cast in a more serious mould, she might have become a really
beautiful woman.

Just as he had found courage to turn the talk in a personal
direction, with an inquiry about Canadian life, he saw the approach
of Dyce Lashmar. A glance at Miss Tomalin showed him that she had
perceived the young politician, who was looking with manifest
interest at her. Abruptly he rose. He had thought of asking the girl
to let him take her to the supper-room, but at the sight of Lashmar
he did not hesitate for a moment about retreating. And at once he
quitted the house.

Dymchurch had never inclined to tender experiences; his life so far
was without romance. Women more often amused than interested him;
his humorous disposition found play among their lighter
characteristics, and on the other hand--natural complement of
humour--he felt a certain awe of the mysterious in their being.
Except his own sisters, whom, naturally enough, he regarded as quite
exceptional persons, he had never been on terms of intimacy with any
woman of the educated world. Regarding marriage as impracticable--
for he had always shrunk from the thought of accepting money with a
wife--he gave as little heed as possible to the other sex, tried
to leave it altogether out of account in his musings and reasonings
upon existence. Frankly he said to himself that he knew nothing
about women, and that he was just as likely to be wrong as right in
any theory he might form about their place in the world, their dues,
their possibilities. By temper, he leaned to the old way of
regarding them; women militant, women in the public eye, were on the
whole unpleasing to him. But he was satisfied with an occasional
laugh at these extravagances, and heard with tolerable patience
anyone who pleaded the cause of female emancipation. In brief, women
lay beyond the circle of his interests.

The explanation of his abrupt withdrawal on Lashmar's appearance
was, simply, that he all at once imagined a private understanding
between his political friend and Miss Tomalin. The possibility had
not hitherto occurred to him: he had given too little thought to
Lady Ogram's niece. Now, of a sudden, it flashed upon him that
Lashmar was seeking the girl in marriage, perhaps had already won
her favour. The thought that Lashmar might perchance regard him as a
rival pricked his pride; not for a moment could he rest under that
misconstruction. He left the field clear, and drew breath like a man
who has shaken off an embarrassment.

On the way home he saw how natural it was that such a man as Lashmar
should woo Miss Tomalin. He might be a little too good for her; yet
there was no knowing. That half grim, half grotesque Lady Ogram had
evidently taken Lashmar under her wing, and probably would make no
objection to the alliance; perhaps she had even projected it.
Utterly without idle self-consciousness, Dymchurch had perceived no
special significance in Mrs. Toplady's social advances to him. The
sense of poverty was so persistent in his mind that he had never
seen himself as a possible object of matrimonial intrigue; nor had
he ever come in contact with a social rank where such designs must
have been forced on his notice. Well, his "season" was over; he
laughed as he looked back upon it. When Lashmar and Miss Tomalin
were married, he might or might not see something of them. The man
had ideas: it remained to be proved whether his strength was equal
to his ambitions.

A few days later, Dymchurch heard that one of his sisters was not
very well. She had caught a cold, and could not shake it off. This
decided him to plan a summer holiday. He wrote and asked whether the
girls would go with him to a certain quiet spot high in the Alps,
and how soon they could leave home. The answer came that they would
prefer not to go away until the middle of July, as a friend was
about to visit them, whom they hoped to keep for two or three weeks.
Disappointed at the delay, Dymchurch tried to settle down to his
books; but books had lost their savour. He was consumed by dreary
indolence.

Then came a note from Mrs. Toplady. He knew the writing, and opened
the envelope with a petulant grimace, muttering "No, no, no!"

"Dear Lord Dymchurch," wrote his correspondent, "I wonder whether
you are going to the performance of 'As You Like It' at Lady
Honeybourne's on the 24th? It promises to be very good. If only they
have fine weather, the play will be a real delight in that exquisite
Surrey woodland. I do so hope we may meet you there. By we I mean
Miss Tomalin and myself. Lady Ogram has gone back into the country,
her health being unequal to London strain, and her niece stays with
me for a little. You have heard, no doubt, of the engagement of Mr.
Lashmar and Miss Bride. I knew it was coming. They are admirably
suited to each other. To-day Mr. Lashmar gives his address at
Hollingford, and I hope for good news tomorrow--"

The reader hung suspended at this point. Miss Bride? Who was Miss
Bride? Oh, the lady whom he had seen once or twice with Lady Ogram;
her secretary, had he not heard? Why, then he was altogether wrong
in his conjecture about Lashmar and Miss Tomalin. He smiled at the
error, characteristic of such an acute observer of social life!

He had received a card of invitation to Lady Honeybourne's, but had
by no means thought of going down into Surrey to see an amateur
open-air performance of "As You Like It." After all, was it not a
way of passing an afternoon? And would not Miss Tomalin's running
comment have a piquancy all its own? She would have "got up" the
play, would be prepared with various readings, with philological and
archaeological illustrations. Dymchurch smiled again as he thought
of it, and already was half decided to go.

A copy of the _Hollingford Express_, posted, no doubt, by Lashmar,
informed him that the private meeting of Liberals at the Saracen's
Head had resulted in acceptance of his friend's candidature. There
was a long report of Lashmar's speech, which he read critically, and
not without envy. Whether he came to be elected or not, Lashmar was
doing something; he knew the joy of activity, of putting out his
strength, of moving others by the energy of his mind. This morning,
his Highgate lodgings seemed to Dymchurch, a very cave in the
wilderness. The comforts and the graceful things amid which he lived
had bat all meaning; unless, indeed, they symbolised a dilettante
decadence of which he ought to be heartily ashamed. He ran over the
contents of the provincial newspaper, and in every column found
something that rebuked him. These municipal proceedings, what zeal
and capability they implied! Was it not better, a thousand times, to
be excited about the scheme for paving "Burgess Lane" than to sit
here amid books and pictures, and do nothing at all but smoke one's
favourite mixture? The world hummed about him with industry, with
triumphant effort; and he alone of all men could put his hand to
nothing.

His thought somehow turned upon Miss Tomalin. What was it that he
found so piquant in that half-educated, indifferently-bred girl?
Might it not be that she represented an order of Society with which
he had no acquaintance, that vague multitude between the refined
middle class and the rude toilers, which, as he knew theoretically,
played such an important part in modern civilisation? Among these
people, energy was naked, motives were direct. There the strength
and the desires of the people became vocal; they must be studied, if
one wished to know the trend of things. Had he not seen it remarked
somewhere that from this class sprang nearly all the younger
representatives of literature and art, the poets, novelists,
journalists of to-day; all the vigorous young workers in science?
Lashmar, he felt sure, was but one remove from it. That busy and
aspiring multitude would furnish, most likely, by far the greater
part of the spiritual aristocracy for which our world was waiting.

From this point of view, the girl had a new interest. She was
destined, perhaps, to be the mother of some great man. He hoped she
would not marry foolishly; the wealth she must soon inherit hardly
favoured her chances in this respect; doubtless she would be
surrounded by unprincipled money-hunters. On the whole, it seemed
rather a pity that Lashmar had not chosen and won her; there would
have been a fitness, one felt, in that alliance. At the same time,
Lashmar's selection of an undowered mate spoke well for him. For it
was to be presumed that Lady Ogram's secretary had no very brilliant
prospects. Certainly she did not make much impression at the first
glance; one would take her for a sensible, thoughtful woman, nothing
more.

After a lapse of twenty-four hours, he replied to Mrs. Toplady. Yes,
if the weather were not too discouraging, he hoped to be at Lady
Honeybourne's. He added that the fact of Lashmar's engagement had
come as news to him.

So, after all, his "season" was not yet over. But perhaps kind
Jupiter would send rain, and make the murdering of Shakespeare an
impossibility. Now and then he tapped his barometer, which for some
days had hovered about "change," the sky meanwhile being clouded. On
the eve of Midsummer Day there was every sign of unseasonable
weather. Dymchurch told himself, with a certain persistency, that he
was glad.

Yet the morrow broke fair, and at mid-day was steadily bright.
Throughout the morning, Dymchurch held himself at remorseless study,
and was rewarded by the approval of his conscience; whence, perhaps,
the cheerfulness of resignation with which he made ready to keep his
engagement at the Surrey house. With a half smile on his meditative
face, he went out into the sunshine. He was thinking of Rosalind in
Arden.

Lord Honeybourne and he had been schoolfellows; they were together
at Oxford, but not in the same set, for Dymchurch read, and the
other ostentatiously idled. What was the use of exerting oneself in
any way--asked the Hon. L. F. T. Medwin-Burton--when a man had
only an income of four or five thousand in prospect, fruit of a
wretchedly encumbered estate which every year depreciated? Having
left the University without a degree--his only notable performance
a very amusing speech at the Union, proposing the abolition of the
House of Lords--he allied himself with young Sir Evan Hungerford
in a journalistic enterprise, and for a year or two the bi-monthly
_Skylark_ supplied matter for public mirth, not without occasional
scandal. Then came his succession to the title, and Viscount
Honeybourne, as the papers made known, presently set forth on travel
which was to cover all British territory. He came back with an
American wife, an incalculable fortune, and much knowledge of
Greater Britain; moreover he had gained a serious spirit, and
henceforth devoted himself to Colonial affairs. His young wife--
she was seventeen at the time of her marriage--straightway took a
conspicuous place in English Society, her note being intellectual
and social earnestness.

The play was to begin at three o'clock. Arriving half an hour
before, Dymchurch found his hostess in the open-air theatre, beset
with managerial cares, whilst her company, already dressed for their
parts, sat together under the greenwood tree, and a few guests
strayed about the grass. He had met Lady Honeybourne only once, and
that a couple of years ago; with difficulty they recognised each
other. Lord Honeybourne, she told him, had hoped to be here, but the
missing of a steamer (he had run over, just for a day or two, to
Jamaica) would make him too late.

"You know Miss Tomalin?" the lady added with a bright smile. "She
has been lunching with me, and we are great friends. I wish I had
known her sooner; she would have had a part. There she is, talking
with Miss Dolbey.--Yes, of course we have had to cut the play
down. It's shocking, but there was no choice."

Dymchurch got away from this chatter, and stood aside. Then Miss
Tomalin's radiant glance discovered him; she broke from the lady
with whom she was conversing, and stepped in his direction with a
look of frank pleasure.

"How do you do, Lord Dymchurch! I came early, to lunch with Lady
Honeybourne and some of her actors. We have been getting on together
splendidly. Let us settle our places. Mrs. Toplady may be a little
late; we must keep a chair for her. Which do you prefer?--Isn't it
admirably managed? This big tree will give shade all the time.
Suppose we take these chairs? Of course we needn't sit down at once.
Put your cane across two, and I'll tie my handkerchief on the third.
There! Now we're safe.--Did you ever see an open-air play before?
Charming idea, isn't it? You don't know Lady Honeybourne very well,
I think? Oh, she's very bright, and has lots of ideas. I think we
shall be real friends. She must come down to Rivenoak in August."

"I'm sorry," interposed Dymchurch, as soon as there came a pause,
"that Lady Ogram had to leave town so soon."

"Oh, it was too much for her. I advised her very seriously, as soon
as she began to feel exhausted, not to stay another day. Indeed, I
couldn't have allowed it; I'm convinced it was dangerous, in her
state of health. I hear from her that she is already much better.
Rivenoak is such a delightfully quiet place, and such excellent air.
Did you see a report of Mr. Lashmar's speech? Rather good, I
thought. Perhaps just a little too vague: the fault I hoped he would
avoid. But of course it's very difficult to adapt oneself all at
once to electioneering necessities. Mr. Lashmar is theoretical; of
course that is his strong point."

Dymchurch listened with an air of respectful, though smiling,
attention. The girl amused him more than ever. Really, she had such
a pleasant voice that her limitless flow of words might well be
pardoned, even enjoyed.

"Lady Honeybourne and I have been talking about the condition of the
poor. She has capital ideas, but not much experience. Of course I am
able to speak with some authority: I saw so much of the poor at
Northampton."

Once or twice Dymchurch had heard mention of Northampton in May's
talk, but his extreme discretion had withheld him from putting a
question on the subject. Catching his look, she saw inquiry in it.

"You know that I lived at Northampton, before I made my home at
Rivenoak? Oh, I thought that I had told you all about that."

Acting on her aunt's counsel, approved by Mrs. Toplady, May was
careful not to let it be perceived by casual acquaintances that,
until a month ago, she had been an absolute stranger to her titled
relative. At the same time, it was necessary to avoid any appearance
of mystery, and people were given to understand that she had passed
some years with her family in the midland town.

"And what work did you take part in?" asked her companion.

"It was a scheme of my own, mainly educational. I'll tell you all
about it, when we have time. What a lot of people all at once! Ah,
it's the 2.40 train that brings them. You came by the one before?
There's Mrs. Toplady; so she isn't late, after all."

The audience began to seat itself. A string-band, under a marquee
aside from the plot of smooth turf which represented the stage,
began to discourse old English music; on this subject, as soon as
they were seated side by side, Dymchurch had the full benefit of
May's recently acquired learning. How quick the girl was in
gathering any kind of information! And how intelligently she gave it
forth! Babble as she might, one could never (thought the amused
peer) detect a note of vulgarity; at worst, there was excess of
ingenuousness; a fault, after all, in the right direction. She was
very young, and had little experience of Society; in a year or two
these surface blemishes would be polished away. The important thing
was that she did sincerely care for things of the mind, and had a
mind to apply to them.

He sat on Miss Tomalin's right hand; on her left was Mrs. Toplady.
The humourist of Pont Street, as she listened to the talk beside
her, smiled very roguishly indeed. Seldom had anything so surprised
and entertained her as the progress of intimacy between May and Lord
Dymchurch But she was vexed, as well as puzzled, by Lashmar's recent
step, which seemed to deprive the comedy of an element on which she
had counted. Perhaps not, however; it might he that the real
complication was only just beginning.

"As You Like It," was timed for a couple of hours, intervals
included. Miss Tomalin did not fail to whisper her neighbours at
every noteworthy omission from the text, and once or twice she was
moved to a pained protest. Her criticism of the actors was
indulgent; she felt the value of her praise, but was equally aware
of the weight of her censure. So the sunny afternoon went by. Here
and there a spectator nodded drowsily; others conversed under their
breath--not of the bard of Avon. The air was full of that insect
humming which is nature's music at high summer-tide.

Upon the final applause followed welcome refreshment. A table laden
with dainties gleamed upon the sward. Dymchurch looked after his
ladies; but the elder of them soon wandered off amid the friendly
throng, and May, who ate and drank with enjoyment, was able to give
her companion the promised description of her activity at
Northampton. The listener smiled and smiled; had much ado, indeed,
not to exhibit open gaiety; but ever and again his eyes rested on
the girl's countenance, and its animation so pleased him that he saw
even in her absurdities a spirit of good.

"You never did any work of that sort?" inquired May, regarding him
from a good-natured height.

"Never, I'm sorry to say."

"But don't you sometimes feel as if it were a duty?"

"I often feel I ought to do _something_," answered Dymchurch, in a
graver voice. "But whether I could be of any use among the poor, is
doubtful."

"No, I hardly think you could," said May, reflectively. "Your social
position doesn't allow of that. Of course you help to make laws,
which is more important."

"If I really did so; but I don't. I have no more part in law-making
than you have."

"But, why not?" asked May, gazing at him in surprise. "Surely _that_
is a duty about which you can have no doubt."

"I neglect _all_ duties," he answered.

"How strange! Is it your principle? You are not an Anarchist, Lord
Dymchurch?"

"Practically, I fancy that's just what I am. Theoretically, no.
Suppose," he added, with his pleasantest smile, "you advise me as to
what use I can make of my life."

The man was speaking without control of his tongue. He had sunk into
a limp passivity; in part, it might be, the result of the drowsily
humming air; in part, a sort of hypnotism due to May's talk and the
feminine perfume which breathed from her. He understood the idleness
of what fell from his lips, but it pleased him to be idle.
Therewithal--strange contradiction--he was trying to persuade
himself that, more likely than not, this chattering girl had it in
her power to make him an active, useful man, to draw him out of his
mouldy hermitage and set him in the world's broad daylight. The
analogy of Lord Honeybourne came into his mind; Lord Honeybourne,
whose marriage had been the turning-point of his career, and whose
wife, in many respects, bore a resemblance to May Tomalin.

"I shall have to think very seriously about it," May was replying.
"But nothing could interest me more. You don't feel at all inclined
for public life?"

Their dialogue was interrupted by the hostess, who came forward with
a gentleman she wished to present to Miss Tomalin. Hearing the
name--Mr. Langtoft--Dymchurch regarded him with curiosity, and, moving
aside with Lady Honeybourne as she withdrew, he inquired whether
this was _the_ Mr. Langtoft.

"It is," the hostess answered. "Do you take an interest in his work?
Would you like to know him?"

Dymchurch declined the introduction for the present, but he was glad
to have seen the man, just now frequently spoken of in newspapers,
much lauded, and vehemently attacked. A wealthy manufacturer,
practically lord of a swarming township in Lancashire, Mr. Langtoft
was trying to get into his own hands the education of all the
lower-class children growing up around his mill chimneys. He
disapproved of the board-school; he looked with still less favour on
the schools of the clergy; and, regardless of expense, was
establishing schools of his own, where what he called "civic
instruction" was gratuitously imparted. The idea closely resembled
that which Dyce Lashmar had borrowed from his French sociologist,
and Dyce had lately been in correspondence with Mr. Langtoft.
Lashmar's name, indeed, was now passing between the reformer and
Miss Tomalin.