Marcus Tullius Cicero - "Letters of Cicero"

Annie Roe Carr - "Nan Sherwood at Rose Ranch"

Joseph Butler - "Human Nature and Other Sermons"

John Lothrop Motley - "History of the United Netherlands, 1588"

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 Pathfinder

J >> James Fenimore Cooper >> The Pathfinder




"You're over boastful this morning, Pathfinder; but you'll find
you've no green boy fresh from the settlements and the towns to
deal with, I will assure ye!"

"I know that well, Quartermaster; I know that well, and shall not
deny your experience. You've lived many years on the frontiers,
and I've heard of you in the colonies, and among the Indians, too,
quite a human life ago."

"Na, na," interrupted Muir in his broadest Scotch, "this is injustice,
man. I've no' lived so very long, neither."

"I'll do you justice, Lieutenant, even if you get the best in
the potato trial. I say you've passed a good human life, for a
soldier, in places where the rifle is daily used, and I know you
are a creditable and ingenious marksman; but then you are not a
true rifle-shooter. As for boasting, I hope I'm not a vain talker
about my own exploits; but a man's gifts are his gifts, and it's
flying in the face of Providence to deny them. The Sergeant's
daughter, here, shall judge between us, if you have the stomach
to submit to so pretty a judge."

The Pathfinder had named Mabel as the arbiter because he admired
her, and because, in his eyes, rank had little or no value; but
Lieutenant Muir shrank at such a reference in the presence of the
wives of the officers. He would gladly keep himself constantly
before the eyes and the imagination of the object of his wishes;
but he was still too much under the influence of old prejudices,
and perhaps too wary, to appear openly as her suitor, unless he
saw something very like a certainty of success. On the discretion
of Major Duncan he had a full reliance, and he apprehended no
betrayal from that quarter; but he was quite aware, should it ever
get abroad that he had been refused by the child of a non-commissioned
officer, he would find great difficulty in making his approaches
to any other woman of a condition to which he might reasonably
aspire. Notwithstanding these doubts and misgivings, Mabel looked
so prettily, blushed so charmingly, smiled so sweetly, and altogether
presented so winning a picture of youth, spirit, modesty, and beauty,
that he found it exceedingly tempting to be kept so prominently
before her imagination, and to be able to address her freely.

"You shall have it your own way, Pathfinder," he answered, as
soon as his doubts had settled down into determination; "let the,
Sergeant's daughter -- his charming daughter, I should have termed
her -- be the umpire then; and to her we will both dedicate the
prize, that one or the other must certainly win. Pathfinder must
be humored, ladies, as you perceive, else, no doubt, we should have
had the honor to submit ourselves to one of your charming society."

A call for the competitors now drew the Quartermaster and his
adversary away, and in a few moments the second trial of skill
commenced. A common wrought nail was driven lightly into the target,
its head having been first touched with paint, and the marksman
was required to hit it, or he lost his chances in the succeeding
trials. No one was permitted to enter, on this occasion, who had
already failed in the essay against the bull's-eye.

There might have been half a dozen aspirants for the honors of
this trial; one or two, who had barely succeeded in touching the
spot of paint in the previous strife, preferring to rest their
reputations there, feeling certain that they could not succeed in
the greater effort that was now exacted of them. The first three
adventurers failed, all coming very near the mark, but neither
touching it. The fourth person who presented himself was the
Quartermaster, who, after going through his usual attitudes, so
far succeeded as to carry away a small portion of the head of the
nail, planting his bullet by the side of its point. This was not
considered an extraordinary shot, though it brought the adventurer
within the category.

"You've saved your bacon, Quartermaster, as they say in the
settlements of their creaturs," cried Pathfinder, laughing; "but
it would take a long time to build a house with a hammer no better
than yours. Jasper, here, will show you how a nail is to be started,
or the lad has lost some of his steadiness of hand and sartainty
of eye. You would have done better yourself, Lieutenant, had you
not been so much bent on soldierizing your figure. Shooting is a
natural gift, and is to be exercised in a natural way."

"We shall see, Pathfinder; I call that a pretty attempt at a nail;
and I doubt if the 55th has another hammer, as you call it, that
can do just the same thing over again."

"Jasper is not in the 55th, but there goes his rap."

As the Pathfinder spoke, the bullet of Eau-douce hit the nail
square, and drove it into the target, within an inch of the head.

"Be all ready to clench it, boys!" cried out Pathfinder, stepping
into his friend's tracks the instant they were vacant. "Never mind
a new nail; I can see that, though the paint is gone, and what I can
see I can hit, at a hundred yards, though it were only a mosquito's
eye. Be ready to clench!"

The rifle cracked, the bullet sped its way, and the head of the nail
was buried in the wood, covered by the piece of flattened lead.

"Well, Jasper, lad," continued Pathfinder, dropping the butt-end
of his rifle to the ground, and resuming the discourse, as if he
thought nothing of his own exploit, "you improve daily. A few
more tramps on land in my company, and the best marksman on the
frontiers will have occasion to look keenly when he takes his
stand ag'in you. The Quartermaster is respectable, but he will
never get any farther; whereas you, Jasper, have the gift, and may
one day defy any who pull trigger."

"Hoot, hoot!" exclaimed Muir; "do you call hitting the head of the
nail respectable only, when it's the perfection of the art? Any
one the least refined and elevated in sentiment knows that the
delicate touches denote the master; whereas your sledge-hammer
blows come from the rude and uninstructed. If 'a miss is as good
as a mile,' a hit ought to be better, Pathfinder, whether it wound
or kill."

"The surest way of settling this rivalry will be to make another
trial," observed Lundie, "and that will be of the potato. You're
Scotch, Mr. Muir, and might fare better were it a cake or a thistle;
but frontier law has declared for the American fruit, and the potato
it shall be."

As Major Duncan manifested some impatience of manner, Muir had
too much tact to delay the sports any longer with his discursive
remarks, but judiciously prepared himself for the next appeal. To
say the truth, the Quartermaster had little or no faith in his
own success in the trial of skill that was to follow, nor would
he have been so free in presenting himself as a competitor at all
had he anticipated it would have been made; but Major Duncan, who
was somewhat of a humorist in his own quiet Scotch way, had secretly
ordered it to be introduced expressly to mortify him; for, a laird
himself, Lundie did not relish the notion that one who might claim
to be a gentleman should bring discredit on his caste by forming
an unequal alliance. As soon as everything was prepared, Muir was
summoned to the stand, and the potato was held in readiness to be
thrown. As the sort of feat we are about to offer to the reader,
however, may be new to him, a word in explanation will render the
matter more clear. A potato of large size was selected, and given
to one who stood at the distance of twenty yards from the stand.
At the word "heave!" which was given by the marksman, the vegetable
was thrown with a gentle toss into the air, and it was the business
of the adventurer to cause a ball to pass through it before it
reached the ground.

The Quartermaster, in a hundred experiments, had once succeeded in
accomplishing this difficult feat; but he now essayed to perform it
again, with a sort of blind hope that was fated to be disappointed.
The potato was thrown in the usual manner, the rifle was discharged,
but the flying target was untouched.

"To the right-about, and fall out, Quartermaster," said Lundie,
smiling at the success of the artifice. "The honor of the silken
calash will lie between Jasper Eau-douce and Pathfinder."

"And how is the trial to end, Major?" inquired the latter. "Are
we to have the two-potato trial, or is it to be settled by centre
and skin?"

"By centre and skin, if there is any perceptible difference;
otherwise the double shot must follow."

"This is an awful moment to me, Pathfinder," observed Jasper, as
he moved towards the stand, his face actually losing its color in
intensity of feeling.

Pathfinder gazed earnestly at the young man; and then, begging
Major Duncan to have patience for a moment, he led his friend out
of the hearing of all near him before he spoke.

"You seem to take this matter to heart, Jasper?" the hunter remarked,
keeping his eyes fastened on those of the youth.

"I must own, Pathfinder, that my feelings were never before so much
bound up in success."

"And do you so much crave to outdo me, an old and tried friend?
-- and that, as it might be, in my own way? Shooting is my gift,
boy, and no common hand can equal mine."

"I know it -- I know it, Pathfinder; but yet -- "

"But what, Jasper, boy? -- speak freely; you talk to a friend."

The young man compressed his lips, dashed a hand across his eye,
and flushed and paled alternately, like a girl confessing her love.
Then, squeezing the other's hand, he said calmly, like one whose
manhood has overcome all other sensations, "I would lose an arm,
Pathfinder, to be able to make an offering of that calash to Mabel
Dunham."

The hunter dropped his eyes to the ground, and as he walked slowly
back towards the stand, he seemed to ponder deeply on what he had
just heard.

"You never could succeed in the double trial, Jasper!" he suddenly
remarked.

"Of that I am certain, and it troubles me."

"What a creature is mortal man! He pines for things which are
not of his gift and treats the bounties of Providence lightly. No
matter, no matter. Take your station, Jasper, for the Major is
waiting; and harken, lad, -- I must touch the skin, for I could
not show my face in the garrison with less than that."

"I suppose I must submit to my fate," returned Jasper, flushing
and losing his color as before; "but I will make the effort, if I
die."

"What a thing is mortal man!" repeated Pathfinder, falling back to
allow his friend room to take his arm; "he overlooks his own gifts,
and craves those of another!"

The potato was thrown, Jasper fired, and the shout that followed
preceded the announcement of the fact that he had driven his bullet
through its centre, or so nearly so as to merit that award.

"Here is a competitor worthy of you, Pathfinder," cried Major Duncan
with delight, as the former took his station; "and we may look to
some fine shooting in the double trial."

"What a thing is mortal man!" repeated the hunter, scarcely seeming
to notice what was passing around him, so much were his thoughts
absorbed in his own reflections. "Toss!"

The potato was tossed, the rifle cracked, -- it was remarked just
as the little black ball seemed stationary in the air, for the
marksman evidently took unusual heed to his aim, -- and then a look
of disappointment and wonder succeeded among those who caught the
falling target.

"Two holes in one?" called out the Major.

"The skin, the skin!" was the answer; "only the skin!"

"How's this, Pathfinder? Is Jasper Eau-douce to carry off the
honors of the day?"

"The calash is his," returned the other, shaking his head and
walking quietly away from the stand. "What a creature is mortal
man! never satisfied with his own gifts, but for ever craving that
which Providence denies!"

As Pathfinder had not buried his bullet in the potato, but had cut
through the skin, the prize was immediately adjudged to Jasper.
The calash was in the hands of the latter when the Quartermaster
approached, and with a polite air of cordiality he wished his
successful rival joy of his victory.

"But now you've got the calash, lad, it's of no use to you," he
added; "it will never make a sail, nor even an ensign. I'm thinking,
Eau-douce, you'd no' be sorry to see its value in good siller of
the king?"

"Money cannot buy it, Lieutenant," returned Jasper, whose eye
lighted with all the fire of success and joy. "I would rather
have won this calash than have obtained fifty new suits of sails
for the _Scud!_"

"Hoot, hoot, lad! you are going mad like all the rest of them. I'd
even venture to offer half a guinea for the trifle rather than it
should lie kicking about in the cabin of your cutter, and in the
end become an ornament for the head of a squaw."

Although Jasper did not know that the wary Quartermaster had not
offered half the actual cost of the prize, he heard the proposition
with indifference. Shaking his head in the negative, he advanced
towards the stage, where his approach excited a little commotion,
the officers' ladies, one and all, having determined to accept the
present, should the gallantry of the young sailor induce him to
offer it. But Jasper's diffidence, no less than admiration for
another, would have prevented him from aspiring to the honor of
complimenting any whom he thought so much his superiors.

"Mabel," said he, "this prize is for you, unless -- "

"Unless what, Jasper?" answered the girl, losing her own bashfulness
in the natural and generous wish to relieve his embarrassment,
though both reddened in a way to betray strong feeling.

"Unless you may think too indifferently of it, because it is offered
by one who may have no right to believe his gift will be accepted."

"I do accept it, Jasper; and it shall be a sign of the danger I
have passed in your company, and of the gratitude I feel for your
care of me -- your care, and that of the Pathfinder."

"Never mind me, never mind me!" exclaimed the latter; "this is
Jasper's luck, and Jasper's gift: give him full credit for both.
My turn may come another day; mine and the Quartermaster's, who
seems to grudge the boy the calash; though what _he_ can want of
it I cannot understand, for he has no wife."

"And has Jasper Eau-douce a wife? Or have you a wife yoursel',
Pathfinder? I may want it to help to get a wife, or as a memorial
that I have had a wife, or as proof how much I admire the sex, or
because it is a female garment, or for some other equally respectable
motive. It's not the unreflecting that are the most prized by
the thoughtful, and there is no surer sign that a man made a good
husband to his first consort, let me tell you all, than to see him
speedily looking round for a competent successor. The affections
are good gifts from Providence, and they that have loved one
faithfully prove how much of this bounty has been lavished upon
them by loving another as soon as possible."

"It may be so, it may be so. I am no practitioner in such things,
and cannot gainsay it. But Mabel here, the Sergeant's daughter,
will give you full credit for the words. Come, Jasper, although
our hands are out, let us see what the other lads can do with the
rifle."

Pathfinder and his companions retired, for the sports were about
to proceed. The ladies, however, were not so much engrossed with
rifle-shooting as to neglect the calash. It passed from hand
to hand; the silk was felt, the fashion criticized, and the work
examined, and divers opinions were privately ventured concerning
the fitness of so handsome a thing passing into the possession of
a non-commissioned officer's child.

"Perhaps you will be disposed to sell that calash, Mabel, when it
has been a short time in your possession?" inquired the captain's
lady. "Wear it, I should think, you never can."

"I may not wear it, madam," returned our heroine modestly; "but I
should not like to part with it either."

"I daresay Sergeant Dunham keeps you above the necessity of selling
your clothes, child; but, at the same time, it is money thrown
away to keep an article of dress you can never wear."

"I should be unwilling to part with the gift of a friend."

"But the young man himself will think all the better of you for
your prudence after the triumph of the day is forgotten. It is a
pretty and a becoming calash, and ought not to be thrown away."

"I've no intention to throw it away, ma'am; and, if you please,
would rather keep it."

"As you will, child; girls of your age often overlook the real
advantages. Remember, however, if you do determine to dispose of
the thing, that it is bespoke, and that I will not take it if you
ever even put it on your own head."

"Yes, ma'am," said Mabel, in the meekest voice imaginable, though
her eyes looked like diamonds, and her cheeks reddened to the
tints of two roses, as she placed the forbidden garment over her
well-turned shoulders, where she kept it a minute, as if to try
its fitness, and then quietly removed it again.

The remainder of the sports offered nothing of interest. The
shooting was reasonably good; but the trials were all of a scale
lower than those related, and the competitors were soon left to
themselves. The ladies and most of the officers withdrew, and the
remainder of the females soon followed their example. Mabel was
returning along the low flat rocks that line the shore of the lake,
dangling her pretty calash from a prettier finger, when Pathfinder
met her. He carried the rifle which he had used that day; but
his manner had less of the frank ease of the hunter about it than
usual, while his eye seemed roving and uneasy. After a few unmeaning
words concerning the noble sheet of water before them, he turned
towards his companion with strong interest in his countenance, and
said, --

"Jasper earned that calash for you, Mabel, without much trial of
his gifts."

"It was fairly done, Pathfinder."

"No doubt, no doubt. The bullet passed neatly through the potato,
and no man could have done more; though others might have done as
much."

"But no one did as much!" exclaimed Mabel, with an animation that
she instantly regretted; for she saw by the pained look of the guide
that he was mortified equally by the remark and by the feeling with
which it was uttered.

"It is true, it is true, Mabel, no one did as much then; but -- yet
there is no reason I should deny my gifts which come from Providence
-- yes, yes; no one did as much there, but you shall know what
_can_ be done here. Do you observe the gulls that are flying over
our heads?"

"Certainly, Pathfinder; there are too many to escape notice."

"Here, where they cross each other in sailing about," he added,
cocking and raising his rifle; "the two -- the two. Now look!"

The piece was presented quick as thought, as two of the birds came
in a line, though distant from each other many yards; the report
followed, and the bullet passed through the bodies of both victims.
No sooner had the gulls fallen into the lake, than Pathfinder
dropped the butt-end of the rifle, and laughed in his own peculiar
manner, every shade of dissatisfaction and mortified pride having
left his honest face.

"That is something, Mabel, that is something; although I have no
calash to give you! But ask Jasper himself; I'll leave it all to
Jasper, for a truer tongue and heart are not in America."

"Then it was not Jasper's fault that he gained the prize?"

"Not it. He did his best, and he did well. For one that has water
gifts, rather than land gifts, Jasper is uncommonly expert, and a
better backer no one need wish, ashore or afloat. But it was my
fault, Mabel, that he got the calash; though it makes no difference
-- it makes no difference, for the thing has gone to the right
person."

"I believe I understand you, Pathfinder," said Mabel, blushing in
spite of herself, "and I look upon the calash as the joint gift of
yourself and Jasper."

"That would not be doing justice to the lad, neither. He won the
garment, and had a right to give it away. The most you may think,
Mabel, is to believe that, had I won it, it would have gone to the
same person."

"I will remember that, Pathfinder, and take care that others know
your skill, as it has been proved upon the poor gulls in my presence."

"Lord bless you, Mabel! there is no more need of your talking in
favor of my shooting on this frontier, than of your talking about
the water in the lake or the sun in the heavens. Everybody knows
what I can do in that way, and your words would be thrown away, as
much as French would be thrown away on an American bear."

"Then you think that Jasper knew you were giving him this advantage,
of which he had so unhandsomely availed himself?" said Mabel,
the color which had imparted so much lustre to her eyes gradually
leaving her face, which became grave and thoughtful.

"I do not say that, but very far from it. We all forget things that
we have known, when eager after our wishes. Jasper is satisfied
that I can pass one bullet through two potatoes, as I sent my bullet
through the gulls; and he knows no other man on the frontier can
do the same thing. But with the calash before his eyes, and the
hope of giving it to you, the lad was inclined to think better
of himself, just at that moment, perhaps, than he ought. No, no,
there's nothing mean or distrustful about Jasper Eau-douce, though
it is a gift natural to all young men to wish to appear well in
the eyes of handsome young women."

"I'll try to forget all, but the kindness you've both shown to a poor
motherless girl," said Mabel, struggling to keep down emotions she
scarcely knew how to account for herself. "Believe me, Pathfinder,
I can never forget all you have already done for me -- you and Jasper;
and this new proof of your regard is not thrown away. Here, here
is a brooch that is of silver, and I offer it as a token that I
owe you life or liberty."

"What shall I do with this, Mabel?" asked the bewildered hunter,
holding the simple trinket in his hand. "I have neither buckle
nor button about me, for I wear nothing but leathern strings, and
them of good deer-skins. It's pretty to the eye, but it is prettier
far on the spot it came from than it can be about me."

"Nay, put it in your hunting-shirt; it will become it well.
Remember, Pathfinder, that it is a token of friendship between us,
and a sign that I can never forget you or your services."

Mabel then smiled an adieu; and, bounding up the bank, she was soon
lost to view behind the mound of the fort.



CHAPTER XII.

Lo! dusky masses steal in dubious sight,
Along the leaguer'd wall, and bristling bank,
Of the arm'd river; while with straggling light,
The stars peep through the vapor, dim and dank.
BYRON.


A few hours later Mabel Dunham was on the bastion that overlooked
the river and the lake, seemingly in deep thought. The evening
was calm and soft, and the question had arisen whether the party
for the Thousand Islands would be able to get out that night or
not, on account of the total absence of wind. The stores, arms,
and ammunition were already shipped, and even Mabel's effects
were on board; but the small draft of men that was to go was still
ashore, there being no apparent prospect of the cutter's getting
under way. Jasper had warped the _Scud_ out of the cove, and so
far up the stream as to enable him to pass through the outlet of the
river whenever he chose; but there he still lay, riding at single
anchor. The drafted men were lounging about the shore of the cove,
undecided whether or not to pull off.

The sports of the morning had left a quiet in the garrison which
was in harmony with the whole of the beautiful scene, and Mabel
felt its influence on her feelings, though probably too little
accustomed to speculate on such sensations to be aware of the
cause. Everything near appeared lovely and soothing, while the
solemn grandeur of the silent forest and placid expanse of the
lake lent a sublimity that other scenes might have wanted. For the
first time, Mabel felt the hold that the towns and civilization
had gained on her habits sensibly weakened; and the warm-hearted
girl began to think that a life passed amid objects such as those
around her might be happy. How far the experience of the last days
came in aid of the calm and holy eventide, and contributed towards
producing that young conviction, may be suspected, rather than
affirmed, in this early portion of our legend.

"A charming sunset, Mabel!" said the hearty voice of her uncle,
so close to the ear of our heroine as to cause her to start, -- "a
charming sunset, girl, for a fresh-water concern, though we should
think but little of it at sea."

"And is not nature the same on shore or at sea -- on a lake like
this or on the ocean? Does not the sun shine on all alike, dear
uncle; and can we not feel gratitude for the blessings of Providence
as strongly on this remote frontier as in our own Manhattan?"

"The girl has fallen in with some of her mother's books. Is
not nature the same, indeed! Now, Mabel, do you imagine that the
nature of a soldier is the same as that of a seafaring man? You've
relations in both callings, and ought to be able to answer."