Edith Bancroft - "Jane Allen: Junior"

Emile Zola - "Nouveaux Contes a Ninon"

Ben Jonson - "The Alchemist"

William George Jordan - "The Majesty of Calmness"

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




"No blame can rest on my father on account of the surprise of this
island."

"There's no telling, there's no telling; military glory is a most
unsartain thing. I've seen the Delawares routed, when they desarved
more credit than at other times when they've carried the day. A
man is wrong to set his head on success of any sort, and worst of
all on success in war. I know little of the settlements, or of
the notions that men hold in them; but up hereaway even the Indians
rate a warrior's character according to his luck. The principal
thing with a soldier is never to be whipt; nor do I think mankind
stops long to consider how the day was won or lost. For my part,
Mabel, I make it a rule when facing the inimy to give him as good
as I can send, and to try to be moderate after a defeat, little need
be said on that score, as a flogging is one of the most humbling
things in natur'. The parsons preach about humility in the garrison;
but if humility would make Christians, the king's troops ought to
be saints, for they've done little as yet this war but take lessons
from the French, beginning at Fort du Quesne and ending at Ty."

"My father could not have suspected that the position of the island
was known to the enemy," resumed Mabel, whose thoughts were running
on the probable effect of the recent events on the Sergeant.

"That is true; nor do I well see how the Frenchers found it out.
The spot is well chosen, and it is not an easy matter, even for
one who has travelled the road to and from it, to find it again.
There has been treachery, I fear; yes, yes, there must have been
treachery."

"Oh, Pathfinder! can this be?"

"Nothing is easier, Mabel, for treachery comes as nat'ral to some
men as eating. Now when I find a man all fair words I look close
to his deeds; for when the heart is right, and really intends to
do good, it is generally satisfied to let the conduct speak instead
of the tongue."

"Jasper Western is not one of these," said Mabel impetuously. "No
youth can be more sincere in his manner, or less apt to make the
tongue act for the head."

"Jasper Western! tongue and heart are both right with that lad,
depend on it, Mabel; and the notion taken up by Lundie, and the
Quartermaster, and the Sergeant, and your uncle too, is as wrong
as it would be to think that the sun shone by night and the stars
shone by day. No, no; I'll answer for Eau-douce's honesty with my
own scalp, or, at need, with my own rifle."

"Bless you, bless you, Pathfinder!" exclaimed Mabel, extending her
own hand and pressing the iron fingers of her companion, under a
state of feeling that far surpassed her own consciousness of its
strength. "You are all that is generous, all that is noble! God
will reward you for it."

"Ah, Mabel, I fear me, if this be true, I should not covet such
a wife as yourself; but would leave you to be sued for by some
gentleman of the garrison, as your desarts require."

"We will not talk of this any more to-night," Mabel answered in a
voice so smothered as to seem nearly choked. "We must think less
of ourselves just now, Pathfinder, and more of our friends. But
I rejoice from my soul that you believe Jasper innocent. Now let
us talk of other things -- ought we not to release June?"

"I've been thinking about the woman; for it will not be safe to
shut our eyes and leave hers open, on this side of the blockhouse
door. If we put her in the upper room, and take away the ladder,
she'll be a prisoner at least."

"I cannot treat one thus who has saved my life. It would be better
to let her depart, for I think she is too much my friend to do
anything to harm me."

"You do not know the race, Mabel, you do not know the race. It's
true she's not a full-blooded Mingo, but she consorts with the
vagabonds, and must have larned some of their tricks. What is
that?"

"It sounds like oars; some boat is passing through the channel."

Pathfinder closed the trap that led to the lower room, to prevent
June from escaping, extinguished the candle, and went hastily to
a loop, Mabel looking over his shoulder in breathless curiosity.
These several movements consumed a minute or two; and by the time
the eye of the scout had got a dim view of things without, two
boats had swept past and shot up to the shore, at a spot some fifty
yards beyond the block, where there was a regular landing. The
obscurity prevented more from being seen; and Pathfinder whispered
to Mabel that the new-comers were as likely to be foes as friends,
for he did not think her father could possibly have arrived so
soon. A number of men were now seen to quit the boats, and then
followed three hearty English cheers, leaving no further doubts of
the character of the party. Pathfinder sprang to the trap, raised
it, glided down the ladder, and began to unbar the door, with an
earnestness that proved how critical he deemed the moment. Mabel
had followed, but she rather impeded than aided his exertions,
and but a single bar was turned when a heavy discharge of rifles
was heard. They were still standing in breathless suspense, as
the war-whoop rang in all the surrounding thickets. The door now
opened, and both Pathfinder and Mabel rushed into the open air. All
human sounds had ceased. After listening half a minute, however,
Pathfinder thought he heard a few stifled groans near the boats;
but the wind blew so fresh, and the rustling of the leaves mingled
so much with the murmurs of the passing air, that he was far from
certain. But Mabel was borne away by her feelings, and she rushed
by him, taking the way towards the boats.

"This will not do, Mabel," said the scout in an earnest but low
voice, seizing her by an arm; "this will never do. Sartain death
would follow, and that without sarving any one. We must return to
the block."

"Father! my poor, dear, murdered father!" said the girl wildly,
though habitual caution, even at that trying moment, induced her
to speak low. "Pathfinder, if you love me, let me go to my dear
father."

"This will not do, Mabel. It is singular that no one speaks; no
one returns the fire from the boats; and I have left Killdeer in
the block! But of what use would a rifle be when no one is to be
seen?"

At that moment the quick eye of Pathfinder, which, while he held
Mabel firmly in his grasp, had never ceased to roam over the dim
scene, caught an indistinct view of five or six dark crouching
forms, endeavoring to steal past him, doubtless with the intention
of intercepting the retreat to the blockhouse. Catching up Mabel,
and putting her under an arm, as if she were an infant, the sinewy
frame of the woodsman was exerted to the utmost, and he succeeded
in entering the building. The tramp of his pursuers seemed
immediately at his heels. Dropping his burden, he turned, closed
the door, and had fastened one bar, as a rush against the solid
mass threatened to force it from the hinges. To secure the other
bars was the work of an instant.

Mabel now ascended to the first floor, while Pathfinder remained
as a sentinel below. Our heroine was in that state in which the
body exerts itself, apparently without the control of the mind. She
relighted the candle mechanically, as her companion had desired,
and returned with it below, where he was waiting her reappearance.
No sooner was Pathfinder in possession of the light than he examined
the place carefully, to make certain no one was concealed in the
fortress, ascending to each floor in succession, after assuring
himself that he left no enemy in his rear. The result was the
conviction that the blockhouse now contained no one but Mabel and
himself, June having escaped. When perfectly convinced on this
material point, Pathfinder rejoined our heroine in the principal
apartment, setting down the light and examining the priming of
Killdeer before he seated himself.

"Our worst fears are realized!" said Mabel, to whom the hurry
and excitement of the last five minutes appeared to contain the
emotions of a life. "My beloved father and all his party are slain
or captured!"

"We don't know that -- morning will tell us all. I do not think
the affair so settled as that, or we should hear the vagabond Mingos
yelling out their triumph around the blockhouse. Of one thing we
may be sartain; if the inimy has really got the better, he will
not be long in calling upon us to surrender. The squaw will let
him into the secret of our situation; and, as they well know the
place cannot be fired by daylight, so long as Killdeer continues
to desarve his reputation, you may depend on it that they will
not be backward in making their attempt while darkness helps them."

"Surely I hear a groan!"

"'Tis fancy, Mabel; when the mind gets to be skeary, especially a
woman's mind, she often concaits things that have no reality. I've
known them that imagined there was truth in dreams."

"Nay, I am _not_ deceived; there is surely one below, and in pain."

Pathfinder was compelled to own that the quick senses of Mabel
had not deceived her. He cautioned her, however, to repress her
feelings; and reminded her that the savages were in the practice
of resorting to every artifice to attain their ends, and that
nothing was more likely than that the groans were feigned with a
view to lure them from the blockhouse, or, at least, to induce them
to open the door.

"No, no, no!" said Mabel hurriedly; "there is no artifice in those
sounds, and they come from anguish of body, if not of spirit.
They are fearfully natural."

"Well, we shall soon know whether a friend is there or not. Hide
the light again, Mabel, and I will speak the person from a loop."

Not a little precaution was necessary, according to Pathfinder's
judgment and experience, in performing even this simple act; for
he had known the careless slain by their want of proper attention
to what might have seemed to the ignorant supererogatory means of
safety. He did not place his mouth to the loop itself, but so near
it that he could be heard without raising his voice, and the same
precaution was observed as regards his ear.

"Who is below?" Pathfinder demanded, when his arrangements were
made to his mind. "Is any one in suffering? If a friend, speak
boldly, and depend on our aid."

"Pathfinder!" answered a voice that both Mabel and the person
addressed at once knew to be the Sergeant's, --"Pathfinder, in the
name of God, tell me what has become of my daughter."

"Father, I am here, unhurt, safe! and oh that I could think the
same of you!"

The ejaculation of thanksgiving that followed was distinctly audible
to the two, but it was clearly mingled with, a groan of pain.

"My worst forebodings are realized!" said Mabel with a sort of
desperate calmness. "Pathfinder, my father must be brought within
the block, though we hazard everything to do it."

"This is natur', and it is the law of God. But, Mabel, be calm,
and endivor to be cool. All that can be effected for the Sergeant
by human invention shall be done. I only ask you to be cool."

"I am, I am, Pathfinder. Never in my life was I more calm, more
collected, than at this moment. But remember how perilous may be
every instant; for Heaven's sake, what we do, let us do without
delay."

Pathfinder was struck with the firmness of Mabel's tones, and
perhaps he was a little deceived by the forced tranquillity and
self-possession she had assumed. At all events, he did not deem
any further explanations necessary, but descended forthwith, and
began to unbar the door. This delicate process was conducted with
the usual caution, but, as he warily permitted the mass of timber
to swing back on the hinges, he felt a pressure against it, that
had nearly induced him to close it again. But, catching a glimpse
of the cause through the crack, the door was permitted to swing
back, when the body of Sergeant Dunham, which was propped against
it, fell partly within the block. To draw in the legs and secure
the fastenings occupied the Pathfinder but a moment. Then there
existed no obstacle to their giving their undivided care to the
wounded man.

Mabel, in this trying scene, conducted herself with the sort of
unnatural energy that her sex, when aroused, is apt to manifest.
She got the light, administered water to the parched lips of her
father, and assisted Pathfinder in forming a bed of straw for his
body and a pillow of clothes for his head. All this was done
earnestly, and almost without speaking; nor did Mabel shed a tear,
until she heard the blessings of her father murmured on her head
for this tenderness and care. All this time Mabel had merely
conjectured the condition of her parent. Pathfinder, however,
had shown greater attention to the physical danger of the Sergeant.
He had ascertained that a rifle-ball had passed through the body
of the wounded man; and he was sufficiently familiar with injuries
of this nature to be certain that the chances of his surviving the
hurt were very trifling, if any.



CHAPTER XXIV.

Then drink my tears, while yet they fall --
Would that my bosom's blood were balm;
And -- well thou knowest -- I'd shed it all,
To give thy brow one minute's calm.
MOORE.


The eyes of Sergeant Dunham had not ceased to follow the form of
his beautiful daughter from the moment that the light appeared.
He next examined the door of the block, to ascertain its security;
for he was left on the ground below, there being no available
means of raising him to the upper floor. Then he sought the face
of Mabel; for as life wanes fast the affections resume their force,
and we begin to value that most which we feel we are about to lose
for ever.

"God be praised, my child! you, at least, have escaped their murderous
rifles," he said; for he spoke with strength, and seemingly with
no additional pain. "Give me the history of this sad business,
Pathfinder."

"Ah's me, Sergeant! It _has_ been sad, as you say. That there has
been treachery, and the position of the island has been betrayed,
is now as sartain, in my judgment, as that we still hold
the block. But -- "

"Major Duncan was right," interrupted Dunham, laying a hand on the
other's arm.

"Not in the sense you mean, Sergeant -- no, not in that p'int
of view; never! At least, not in my opinion. I know that natur'
is weak -- human natur', I mean -- and that we should none of
us vaunt of our gifts, whether red or white; but I do not think a
truer-hearted lad lives on the lines than Jasper Western."

"Bless you! bless you for that, Pathfinder!" burst forth from Mabel's
very soul, while a flood of tears gave vent to emotions that were
so varied while they were so violent. "Oh, bless you, Pathfinder,
bless you! The brave should never desert the brave -- the honest
should sustain the honest."

The father's eyes were fastened anxiously on the face of his daughter,
until the latter hid her countenance in her apron to conceal her
tears; and then they turned with inquiry to the hard features of the
guide. The latter merely wore their usual expression of frankness,
sincerity, and uprightness; and the Sergeant motioned to him to
proceed.

"You know the spot where the Sarpent and I left you, Sergeant,"
Pathfinder resumed; "and I need say nothing of all that happened
afore. It is now too late to regret what is gone and passed; but
I do think if I had stayed with the boats this would not have come
to pass. Other men may be as good guides -- I make no doubt they
are; but then natur' bestows its gifts, and some must be better
than other some. I daresay poor Gilbert, who took my place, has
suffered for his mistake."

"He fell at my elbow," the Sergeant answered in a low melancholy
tone. "We have, indeed, all suffered for our mistakes."

"No, no, Sergeant, I meant no condemnation on you; for men were
never better commanded than yourn, in this very expedition. I never
beheld a prettier flanking; and the way in which you carried your
own boat up ag'in their howitzer might have teached Lundie himself
a lesson."

The eyes of the Sergeant brightened, and his face even wore
an expression of military triumph, though it was of a degree that
suited the humble sphere in which he had been an actor.

"'Twas not badly done, my friend," said he; "and we carried their
log breastwork by storm."

"'Twas nobly done, Sergeant; though, I fear, when all the truth
comes to be known, it will be found that these vagabonds have got
their howitzer back ag'in. Well, well, put a stout heart upon it,
and try to forget all that is disagreeable, and to remember only
the pleasant part of the matter. That is your truest philosophy;
ay, and truest religion too. If the inimy has got the howitzer
ag'in, they've only got what belonged to them afore, and what we
couldn't help. They haven't got the blockhouse yet, nor are they
likely to get it, unless they fire it in the dark. Well, Sergeant,
the Sarpent and I separated about ten miles down the river; for
we thought it wisest not to come upon even a friendly camp without
the usual caution. What has become of Chingachgook I cannot say;
though Mabel tells me he is not far off, and I make no question
the noble-hearted Delaware is doing his duty, although he is not
now visible to our eyes. Mark my word, Sergeant, before this matter
is over we shall hear of him at some critical time and that in a
discreet and creditable manner. Ah, the Sarpent is indeed a wise
and virtuous chief! and any white man might covet his gifts, though
his rifle is not quite as sure as Killdeer, it must be owned. Well,
as I came near the island I missed the smoke, and that put me on my
guard; for I knew that the men of the 55th were not cunning enough
to conceal that sign, notwithstanding all that has been told them
of its danger. This made me more careful, until I came in sight
of this mockfisherman, as I've just told Mabel; and then the whole
of their infernal arts was as plain before me as if I saw it on a
map. I need not tell you, Sergeant, that my first thoughts were
of Mabel; and that, finding she was in the block, I came here, in
order to live or die in her company."

The father turned a gratified look upon his child; and Mabel felt
a sinking of the heart that at such a moment she could not have
thought possible, when she wished to believe all her concern centred
in the situation of her parent. As the latter held out his hand,
she took it in her own and kissed it. Then, kneeling at his side,
she wept as if her heart would break.

"Mabel," said he steadily, "the will of God must be done. It
is useless to attempt deceiving either you or myself; my time has
come, and it is a consolation to me to die like a soldier. Lundie
will do me justice; for our good friend Pathfinder will tell him
what has been done, and how all came to pass. You do not forget
our last conversation?"

"Nay, father, my time has probably come too," exclaimed Mabel, who
felt just then as if it would be a relief to die. "I cannot hope
to escape; and Pathfinder would do well to leave us, and return to
the garrison with the sad news while he can."

"Mabel Dunham," said Pathfinder reproachfully, though he took
her hand with kindness, "I have not desarved this. I know
I am wild, and uncouth, and ungainly -- "

"Pathfinder!"

"Well, well, we'll forget it; you did not mean it, you could not
think it. It is useless now to talk of escaping, for the Sergeant
cannot be moved; and the blockhouse must be defended, cost what it
will. Maybe Lundie will get the tidings of our disaster, and send
a party to raise the siege."

"Pathfinder -- Mabel!" said the Sergeant, who had been writhing
with pain until the cold sweat stood on his forehead; "come both
to my side. You understand each other, I hope?"

"Father, say nothing of that; it is all as you wish."

"Thank God! Give me your hand, Mabel -- here, Pathfinder, take it.
I can do no more than give you the girl in this way. I know you
will make her a kind husband. Do not wait on account of my death;
but there will be a chaplain in the fort before the season closes,
and let him marry you at once. My brother, if living, will wish to
go back to his vessel, and then the child will have no protector.
Mabel, your husband will have been my friend, and that will be
some consolation to you, I hope."

"Trust this matter to me, Sergeant," put in Pathfinder; "leave it
all in my hands as your dying request; and, depend on it, all will
go as it should."

"I do, I do put all confidence in you, my trusty friend, and empower
you to act as I could act myself in every particular. Mabel, child,
-- hand me the water, -- you will never repent this night. Bless
you, my daughter! God bless, and have you in His holy keeping!"

This tenderness was inexpressibly touching to one of Mabel's feelings;
and she felt at that moment as if her future union with Pathfinder
had received a solemnization that no ceremony of the Church could
render more holy. Still, a weight, as that of a mountain, lay
upon her heart, and she thought it would be happiness to die. Then
followed a short pause, when the Sergeant, in broken sentences,
briefly related what had passed since he parted with Pathfinder
and the Delaware. The wind had come more favorable; and, instead
of encamping on an island agreeably to the original intention, he
had determined to continue, and reach the station that night. Their
approach would have been unseen, and a portion of the calamity
avoided, he thought, had they not grounded on the point of a
neighboring island, where, no doubt, the noise made by the men in
getting off the boat gave notice of their approach, and enabled
the enemy to be in readiness to receive them. They had landed
without the slightest suspicion of danger, though surprised at not
finding a sentinel, and had actually left their arms in the boat,
with the intention of first securing their knapsacks and provisions.
The fire had been so close, that, notwithstanding the obscurity,
it was very deadly. Every man had fallen, though two or three
subsequently arose and disappeared. Four or five of the soldiers
had been killed, or so nearly so as to survive but a few minutes;
though, for some unknown reason, the enemy did not make the usual
rush for the scalps. Sergeant Dunham fell with the others; and he
had heard the voice of Mabel, as she rushed from the blockhouse.
This frantic appeal aroused all his parental feelings, and had
enabled him to crawl as far as the door of the building, where he
had raised himself against the logs in the manner already mentioned.

After this simple explanation was made, the Sergeant was so weak
as to need repose, and his companions, while they ministered to
his wants, suffered some time to pass in silence. Pathfinder took
the occasion to reconnoitre from the loops and the roof, and he
examined the condition of the rifles, of which there were a dozen
kept in the building, the soldiers having used their regimental
muskets in the expedition. But Mabel never left her father's side
for an instant; and when, by his breathing, she fancied he slept,
she bent her knees and prayed.

The half-hour that succeeded was awfully solemn and still. The
moccasin of Pathfinder was barely heard overhead, and occasionally
the sound of the breech of a rifle fell upon the floor, for he
was busied in examining the pieces, with a view to ascertain the
state of their charges and their primings. Beyond this, nothing
was so loud as the breathing of the wounded man. Mabel's heart
yearned to be in communication with the father she was so soon to
lose, and yet she would not disturb his apparent repose. But Dunham
slept not; he was in that state when the world suddenly loses its
attractions, its illusions, and its power; and the unknown future
fills the mind with its conjectures, its revelations, and its
immensity. He had been a moral man for one of his mode of life,
but he had thought little of this all-important moment. Had the
din of battle been ringing in his ears, his martial ardor might
have endured to the end; but there, in the silence of that nearly
untenanted blockhouse, with no sound to enliven him, no appeal to
keep alive factitious sentiment, no hope of victory to impel, things
began to appear in their true colors, and this state of being to
be estimated at its just value. He would have given treasures for
religious consolation, and yet he knew not where to turn to seek
it. He thought of Pathfinder, but he distrusted his knowledge. He
thought of Mabel, but for the parent to appeal to the child for
such succor appeared like reversing the order of nature. Then it
was that he felt the full responsibility of the parental character,
and had some clear glimpse of the manner in which he himself had
discharged the trust towards an orphan child. While thoughts like
these were rising in his mind, Mabel, who watched the slightest change
in his breathing, heard a guarded knock at the door. Supposing it
might be Chingachgook, she rose, undid two of the bars, and held
the third in her hand, as she asked who was there. The answer
was in her uncle's voice, and he implored her to give him instant
admission. Without an instant of hesitation, she turned the bar,
and Cap entered. He had barely passed the opening, when Mabel
closed the door again, and secured it as before, for practice had
rendered her expert in this portion of her duties.