John Lothrop Motley - "History of the United Netherlands, 1598"

Fr. Vincent de Paul - "Memoir"

Ann S. Stephens - "The Old Homestead"

Charlotte M. Yonge - "Lady Hester or, Ursula's Narrative"

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 Junior Classics Volume 8

S >> Selected and arranged by William Patten >> The Junior Classics Volume 8




There were other features of the place, however, which it would be
difficult to find anywhere except in Central Africa. After I had
taken possession of my room, and eaten breakfast with my host, I
went out to look at the garden. On each side of the steps leading
down from the door sat two apes, who barked and snapped at me. The
next thing I saw was a leopard tied to the trunk of an orange-tree.
I did not dare to go within reach of his rope, although I
afterwards became well acquainted with him. A little farther, there
was a pen of gazelles and an antelope with immense horns; then two
fierce, bristling hyenas; and at last, under a shed beside the
stable, a full-grown lioness sleeping in the shade. I was greatly
surprised when the consul went up to her, lifted up her head,
opened her jaws so as to show the shining white tusks, and finally
sat down upon her hack.

She accepted these familiarities so good-naturedly that I made bold
to pat her head also. In a day or two we were great friends; she
would spring about with delight whenever she saw me, and would purr
like a cat whenever I sat upon her back. I spent an hour or two
every day among the animals, and found them all easy to tame except
the hyenas, which would gladly have bitten me if I had allowed them
a chance. The leopard, one day, bit me slightly on the hand; but I
punished him by pouring several buckets of water over him, and he
was always very amiable after that. The beautiful little gazelles
would cluster around me, thrusting up their noses into my hand, and
saying "Wow! wow!" as plainly as I write it. But none of these
animals attracted me as much as the big lioness. She was always
good-humored, though occasionally so lazy that she would not even
open her eyes when I sat down on her shoulder. She would sometimes
catch my foot in her paws as a kitten catches a ball, and try to
make a plaything of it,--yet always without thrusting out her
claws. Once she opened Her mouth, and gently took one of my legs in
her jaws for a moment; and the very next instant she put out her
tongue and licked my hand. There seemed to be almost as much of the
dog as of the cat in her nature. We all know, however, that there
are differences of character among animals as there are among men;
and my favorite probably belonged to a virtuous and respectable
family of lions.


The day after my arrival I went with the consul to visit the pacha,
who lived in a large mud palace on the bank of the Blue Nile. He
received us very pleasantly, and invited us to take seats in the
shady court-yard. Here there was a huge panther tied to one of the
pillars, while a little lion, about eight months old, ran about
perfectly loose. The pacha called the latter, which came springing
and frisking towards him. "Now," said he, "we will have some fun."
He then made the lion lie down behind one of the pillars, and
called to one of the black boys to go across the court-yard on some
errand. The lion lay quite still until the boy came opposite to the
pillar, when he sprang out after him. The boy ran, terribly
frightened; but the lion reached him in five or six leaps, sprang
upon his back and threw him down, and then went back to the pillar
as if quite satisfied with his exploit. Although the boy was not
hurt in the least, it seemed to me like a cruel piece of fun.

The pacha, nevertheless, laughed very heartily, and told us that he
had himself trained the lion to frighten the boys.


Presently the little lion went away, and when we came to look for
him, we found him lying on one of the tables in the kitchen of the
palace, apparently very much interested in watching the cook. The
latter told us that the animal sometimes took small pieces of meat,
but seemed to know that it was not permitted, for he would run away
afterwards in great haste. What I saw of lions during my residence
in Khartoum satisfied me that they are not very difficult to tame,
only, as they belong to the cat family, no dependence can be placed
on their continued good behavior....


Although I was glad to leave that wild town, with its burning
climate, and retrace the long way back to Egypt, across the
Desert and down the Nile, I felt very sorry at being obliged to
take leave forever of all my pets. The little gazelles said, "Wow!
wow!" in answer to my "Good-bye"; the hyenas howled and tried to
bite, just as much as ever; but the dear old lioness I know would
have been sorry if she could have understood that I was going. She
frisked around me, licked my hand, and I took her great tawny head
into my arms, and gave her a kiss. Since then I have never had a
lion for a pet, and may never have one again. I must confess I am
sorry for it; for I still retain my love for lions (four-footed
ones, I mean), to this day.




MY FIGHT WITH A CATAMOUNT

By Allen French


My guide, Alaric, and I had gone in after moose to the country
beyond Mud Brook, in Maine. There its watershed between the east
branch and the west is cut up into valleys, in one or another of
which a herd of moose, in winter, generally takes up quarters. It
was not yet yarding-time, for the snow was still only about four
inches deep, making it just right for the moose-hunter who is at
the same time a sportsman.

Our task was a slow one; we had to examine each valley for moose
tracks, tramping up one side and down the other, or as we usually
managed it, separating at the valley's mouth, each taking a side,
meeting at the end and then, if unsuccessful, taking the quickest
way back to camp.

And unsuccessful we were, since for three days we found no trail.
But Alaric was not in the least discouraged.

"You can never tell about moose," he said; "they travel so. There
were moose in this country before the snow, and there are moose
within a day's walk of us now. It's just as I told you; we may have
to spend five days in finding where they are."

It was on the second day that we found that, while after moose, we
had been tracked by a catamount. The print of its paw was
generously large.

"I've seen bigger," said Alaric, "but this feller's big enough.
He's just waiting round, I guess, so as to get some of the meat we
kill. We'll remember him," he said, looking up at me as he knelt on
the snow, "so's to see that he doesn't spoil the hide or the head."

I accepted the theory, and thought little more of the matter for
twenty-four hours.

At the end of the third day we found that the catamount had for a
second time been following our trail--not only _our_ trail,
but also _mine._

He had followed me all day as I walked along the hillside, looking
ahead and on both sides, but seldom behind. Alaric examined his
tracks carefully for half a mile.

"He was in sight of you all the way," he said. "See here, where he
stood for some time, just shifting about in one place, watching?" I
saw--and thought.

After a while, it seemed to me, a catamount might get tired of
waiting for us to kill his meat, and would start in to kill it for
himself. Unquestionably the easiest game for him to get would be
human.

For there were no deer in the region, and the caribou were all
herded on Katahdin and Traveller. The previous severe winter had
decimated the partridges, and big is the catamount that will tackle
a moose. I mentioned the theory to Alaric.

"Um--yes, perhaps," he said, and eyed me dubiously.

Then I wished that I had not said anything. It is not well to let
your guide think that you are afraid.

In the morning, when we had attained our valley's mouth, Alaric was
about to keep with me, instead of leaving me as before; but that
made our hunting much slower, for we could cover much less ground,
and I sent him around the other way.

"All right," said he. "But keep a good lookout behind you now."

He disappeared in a cedar swamp, and I made my way along the slope
of a hill. I watched indeed behind as well as in front, and in
every fox's track I crossed I saw a catamount's, until finally I
got used to the situation, and believed that the "Indian devil" had
concluded to let me alone.

The day was fine. The sun shone bright, and the softening snow,
dropping from the upper branches of the trees, kept up a constant
movement in the woods. I took and held a good pace, and with my
eyes searching the snow ahead and on all sides of me for signs of
moose, walked for a full hour, seeing nothing living but the
woodpeckers and the chickadees, hearing nothing but the rustle of
the branches, as released of their loads they sprang back into
place. Then, quite needlessly, I found insecure footing under the
snow, and plunged suddenly at full length. My rifle whirled from my
hand with force, and I heard it strike against the uncovered top of
a sugar-loaf stone. I jumped up in fear and hastily examined it.
The breech was shattered--my rifle was as useless as any stick.

Now I thought of the catamount, as, with the broken rifle in my
hands, I looked about me in the woods, bright with sun and snow. I
was not entirely helpless, for my revolver and knife were in my
belt.

Yet a thirty-eight calibre revolver, even with a long cartridge and
a long barrel, is not a sure defence against an animal as heavy as
myself, which in facing me would present for a mark only a round
head and a chest with muscles so thick and knotty that they would
probably stop any revolver bullet. I doubted my ability to hit the
eye.

Very likely I was no longer followed; and in any case, I might call
Alaric. And yet he was too far away for a shout to reach him, and I
dared not fire signal-shots, for in order to travel light, I had
left at camp all revolver cartridges but those in the chambers.

So I started at once for the bottom of the valley, hoping to strike
Alaric's trail on the opposite slope, and intending to follow it
until I caught him.

My rifle I left where it was; it was useless and heavy. I cast many
a glance behind me as, almost at a trot, I made my way down the
long hillside.

I strode on rapidly, for I had certainly a mile to cover before I
could strike Alaric's trail, much more before I could catch my
nimble guide. I was cheerful and unalarmed until, pausing to look
behind, I saw, a hundred yards away, a tawny animal quickly slip
behind a tree.

I hastily drew my revolver and knife; but no movement came from its
hidden breast, and rather than stand and wait, I pursued my
retreat. I moved more slowly, yet as fast as I could and still
guard myself against another fall and watch for a rush from behind.
I scanned the ground in front of me, and glanced back every second.
For some time I saw no more of the catamount.

But when I did see him, I was startled at his nearness; he was
within fifty yards. I hurried on as he slipped aside again; but
looking again in a moment, I saw him now following boldly upon my
trail. I stopped, but he stopped, too, and stood regarding me. He
was too far away for me to fire yet, and as he made no movement to
approach, I cautiously continued my retreat, always after a few
steps stopping to face him.

He stopped as I stopped, yet each time I turned away he came
quickly closer. I was already thinking of awaiting him without
further movement, when the way was blocked by a ravine.

It was cut by the stream that drained the valley, and its steep
sides were nearly fifteen feet in height. They even overhung in
places, but this I did not then know. I was in no mind to trust
myself in the deep gully, where the catamount might drop upon me
before I could scramble out upon the other side.

I walked into an open space, and took my stand close to a birch
that grew on the very edge of the bank. For thirty feet there was
no good cover for the catamount; so, armed and determined, I waited
his action.

The animal skirted the bushes about me, as if examining the ground,
and to my disappointment, began to come upon me along the edge of
the ravine. This gave him the best cover before his charge, and at
the same time assured him that the momentum of his rush would not
carry him tumbling into the gully. Always keeping too well
concealed for a good mark, he crept up behind a fallen tree, on the
near side of which a little bush grew, and flattened himself there,
watching me, I felt sure, and waiting, in the hope that he might
catch me off my guard.

I cannot describe how stealthy and noiseless and altogether perfect
his maneuvering was. Although the trees that grew about were all
small and the bushes bare, and although the white snow gave no
background for concealment, he covered himself so perfectly at one
time, and slipped in and out of sight so quickly at another, that
although I stood with revolver pointed and cocked, I could find no
opportunity for a shot.

As he circled for position he came ever nearer, and I could see at
one time the round head, with its short, pointed ears; at another
the long, sinuous, muscular body; but they moved so rapidly that
before I could shoot they were gone from sight.

All the time he made no sound but a little rustle. In his final
concealment I saw nothing of him but his tail, that twitched and
twitched and twitched.

At last I caught the glint of his pale green eye and fired. There
came a snarl from behind the bush, and it was dashed to one side
and the other, while round head and bared teeth and tawny body came
crashing through. I pulled trigger again, and the report sounded
muffled, and the smoke for an instant obscured the beast. All was
white, when, like a breath, it passed, and I saw the rushing
catamount not ten feet from me.

I had not time to fire or crouch, but with ready legs hurled myself
to one side, and threw my left arm around the tree that grew at the
edge of the bank. With an awful dread I felt the ground giving way
beneath me.

I dropped my knife and caught the tree closer, when it, too, leaned
to fall. It hung for a moment over the steep slope, and I could not
save myself. The frost had not clamped the over-hang to the solid
ground. The last fall rains had cut it under; the first spring thaw
would have brought it down, had not my weight been thrown upon it.

With a twist the tree and I fell together. I clutched my revolver
desperately, despite the sickening fear of the fall, and in my
grasp it exploded in mid air. Then I fell, and although my body
struck easily in the snow-covered ravine, my right hand had been
beaten against a sharp rock, and the birch was upon me so that I
could not move.

My legs were on the bank, and underneath the snow beneath my
shoulders I soon felt the ice, from which stones protruded. One
snow-covered rock received and supported my head. I lay upon my
right side, and my right hand, swinging in a curve, had struck with
force upon another stone, and lay upon the ice, the only part of my
body, except my head, which was free. My left arm was pressed close
to my side by the birch, which lay across my body and legs.

The weight was not so great but that I could have lifted it, could
I but have gained purchase. But I must at the same time lift my own
body, for my hips were lower than my feet, my shoulders lower than
my hips; and I could not gather ten pounds of force in that
position.

My fall confused me somewhat, and I could not at first feel
anything, either the pain in my hand or the danger I was in. I
noticed only the fine, powdery snow which, cast up by the fall,
settled upon me as I lay. Then I saw my arm, stretched out in front
of me, with a bloody hand at the end of it, and I came fully to
myself.

A pain shot from finger-tip to shoulder as I closed my hand tighter
upon the butt of the revolver. But I clenched my teeth and tried to
rise--tried twice more before I gave it up as hopeless. Then I
raised my hand and put it in a better position, propped upon a
stone.

The movements hurt me terribly, but I thought of the catamount,
which would surely not be satisfied with two bullets for its
breakfast. I was scarcely ready when the head of the beast was
thrust over the edge of the bank to look for me.

He saw, and gloated as a human enemy might have done. His savage
snarl was full of intelligence, and his slow approach was
deliberate torture. He stood for a moment in full view--then
slipped and slid down to the surface of the ice, where, ten yards
away, he stood and looked at me.

I saw his magnificent build, his superb muscular development, as
with his body in profile, his head turned toward me, he waited
before approaching, playing with my helplessness; but I was not
entirely helpless! With shaking hand I took aim; I could not use my
thumb to cock the revolver, but drew hard at the trigger, and the
hammer rose and fell.

My turn for gloating had come now, for the catamount was crying
with rage and pain. He fell writhing, striking with his forepaws at
the snow, and raising his head to snap at nothing; but this did not
last long. Slowly he dragged himself to a sitting posture, and I
could understand his plight and estimate my own danger.

My first two bullets had but torn his flesh. My last had broken his
back. He was paralyzed in his hind legs, as I have seen a deer, yet
he had many minutes to live, perhaps hours, and was strong and
angry enough to finish me. Painfully he started on that short
journey to me. With his forepaws, his claws digging the snow, he
began to drag himself toward me.

I could only wait. I had but one more shot, and wished to hold it
till he should be close; but my torn hand was weak, and the bruised
tendons had already begun to stiffen. Into that deep place, where
bank and trees overhung, the sun did not come, and I felt the cold
striking into my raw flesh. More than that, my weight upon my
shoulder began to cut off the blood from my arm. I felt pricking in
my flesh, my arm began to be numb, and I feared that I might not be
able to shoot.

If he could but hurry! He dragged himself at a snail's pace. It
would be so long before he came close that my hand would be
useless. Yet as he crawled directly at me, the mark was a poor one.
I saw with satisfaction that he would have to turn aside for one of
the rocks in his path. When at last he reached it, and began to
drag himself around it, he gave me my last chance.

I saw the space behind his shoulder, prayed that my bullet might
miss his ribs, summoned the last force at my almost dead hand, and
fired.

A little drift of air blew the smoke aside so quickly that I could
see the fur fly. He bit savagely at his side, but he crawled on
without stopping. From my numb hand the revolver fell without noise
in the snow--my fight was finished. He came on; he was only fifteen
feet away from me, when he stopped and coughed. Would he sink,
unable to move farther?

No; he started again! Although his legs dragged behind him,
impeding, although he left a red trail on the snow, and each step
forced a snarl from him, he came on. With glittering eyes and
hoarse breath, he forced himself to cross the last space. Minutes
passed before he was close enough to touch me.

Ah! Even as he turned toward my hand to seize it, even as I waited
to see, rather than feel, the crunching of my senseless arm, his
head drooped. He raised it once more, but his power was gone. He
laid his head, once so powerful, upon my hand, rested his body
against the stone, that stood high enough to support him, and
glared at me with his fierce, malignant eyes.

Then the fire changed in his eyes, clouded, flickered, glowed--went
out. The last breath was expelled with a wheeze. He was dead.

Then my own powers sank, and I thought that I was dying, too.
Somewhere in the midst of my faintness I had a sense as if I felt,
rather than heard, hasty, heavy footsteps on the bank above me. As
soon as I knew anything clearly, I knew that the tree had been
pulled away, and that Alaric was bending over me. He had, with ears
alert for any sound, and with footsteps kept as near to me as they
might be with obedience to my order, come rushing to my aid at the
sound at my first revolver-shot. But the distance was so great that
he did not arrive until my fight was over.




IN CANADA WITH A LYNX

By Roe L. Hendrick


This adventure came about through an invitation which Ray Churchill
received from his friend, Jacques Pourbiere of Two Rivers, New
Brunswick. Ray had half-promised to visit his New Brunswick
acquaintance during the deer-hunting season, and late in August was
reminded of the fact. A second letter came in September, the
carefully worded school English of the writer not being able to
conceal the warmth and urgency of the invitation.

So Ray telegraphed his acceptance, and four days later arrived at
Fredericton, where he secured a hunting license. The next morning
he reached Two Rivers, and Jacques met him with a span of ponies,
attached to a queer spring vehicle, mounted on wheels that seemed
out of all proportion to the body of the carriage. Ray wondered if
it was a relic of Acadia, but did not like to ask. They drove for a
dozen miles through a wooded and hilly country, and arrived at
their destination shortly before nightfall.

Jacques was quite alone at the time, as his parents had gone to
visit their older children along the St. John River. He promised
Ray at least one deer within a couple of days, and another within a
week.

The Pourbiere home resembled those of the better class of
_habitants_, but with a difference due to the greater prosperity
of the family in preceding generations. The main room had a huge
fireplace, used only occasionally, for there was an air-tight
stove connected with the chimney just above it, to afford
greater warmth in winter. The other rooms Were chiefly detached,
although there was an entry-like porch on the south front of the
living-room, and a huge door opening at the east end, both
connecting with the yard outside.

But the wood-shed, milk-house and summer kitchen were in the rear,
each being a rectangular building of heavy logs, with low lofts
above. The homestead was, in fact, a cluster of houses rather than
a single dwelling.

What most attracted Ray's attention were the huge bedsteads in the
living-room. They were tall four-posters, such as he had seen
elsewhere, but with the difference that a canopy covered them. Each
had a carved wooden frame, surmounting the top of the posts like a
roof. The wood was black with age, its surface being covered with
elaborate foliage and armorial devices, representing the toil of
some old French artisan of the seventeenth century. They probably
had been brought across the Atlantic by the original emigrant, and
carefully preserved ever since. They stood in diagonally opposite
corners of the room, and upheld the hugest of feather beds, with
gay, home-made worsted coverlets and valances that shamed the hues
of the rainbow. They certainly tempted to rest in that climate and
at that season, but would have seemed suffocating in a warmer
region.

That evening Ray said:

"See here, Jacques, you have double windows, with no way of opening
them that I can find, and your fireplace is closed to make a better
draft for this stove. I'm used to fresh air at night. If I leave
the end door ajar, you won't be afraid of burglars, will you?"

The Canadian shrugged his shoulders at this exhibition of his
guest's eccentricity, but his hospitality was more than equal to
the strain.

_"Non, non!"_ he replied. "Nobody rob. We nevaire lock doors
here," and his white teeth flashed.

Ray laughed softly as he thrust a billet of wood between the door
and its frame. "But why do you say 'br-r-r!' under your breath?" he
asked.

"Co-old before morning, ver' cold!"

"I know, but we'll be snug in bed, and won't feel it. You Canadians
wouldn't have so much consumption if you breathed purer air when
you slept."

_"Oui!"_ was the polite reply; and nothing more was said.

Long before dawn Ray sprang from bed, closed the door and stirred
up the fire. The moon, although low in the west, was still
brilliant when they made their way to where a stream trickled down
to Cedar Lake, and within a half-hour got their first deer, a fine
three-year-old buck.

They secured some smaller game during the morning, and in the
afternoon took the deer home, and skinned and dressed it. Most of
the carcass was hung up in the milk-room, but Jacques carried a
hind quarter in and suspended it beside the closed fireplace, later
cutting off steaks for supper and breakfast.

They passed a merry evening, each telling stories of his
experiences, which were so different in quality that they possessed
all the charm of novelty to the respective listeners. Again Ray set
the door ajar, after they had undressed, and in a few moments both
were asleep.

Several hours passed. Had either young man been awake, he might
have heard soft footfalls about the door. A squatty, heavily built
animal, with huge feet, bob tail, and pointed ears adorned with
tufts of hair, had traced the slaughtered deer to the farmhouse by
means of drops of blood, and now was searching eagerly for the
meat.

He sought the milk-room again and again, and even sprang to the
window-ledge, but could not get inside. Then he came back and
sniffed at the partly open door of the living-room.