George Eliot - "Middlemarch"

John Lothrop Motley - "The Life of John of Barneveld, 1618 19"

Rudyard Kipling - "The Light That Failed"

G.A. Henty - "With Lee in Virginia; A Story Of The American Civil War"

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




"I wish I could give you buckwheat," she remarked, "for it might be
more to your taste. You're not hungry? That's very strange. We
always are--when we're awake!" She finished her sentence with a
wide yawn, and Phil took this as a hint that she wanted to go to
sleep--which was indeed the case. He refused her kind offer of a
bed for the day, and the Urson then insisted upon showing him a
short cut through the wood. On the way he grew quite talkative.

"That's a Bee-tree," he said, as they passed a big maple with a
hollow trunk. "The Bees may thank me that the Bears have not robbed
them of their wealth long before now. That crooked branch, just
half-way up, is a favourite resting-place of mine, and I allow no
trespassing. If a Bear appears and begins to climb with the idea of
scooping out honey from the entrance some feet higher, I go to meet
him; Bears have tender noses, and don't care for quills. So they
growl a bit and go down more quickly than they came up ... I
wouldn't part with my quills for the strongest teeth in the world."

"Your own teeth seem a very good size," said Phil, taking a look at
them.

"They're not so bad," said the Urson, modestly. "But I use them
chiefly for stripping bark from the trees. As weapons of defence
they would not serve me, for if I tried to bite I should expose my
throat and nose, which are the unprotected parts of my body. If
ever you see me asleep, you will notice that I hide my head between
my forepaws; never expose your weak spot, you know!"

They had come to an open space, and the sun shone down upon them
with glowing ardour; the Urson thought of his cool dark den, and
hastily wished Phil "good-bye."

"There's 'Peeshoo' again," he said. "Have a chat with her if you
like, but don't tell her where I live, or about my son. He's too
young to show fight yet. Good day to you."

He walked off in that precise, deliberate way of his, but Phil was
not to be left alone. The Lynx that he had caught sight of on the
branch of the tree some time ago had been awaiting her opportunity,
and came running towards him with a series of noiseless bounds. Her
back was arched, and her feet outspread; she was not unlike a
long-bodied and heavily-built cat, Phil thought, though her
peculiar erect ears, tipped by an upright tuft of coarse black
bristles, proclaimed her at once as the Lynx of North America, of
which the Beavers had already told him. Her powerful feet were
furnished with large white claws, almost hidden in her thick fur;
her face was round, and her eyes as sharp and piercing as those of
all her kind. She reached Phil's side as silently as if she were
shod with velvet, and greeted him as if she had not seen him
before.

"Come and sit by me, you lonely little fellow," she purred.
"No--you needn't be frightened. ('I wasn't,' said Phil.) The only
creatures that are afraid of me are the Hares and Foxes, and if I
didn't eat them they would soon overrun the whole place; I do it
out of kindness, you know."

She had seated herself on the ground as she was speaking, and made
a soft and comfortable heap of fur. But Phil, though he, too, felt
sleepy in the warm sunshine, was both to do as she suggested and
use her back as a cushion.

"I've been very unjustly blamed," she began in a plaintive voice,
when she had asked him what colour he thought her eyes, and whether
he considered her fur becoming. "Settlers say that I am in the
habit of dropping from trees on to the backs of Deer, and tearing
their throats. They must mistake the Puma for me,--isn't it too
bad?"

"Much too bad," agreed Phil, though he wondered a little if she
were as innocent as she would have him believe. It was only
politeness that kept him beside her, for he wanted to play with the
Squirrels, who were much more to his liking. He could see one now
beckoning to him from a great maple, as if he was very anxious to
tell him something that he had heard. With a great effort Phil
turned his attention to "Peeshoo"; she was talking of the
Wolverene, which he could see that she did not love.

"He was so abominably greedy," she said, "and Wanted our share as
well as his own. Quite early this morning he was after one of my
Hares; it was a remarkably active little creature, and soon left
him in the lurch. He caught a Rabbit or two and a few Birds, and
might have been satisfied with those. But no--he wanted something
larger, and ventured so near the mountains that a Grizzly Bear, who
had strolled down to see what these woods were like, found him
nosing about his breakfast, which he had just killed. What he said
to the Grizzly I don't know, but it couldn't have pleased him, for
with a single blow of his heavy paw the great Bear struck him down.
That Wolverene will never try to rob me of my Hares again!"

"Was he _quite_ killed?" Phil asked her anxiously, and
"Peeshoo" smiled an ugly smile that showed her teeth and made Phil
draw away from her.

"Don't you know yet what the paw of a big Grizzly is, child? It
would kill a man, let alone an animal like the Wolverene. I keep
out of the way of the Grizzlies myself--I find it wiser, and so
will you."

But Phil knew well that even a Grizzly would not harm him, and he
had always been fond of Bears. Some day he would go and see them;
they were brave creatures, at any rate, and could tell him much
that he longed to know.

"Peeshoo" talked on, but he scarcely heard her. So the Wolverene
had been killed himself, instead of killing the Beavers, and for
the present at least they would be safe. How glad Father Beaver
would be, he thought; it was good news this time that he had to
tell him, and as soon as he could get rid of "Peeshoo" he would
hasten back to the colony. He did not mention the Beavers to her,
for he thought it quite possible that she might eat other small
animals besides Foxes and Hares; and he was learning to be very
careful not to injure his friends.

When "Peeshoo's" hunger grew stronger than her interest in her
companion, Phil and she parted company. Phil went straight to the
river, and followed its course until he came to the Beavers'
dome-shaped houses. Of the Beavers themselves there was no sign.

"I'll explore one of their tunnels," thought Phil. He dived into
the river, using his right leg instead of a tail to splash the
water as the Beavers did, and soon found a Beaver's hole.

"Anyone at home?" he sang out gaily, as he ran through the tunnel's
twists and turns.

"We're here!" cried Mother Beaver from its innermost recesses; and
there Phil found her with her young ones, looking most forlorn.

"What is the matter?" he asked, for he had never seen her so
distressed. She was shaking all over as she told him, and her voice
was broken with sobs.

The night before, it seemed, almost immediately after Phil had left
them, the Wolverene had made an unexpected attack. All had seemed
safe, and the Beavers had for a moment relaxed their guard.
Dropping from the branches of a tree into their very midst, the
Wolverene had pounced on a plump young Beaver just then engaged in
felling a willow sapling; in spite of his struggles there had been
no chance for him, and the Wolverene had eaten him then and there.
Not content with this, he had taken his stand upon the river bank,
intent on further prey. The young Beavers were trembling still, and
even the bravest of their elders were afraid to venture out from
their retreat.

When Mother Beaver heard what had happened to the Wolverene in the
early morning, she could scarcely contain herself for joy, and
Father Beaver, who had sought his family in vain in the winter
houses, where many of the colony had taken refuge, would have
embraced Phil had he known how. He straightway planned a wonderful
new dam that should put the old one to shame; and the number of
trees the Beavers felled that night was simply marvellous. Nowhere
along the river banks were more contented creatures than they; and
many a timid wood thing, unknown to them, shared their thanksgiving
that the Wolverene was dead.

Father Beaver was interested to learn from Phil of the Hackees'
narrow escape.

"We have all our foes," he said, "and must fight them as best we
can, with our wits or our teeth, the weapons Nature has given us.
That Stoat you saw will perhaps be trapped this winter; his
brownish coat will turn pure white when the snow comes, and he will
be called an 'Ermine' instead of a 'Stoat'; and then the hunters
will be after him."

"Then the Ermine and the Stoat are the same creature?" cried Phil
in amazement.

"The very same," said Father Beaver, "and Ermine fur is more
valuable than our own. All sorts of traps will be set for him, for
as his coat will be the same colour as the snow, it will be almost
impossible for the fur hunters to take him in any other way."

"I wonder _why_ his fur turns white in winter?" Phil said,
thoughtfully.

Father Beaver looked thoughtful too. "It is said to keep him much
warmer than if it were dark," he remarked: "But I should think that
it is so that he may not readily be seen against the snow. Perhaps
that is Nature's way of taking care of him. We are all her
children. But these are things that neither you nor I can
understand."



SHIPS OF THE DESERT

By Lillian M. Gask

"I wonder where I shall find a Camel," said Phil to himself. Not
even the Arab Horses, far-famed and lovely as they were, could for
him compare in interest with the "ships of the desert," without
whose aid, Nature had told him the burning sands would be more
impassable than tractless seas. He had seen a Camel once in a
travelling menagerie; a depressed and shaggy Camel, with dim,
lack-lustre eyes and a rough coat. He wondered if the Camels in
Arabia would look like that.

There was no breeze now, and the thin blue smoke that rose above
the chimneys of the distant houses hung lazily in the sky. Phil had
walked far since he left the mountain, and although a tawny
Butterfly with an oblique white bar across the tip of her forewings
had stayed her flight in passing, it had only been to wish him a
pleasant journey. The sands of the desert plains stretched far to
left and right in the broiling sunshine, looking like tracts of
gold. Phil's eyes were dazzled by the glare; he sought the shade of
a palm tree and leant against its slender trunk.

Presently he became aware that something was watching him from a
sandy bank not far away. It was a Lizard--surely the queerest
Lizard that Nature had ever made. His body was covered with shining
scales, like those of most of his kindred, but his fat tail, ringed
with thorn-like spines, was very curious, and his big teeth, set
far apart in his funny mouth, were too large for his small round
head.

He gazed at Phil in quizzical amusement, and asked him what he
wanted in Arabia.

"To see a Camel," Phil replied, and the Lizard gave a dry little
chuckle.

"You will have to go down to the plains for that," he said, "and
the wind will blow the sand into your eyes. Better stay here with
me. The shade is pleasant, and dates are sweet."

Phil shook his head.

"I have come a long way to see the Camel," he persisted. "Have I
far to go before I shall find him?"

The Thorny-tailed Lizard--for this was he--blinked several times
before he spoke again.

"Not far for you," he said at last, "for Nature has given you
invisible wings to your feet. Before you go have a look at my
burrow. It is a simple little affair, but very comfortable, and
when I tuck my head and body inside it I am quite safe. If the
Arabs, who find me as dainty eating as they do Locusts, try to pull
me out by my tail, it comes off in their hands, and I grow another.
He! he! he!"

The Lizard was quite a character in his way, and Phil spent a
pleasant half-hour with him. His burrow, though only a deep long
hole in the sand-bank, was very cosy, and Mrs. Thorny-tail was most
intelligent. She had a great deal to say to Phil about a demure Red
Locust who showed some inclination, to bite him as he bade her
farewell at the entrance to the burrow.

"He belongs to the same family as the Grasshoppers," she remarked,
as, much discomfited at what she said to him, the Locust flew away.
"But instead of leaping through the air as they do, he uses his
strong wings, which carry him very far."

"He scarcely looks large enough to do all the harm they say," said
Phil, who had heard of him from the Butterfly. "I should have
thought him quite a harmless creature if I had not known."

"A swarm of his family can make a green land desolate," returned
the Lizard. "Small things can do much mischief, as you will learn
when you grow older. There is nothing safe from Locusts. They have
even been known in the Strait of Ormuz to settle on a ship, and, by
devouring the sails and cordage, oblige the captain to stay his
course. What? You are still thinking about your Camels? Well, ask
for 'Maherry' when you reach the Arabs' dwellings. He is the
fleetest Heirie in Arabia."

"Is a 'Heirie' the same as a Camel?" Phil inquired. But the
Thorny-tailed Lizard had already tucked her head into her burrow,
and soon was lost to sight.

A Weaver Bird fluttered from the palm tree in a state of wild
alarm.

"There's a Viper under that stone," she cried, "Do send him off. He
makes my heart beat so that I can scarcely hear myself twitter."

Phil turned it over, and a Snake wriggled away as if he had no wish
that Phil should see his face. The Weaver Bird thanked Phil with
many words.

"He has been watching me all the morning," she said, "with those
dreadful eyes of his. I am thankful that he has gone, though my
young ones have flown now, and my mind is at peace. Won't you stay
and look at my nest? We made it all ourselves, I and my mate, and
it is quite worth seeing."

It hung from a fairly high branch, and could only be reached by
means of a long narrow entrance, most elaborately woven of grass
and twigs, somewhat in the shape of an old-fashioned netted purse.
This, she told him, was to keep away poisonous Snakes and
mischievous Monkeys, who would otherwise have helped themselves to
her eggs, or feasted upon her fledglings.

"We had to keep a sharp look out, their father and I," she added,
putting her small black head pensively on one side as she thought
of the troubles of married life, "for Birds have many enemies here.
Sometimes we hang our nests from the boughs of trees on the bank of
a stream or river, but then there are Water Rats as well as Snakes,
and it is wonderful how far they can jump."

And on she chattered, giving Phil her history from the day of her
birth, and confiding to him how grieved her mate had been in spring
because he could not sing.

"But when we began to build our nest," she went on happily, "he was
too busy to think about such nonsense, and there is no good in
crying for what you cannot have! If you will wait a little while
you will see him. Are you going far?--'To find Maherry?' Why, you
are almost there. Just go straight on until you come to a house
with a white mark over the lintel. He lives in the shed beside it."

Following her directions, Phil steered his course by the blue smoke
that he had seen in the distance, and presently found the house
that she had described. It was roughly built and very old; it
looked as if it had been there for centuries. The door of the shed
was open, and Phil slipped quietly in. A slender Camel, resting on
the ground in a kneeling position, looked solemnly up at him from
beneath his long thick lashes, and waited for him to speak.

"Are you Maherry?" he said, touching the reddish-grey coat that for
all its thickness was as soft as silk.

"I am Maherry," the Camel answered, stirring a little so that Phil
might find room beside him on his couch of date leaves. "I have
just come a long journey across the desert, and my limbs are weary,
or I would rise."

"Why do they call you the Heirie? You look just like the one-humped
Camel I saw in my picture book, and he was a Dromedary."

Maherry raised his head.

"I am sometimes called that too. Dromedaries or Heiries are one and
the same animal. Heiries are more slenderly built and far more
fleet than ordinary Camels, whether they are one-humped and
Arabian, or Bactrian, with two humps. To an Arab 'Fleet as the
Heirie' means 'fleet as the wind.' We are the Camels of Oman, and
can travel through the desert without stopping for several days and
nights. Thus we reach the end of our journeys quickly, and our
masters cry: 'It is well!' In days of old the Arabs said: 'When
thou shalt meet a Heirie and say to the rider 'Peace be between
us,' ere he shall have answered 'There is peace between us,' he
will be far off, for his swiftness is like the wind.'"

"Are they kind to you, these masters of yours, Maherry?"

The Heirie laughed softly.

"Ay," he said, "or we should not serve them half so well. The
service of love is swifter than the service of fear; the Turks, who
treat their Camels more as you do the Ass in England, find them
neither so willing nor so tractable, though all Camels are by
nature patient, and strong to endure. Here in Arabia a young Camel
is fondled as if it were a baby. 'A child is born to us,' cry our
master's family; and silver charms are hung on our heads and about
our necks, while we are encouraged to take our first steps by music
and song."

The Heirie paused. The tinkling of bells came softly through the
open door, and Phil, looking eagerly round it, saw a long
procession of Camels wending its way through the town. They were
heavily laden, and trod as if they were very tired. As they reached
an open space behind the market their masters called a halt.

"It is four o'clock, and the end of one stage of their journey,"
said Maherry. "Go you and watch them; and do not give too much heed
if they dispute with each other when they are unloaded. It is the
end of the day, and their burdens were heavy."

Phil drew the door of the Heirie's shed quickly behind him, and
hastened through the market place, where another time he would have
wished to linger. Pink and white sweetmeats were spread out
temptingly; luscious black figs, and grapes and peaches covered the
low stalls; sweet-smelling spices and aromatic herbs made the air
fragrant, and dark-skinned Arabs showed weapons and ornaments,
cunningly wrought in precious metals. But it was only the Camels
Phil wanted to see just then, and he did not stop until he had
reached them.

They were much larger than the Heirie; most of them were brown, but
some light grey, and one, who bore the heaviest load of all, a
snowy white. His master called him "Aleppo," and chided him gently
for his weariness. Phil made himself known to him as he knelt to be
unloaded, throwing the weight of his body on the thick elastic pads
that Nature had given him on his broad chest and on each elbow and
knee of his fore-limbs. These elastic cushions, Phil saw, were on
the front of his hind knees too, and smaller ones upon his hocks.

"This is so that in kneeling, our natural position of rest,
wherever the weight of our bodies is thrown, our shins are
protected," said Aleppo. "I am hungry and thirsty now, but
presently we will talk."

The unloading of the Camels took some time. As they were released
from their burdens they rose to their feet again, and the way in
which some of them scuffled and kicked their neighbours reminded
Phil of Maherry's words. It was strange to see them wrestling
together, now and then giving each other an apparently savage bite,
and Phil was glad when the Arabs brought them their evening
meal--date leaves and thorny shrubs, with leaves and branches of
the tamarisk tree, and some dry black beans that looked as hard as
stones. But the Camels, kneeling round the baggage, scrunched them
thankfully, their strong teeth making this an easy matter, and drew
in leaves and branches with their cleft lips. Ere long Aleppo,
declaring himself refreshed, suggested that Phil should come close
beside him, so that they could talk more easily.

As Phil leant comfortably against his hump he was struck with its
ungainliness, and asked:

"Don't you wish you hadn't a hump, Aleppo?"

Aleppo nearly upset him by the sudden start he gave.

"Why, my hump is my greatest treasure," he replied. "But for that,
I should have often dropped from starvation when provisions ran
short in the desert. When a Camel once falls it seldom rises to its
feet again, and the Vultures claim it as their own. The first thing
an Arab does when he is starting on a journey is to look to his
animal's hump, for without the nourishment stored up for him in
this, the Camel would often be in a bad way. Once our humps are
exhausted, it takes three or four months of rest and good feeding
to bring them up again."

"But _how_ do you 'feed' on them, Aleppo?"

"We absorb the fat of which they are composed into our system,"
said Aleppo, "just as, in colder regions of the earth, the Bears,
during their long winter sleep live on the thick layer of fat
stored up for them during the autumn beneath their skins."

"Is there water in your hump, too?" asked Phil. "I often used to
wonder when I heard about you how you can go as many days without
it as they say you do when you are crossing the desert."

"No," said Aleppo, with a wide grin. "We hold our stores of water
in what you might call a 'reservoir' of deep honeycomb cells inside
our paunch. These cells hold altogether as much as six quarts of
fluid, and when we have taken a long drink the mouth of each cell
contracts, so that the water is prevented from mixing with our
food.

"Some Camels can go longer without drinking than others. This is
because they can dilate these cells, and so carry a larger supply
of water. It is said"--his voice became very mournful, and he
stopped scrunching the dry jeans--"that rather than die of thirst
the Arabs have been known to kill us in the wilderness, that they
might steal the water yet remaining in our cells! But I can
scarcely, believe it!"

Phil was deeply impressed.

"Is there any other animal in the world so wonderfully made as you
are?" he asked.

Aleppo looked at him with a kind smile, for he, in common with
every living creature, was glad to be appreciated.

"There are many just as wonderful in their own way," he said, "but
the only other animal I know of who has this 'reservoir' inside him
is the Llama. In the mountainous regions of Chili and Peru he fills
our place as servant to man."

Phil waited to hear more, but Aleppo was trapped in thought.

The dusk had gathered; the sellers from the market place had gone
away, and as the brilliant stars flamed in the heavens one by one,
a hush fell over the scene. Suddenly Aleppo raised his head; from
afar off came the jangling of many bells, the sound of flutes and
flageolets, of the beating of drums and of shouts of exultation.

"It is a caravan of pilgrims," said Aleppo, "on their way to the
Holy City, where, enthroned upon a Camel, Mohammed gave the law.
The pilgrims travel by night; they started only a few hours since,
and this is not one of their halting places, so you will see them
pass."

The cavalcade came nearer. Phil could see now the lighted torches
that the pilgrims waved; their yellow flames lit up the scene, and
shone on the silver trappings of the foremost Camels. Streamers of
coloured silk floated above their heads or trailed behind them; the
saddles of the Heiries were of the richest velvet, purple and blue,
and necklaces of coral and amber hung below their bridles. The
swarthy faces of their riders shone with fervour as they played
their flutes, or sang their hymns of praise, and the satin-skinned
Arab Horses, who formed a minor part of the cavalcade, pranced and
curveted as the torch light gleamed on their polished sides.

"Poor things," said Aleppo with a pitying look. "When the fierce
rays of the sun stream down upon them, and their hoofs sink deeply
into the shifting sands, they will suffer tortures. Many die on
these pilgrimages before the journey is half over, for Nature has
not fitted them, as she has us, to cross the desert."

"Tell me about them!" entreated Phil, as the beautiful creatures
still came on, their eyes flashing with pride of race, and every
line of their slender bodies a thing of beauty.

"They are famous all the world over," said Aleppo; "so famous that
it is difficult now for even an Arab Sheik to increase his stud. To
be accounted of pure lineage, an Arab Horse must belong to one of
the five breeds which are said to be descended from King Solomon's
favourite mares! Their pedigrees are written in parchment; they are
contained in the little pouches their masters hang round their
necks. Arab Horses do not know the meaning of a blow, and because
they have never been roughly treated they are as gentle as they are
brave. They neither jib nor rear, and in spite of their small size
are full of fire and courage."

The Arab Horses passed, and yet the cavalcade streamed on. Now
there were Camels again, still more resplendent in their trappings
than those that had gone before. Embroideries of gold and silver
bedecked their saddles, and glittered beneath the robes of flowing
white which are the Arabs' native dress. One pure grey Heirie was
decked with ostrich feathers, and had his bridle studded with
rubies and emeralds, and gleaming topaz. His master was the Emir
Hadgi, the commander of the pilgrimage.