Jean de La Fontaine - "The Tales and Novels, v11: Friar Philip's Geese and Minutolo"

Constant - "The Private Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, v10"

James Allen - "As A Man Thinketh"

Isabella L. Bird - "The Hawaiian Archipelago"

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 Lights and Shadows of Real Life

T >> T.S. Arthur >> The Lights and Shadows of Real Life




"These objections I readily infused into his mind, and he at once
adopted them as his own. I had power to do so, because I now
perceived that his love of drink was so strong, that he did not wish
to cut off all chance of ever tasting it again. He, therefore,
wanted specious reasons for not signing the pledge, and with these I
promptly furnished him!

"It was in vain that his wife urged him, even with tears and eager
entreaties to take the pledge: I was too much for her, and made him
firm as a rock in his determination not to sign.

"On the next morning, he parted with his wife, strong in his
resolution to be a reformed man. The pleasant thrill of her parting
kiss, the first he had received for more than a year, lingered in
his memory and encouraged him to abide by his promise. He passed his
accustomed places of resort for liquor, on his way to business, but
without the first desire to enter. I noted all this, and kept myself
busy about him to detect a moment of weakness. Our friend Graves
advertised his 'Sub-Treasury' on that morning. I calculated largely
on the novelty of the idea to win him off. But, somehow or other, he
did not see it. Another young man, one of his companions, did,
however:

"'Have you tried Graves' new drink, yet?' he asked of him about
eleven o'clock, while he was under the influence of a pretty strong
thirst.

"'No, what is it?' he replied, with a feeling of lively interest.

"'Sub-Treasury,' replied his friend.

"'Sub-Treasury! That must be something new! I wonder what it can
be?'

"Into this feeling of interest in knowing what the new drink could
be, I infused a strong desire to taste it.

"'Suppose we go and try some,' suggested his friend.

"'There'll not be the least danger,' I whispered in his ear. 'You
can try it, and refrain from drinking to excess. The evil has been
your drinking too much. There is no harm in moderate drinking. This
decided him, and I retired. I knew, if he tasted, that he was gone.'

"Down he went to the Harmony House;--I was there when he came in. It
would have done your hearts good to have seen with what delight he
sipped the new beverage,--and to have heard him say, as I did, to
Graves;--'I had half resolved to join the temperance society this
day,--but your Sub-Treasury has entirely shaken my resolution. I
shall never be able to do it now in this world, nor in the next
either, if I can only get you in the same place with me to make
Sub-Treasury.' And then he laughed with great glee. One, of course,
did not satisfy him, nor two, nor three. Before dinner-time he was
gloriously drunk, and went staggering home as usual. I could not
resist the inclination to see a little of the fun when he presented
himself to his wife, whose fond hopes were all in the sky again.
Like a bird, she had sung about the house during the morning, her
heart so elated that she could not prevent an outward expression of
the delight she felt. As the hour drew near for her husband's
return, a slight fear would glance through her mind, quickly
dismissed, however;--for she could not entertain the idea for a
moment that his newly-formed resolution could possibly be so soon
broken.

"At last the hour for his accustomed return arrived. She heard him
open the door--and sprung to meet him. One look sufficed to break
her heart. Statue-like she stood for a moment or two, and then sunk
senseless to the floor.

"Other matters calling me away, I staid only to see this delightful
little scene, and then hurried back to the Harmony House, to see if
the run was kept up. Customers came in a steady stream, and crowded
the bar of our worthy friend, whose heart was as light as a feather.
I saw at least half a dozen come in and sip a glass of Sub-Treasury,
who I knew had not tasted liquor for months. I marked them; and
shall be about their path occasionally. But the best thing of all
that I saw, was a reformer break his pledge. He was, years ago, a
noted drunkard, but had been a reformed man for four years. In that
time he had broken up several grog-shops, by reforming all their
customers, and had got, I suppose, not less than five or six hundred
persons to sign the pledge. I had, of course, a particular grudge
against him. It was an exceedingly warm day, and he was uncommonly
thirsty. He was reading the paper, and came across the
'Sub-Treasury' advertisement.

"'Ha! ha! What is this, I wonder?' he said, laughing; some new trick
of the enemy, I suppose.'

"'Look here, what is this Sub-Treasury stuff, that Graves advertises
this morning?' he said, to a young fellow, a protege
of mine, who was more than a match for him.

"'A kind of temperance beverage.' I put it into the fellow's head to
say.

"'Temperance beverage?'

"'Yes. It's made of lemonpeel, and one stuff or other, mixed up with
pounded ice. He's got a tremendous run for it. I know half a dozen
teetotallers who get it regularly. I saw three or four there to-day,
at one time.'

"'Indeed!'

"'It's a fact. Come, won't you go down and try a glass? It's
delightful.'

"'Are you in earnest about it?'

"'Certainly I am. It's one of the most delicious drinks that has
been got up this season.'

"'I don't like to be seen going into such a place.'

"'O, as to that, there is a fine back entrance leading in from
another street, that no one suspects, and a private bar into the
bargain. We can go in and get a drink, and nobody will ever see us.'

"'Well, I don't care if I do,' said the temperance man, 'for I am
very dry.'

"'You're a gone gozzling, my old chap,' I said, as I saw him moving
off. 'I thought I'd get you before long.' Sure enough, the moment he
took the first draught his doom was sealed. His former desire for
liquor came back on him with irresistible power; and before
nightfall, he was so drunk that he went staggering along the street,
to the chagrin and consternation of the teetotallers; but to the
infinite delight of your humble servant.

"And so saying, that malignant fiend, who, while he inhabited a
material body, was called old Billy Adams, stepped down from the
still. Then there arose three loud and long cheers, for Graves, and
his 'Sub-Treasury,' that echoed and re-echoed wildly through that
gloomy prison-house.

"You're much thought of down there, you see," continued Riley, with
a cold grin of irony.--"Adams says, that if this temperance movement
aint stopped soon, they will have to get you among them, and make
you head devil in that department. How would you like that, old
chap, say? How would you like to go now?"

As Riley said this, he threw himself forward, and clasped his thin,
bony fingers around the neck of the rum-seller, with a strong grip.

"How would you like to go now, ha?" he screamed fiercely in his ear,
clenching his hand tighter and still tighter, while his hot breath
melted over the face of Graves in a suffocating vapour. The
struggles of the rum-seller were vigorous and terrible--but the
dying man held on with a superhuman strength. Soon everything around
grew confused, and though still distinctly conscious, it was a
consciousness in the mind of the tavern-keeper of the agonies of
death. This became so terrible to him that he resolved on one last
and more vigorous effort for life. It was made, and the hands of the
dying man broke loose. Instantly starting to his feet, the wretched
dealer in poison for both the bodies and souls of men, found himself
standing in the centre of his own parlour, with the sweat rolling
from his face in large drops.

"Merciful Heaven! And is it indeed a dream?" he ejaculated, panting
with terror and exhaustion.

"A dream--and yet not all a dream," he added, in a few moments, in a
sad, low tone.--"In league with hell against my fellow-men! Can it
indeed be true? But away! away such thoughts!"

Such thoughts, however, could not be driven away. They crowded upon
his mind at every avenue, and pressed inward to the exclusion of
every other idea.

"But I am not in league with evil spirits to do harm to my
fellow-men. I do not wish evil to any one," he argued.

"You _are_ in such evil consociation," whispered a voice within him.
"There are but two great parties in the world--the evil and the
good. No middle ground exists. You are with one of these--working
for the good of your fellow-men, or for their injury. One of these
great parties acts in concert with heaven, the other with hell. On
the side of one stand arrayed good spirits--on the side of the other
evil spirits. Can good spirits be on your side? Would they, for the
sake of gain, take the food out of the mouths of starving children?
Would they put allurements in a brother's way to entice him to ruin?
No! Only in such deeds can evil spirits take delight."

"Then I am on the side of hell?"

"There are but two parties. You cannot be on the side of heaven, and
do evil to your neighbour."

"Dreadful thought! In league with infernal spirits to curse the
human race! Can it be possible Am I really in my senses?"

For nearly half an hour did Graves pace the floor backwards and
forwards, his mind in a wild fever of excitement. In vain did he
try, over and over again, to argue the point against the clearest
and strongest convictions of reason. Look at it as he would, it all
resolved itself into that one bold and startling position, that he
was in league with hell against his fellow-men.

"And now, what shall I do?" was the question that arose in his mind.
"Give up my establishment?"

At that moment, Sandy, the bar-tender, opened the parlour door, and
said with a broad smile--

"The Sub-Treasury is working wonders again! I'm overrun, and want
help."

"I can't come down, just now, Sandy. I'm not very well. You will
have to get along the best you can," Graves replied.

"I don't know what I shall do then, sir: I can't make 'em half as
fast as they are called for."

"Let half of the people go away then," was the cold reply. "I can't
help you any more to-day."

Sandy thought, as he withdrew, that the "old man" must have suddenly
lost his senses. He was confirmed in this idea before the next
morning.

It was past twelve o'clock when the run of custom was over, and
Sandy closed up for the night. As soon as this was done, Mr. Graves
came in for the first time since dinner.

"It's been a glorious day for business," Sandy said, rubbing his
hands. "I've taken in more, than thirty dollars. Lucifer himself
must have put the idea into your head."

"No doubt he did," was the grave reply.

Sandy stared at this.

"Didn't you tell me that Bill Riley had joined the temperance
society?"

"Yes, I did," replied the bar-keeper.

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure, I was told so by one that knew."

"I only wish I was certain of it," was the reply, made half
abstractedly. And then the dealer leaned down upon the bar and
remained in deep thought for a very long time, to the still greater
surprise of Sandy, who could not comprehend what had come over his
employer.

"Aint you well, Mr. Graves," he at length asked, breaking in upon
the rum-seller's painful reverie.

"Well!" he ejaculated, rousing up with a start. "No, I am not well."

"What is the matter, sir?"

"I'm sick," was the evasive response.

"How, sick?" was Sandy's persevering inquiry.

"Sick at heart! O, dear! I wish I'd been dead before I opened a
grog-shop!"--And the countenance of Mr. Graves changed its quiet,
sad expression, to one of intense agony.

Sandy looked at the tavern-keeper with an air of stupid astonishment
for some moments, unable to comprehend his meaning. It was evident
to his mind that Mr. Graves had suddenly become crazed about
something. This idea produced a feeling of alarm, and he was about
retiring for counsel and assistance, when the tavern-keeper roused
himself and said:

"When did you see Bill Riley, Sandy?"

"I saw him yesterday."

"Are you certain?" in a quick, eager tone.

"O yes. I saw him going along on the other side of the street with
two or three fellows that didn't look no how at all like
rum-bruisers."

"I was afraid he was dead," Mr. Graves responded to this, breathing
more freely.

"Dead! Why should you think that?" inquired Sandy, still more (sic)
mistified.

"I had reason for thinking so," was the evasive reply. A pause of
some, moments ensued, when the bar-keeper said--

"I shall have to be stirring bright and early to-morrow morning."

"Why so?"

"We're out of sugar and lemons both. That Sub-Treasury runs on them
'ere articles strong."

"Confound the Sub-Treasury!" Mr. Graves ejaculated, with a strong
and bitter emphasis. Sandy stood again mute with astonishment,
staring into the tavern-keeper's face.

"Sandy," Mr. Graves at length said in a calm, resolute tone, "my
mind is made up to quit selling liquor."

"Quit selling liquor, sir!" exclaimed Sandy, more astonished than
ever. "Quit selling liquor just at this time, when you have made
such a hit?"

"Yes, Sandy, I'm going to quit it. I'm afraid that we rum-sellers
are on the side of hell."

"I never once supposed that we were on the side of heaven," the
bar-keeper replied, half smiling.

"Then what side did you suppose we were on?"

"O, as to that, I never gave the matter a thought. Only, it never
once entered my head that we could claim much relationship with
heaven. Heaven feeds the hungry and clothes the naked. But we take
away both food and clothing, and give only drink. There is some
little difference in this, now one comes to think about it."

"Then I am right in my notion."

"I'm rather afraid you are, sir. But that's a strange way of
thinking."

"Aint it the true way?"

"Perhaps so."

"I am sure so, Sandy! And that's what makes me say that I'm done
selling rum."

The tavern-keeper did not tell all that was in his mind. He said
nothing of his dream, nor of that horrible idea of going to the
rum-seller's hell, and becoming a devil, filled with the delight of
rendering mankind wretched by deluging the land with drunkenness.

"What are you going to do then?" asked Sandy.

"Why, the first thing is to quit rum-selling."

"But what then?"

"I'm not decided yet;--but shall enter into some kind of business
that I can follow with a clear conscience."

"You'll sell out this stands I suppose. The goodwill is worth three
or four hundred dollars."

"No, Sandy, I will not!" was the tavern-keeper's positive, half
indignant reply. "I'll have nothing more to do with the gain of
rum-selling. I have too much of that sin on my conscience already."

"Somebody will come right in, as soon as you move out. And I don't
see why you should give any one such an advantage for nothing."

"I'm not going to move out, Sandy."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"Why, one thing--I'm going to shut up this devil's man-trap. And
while I can keep possession of the property, it shall never be
opened as a dram-shop again."

"What are you going to do with your liquors, Mr. Graves? Sell 'em?"

"No."

"What then?"

"Burn 'em. Or let 'em run in the gutter."

"That I should call a piece of folly."

"You may call it what you please. But I'll do it notwithstanding.
I've received my last dollar for rum. Not another would I touch for
all the world!"

A slight shudder passed through the tavern-keeper's body, as he said
this, occasioned by the vivid recollection of some fearful passage
in his late dream.

"You'd better give the liquors to me, Mr. Graves. It would be a
downright sin to throw 'em in the gutter, when a fellow might make a
good living out of 'em."

"No, Sandy. Neither you nor anybody else shall ever make a man drunk
with the liquor now in this house. It shall run in the gutter.
That's settled!"

When the sun arose next morning, Harmony House was shorn of its
attractions as a drinking establishment. All the signs, with their
deceptive and alluring devices, were taken down--the shutters
closed, and everything indicating its late use removed, excepting a
strong smell of liquor, great quantities of which had been poured
into the gutters.

In the course of a few weeks, the house was again re-opened as a
hatter-shop, Mr. Graves having resumed his former honest business,
which he still follows, well patronized by the temperance men, among
whom are Joseph Randolph, and William Riley, the former reclaimed
through his active instrumentality.






HOW TO CURE A TOPER.





[THE following story, literally true in its leading particulars, was
told by a reformed man, who knew W--very well. In repeating it, I
do so in the first person, in order to give it more effect.]

I was enjoying my glass of flip, one night, at the little old "Black
Horse" that used to stand a mile out of S.--, (I hadn't joined the
great army of teetotallers then,) when a neighboring farmer came in,
whose moderation, at least in whisky toddies, was not known unto all
men. His name was W--. He was a quiet sort of a man when sober,
lively and chatty under the effect of a single glass, argumentative
and offensively dogmatic after the second toddy, and downright
insulting and quarrelsome after getting beyond that number of
drinks. We liked him and disliked him on these accounts.

On the occasion referred too, he passed through all these changes,
and finally sunk off to sleep by the warm stove. Being in the way,
and also in danger of tumbling upon the floor, some of us removed
him to an old settee, where he slept soundly, entertaining us with
rather an unmusical serenade. There were two or three mischievous
fellows about the place, and one of them suggested it would be
capital fun to black W--'s face, and "make a darkey of him." No
sooner said than done. Some lamp-black and oil were mixed together
in an old tin cup, and a coat of this paint laid over the face of
W--, who, all unconscious of what had been done, slept on as
soundly and snored as loudly as ever. Full two hours passed away
before he awoke. Staggering up to the bar, he called for another
glass of whisky toddy, while we made the old bar-room ring again
with our peals of laughter.

"What are you all laughing at?" he said, as he became aware that he
was the subject of merriment, and turning his black face around upon
the company as he spoke.

"Give us Zip Coon, old fellow!" called out one of the "boys" who had
helped him to his beautiful mask.

"No! no! Lucy Long! Give us Lucy Long!" cried another.

"Can't you dance Jim Crow? Try it. I'll sing the 'wheel about and
turn about, and do jist so.' Now begin."

And the last speaker commenced singing Jim Crow.

W--neither understood nor relished all this. But the more angry
and mystified he became, the louder laughed the company and the
freer became their jests. At last, in a passion, he swore at us
lustily, and leaving the barroom, in high dudgeon, took his horse
from the stable and rode off.

It was past eleven o'clock. The night was cold, and a ride of two
miles made W--sober enough to understand that he had been rather
drunk, and was still a good deal "in for it;" and that it wouldn't
exactly do for his wife to see him just as he was. So he rode a mile
past his house,--and then back again, at a slow trot, concluding
that by this time the good woman was fast asleep. And so she was. He
entered the house, crept silently up stairs, and got quietly into
bed, without his better half being wiser therefor.

On the next morning, Mrs. W--awoke first. But what was her
surprise and horror, upon rising up, to see, instead of her lawful
husband, what she thought a strapping negro, as black as charcoal,
lying at her side. Her first impulse was to scream; but her presence
of mind in this trying position, enabled her to keep silence. You
may be sure that she didn't remain long in such a close contact with
Sir Darkey. Not she! For, slipping out of bed quickly, but
noiselessly, she glided from the room, and was soon down stairs in
the kitchen, where a stout, two-fisted Irish girl was at work
preparing breakfast.

"Oh! dear! Kitty!" she exclaimed, panting for breath, and looking as
pale as a ghost, "have you seen any thing of Mr. W--, this
morning?"

"Och! no. But what ails ye? Ye're as white as a shate?"

"Oh! mercy! Kitty. You wouldn't believe it, but there's a monstrous
negro in my room!"

"Gracious me! Mrs. W--, a nager?"

"Yes, indeed, Kitty!" returned Mrs. W--, trembling in every limb.
"And worse and worse, he's in my bed! I just 'woke up and thought it
was Mr. W--by my side But, when I looked over, I saw instead of
his face, one as black as the stove. Mercy on me! I was frightened
almost to death."

"Is he aslape?" asked Kitty.

"Yes, sound asleep and snoring. Oh! dear! What shall we do? Where in
the world is Mr. W--? I'm afraid this negro has murdered him."

"Och! the blasted murtherin' thafe!" exclaimed Kitty, her organ of
combativeness, which was very large, becoming terribly excited. "Get
into mistress's bed, and the leddy there herself, the omadhoun! The
black, murtherin' thafe of a villain!"

And Kitty, thinking of no danger to herself, and making no
calculation of consequences, seized a stout hickory clothes pole
that stood in one corner of the kitchen, and went up stairs like a
whirlwind, banging the pole against the door, balusters, or whatever
came in its way. The noise roused W--from his sleep, and he raised
up in bed just as Kitty entered the room.

"Oh! you murtherin' thafe of a villain!" shouted Kitty, as she
caught sight of his black face, pitching into him with her pole, and
sweeping off his night-cap, at the imminent risk of taking his head
with it.

"Hallo!" he cried, not at all liking this strange proceeding, "are
you mad?"

"Mad is it, ye thafe!" retorted Kitty, who did not recognize the
voice, and taking a surer aim this time with her pole, brought him a
tremendous blow alongside of the head, which knocked him senseless.

Mrs. W--who was at the bottom of the stairs, heard her husband's
exclamation, and, knowing his voice, came rushing up, and entered
the room in time to see Kitty's formidable weapon come with terrible
force against his head. Before the blow could be repeated, for
Kitty, ejaculating her "murtherin' thafe of a villain!" had lifted
the pole again, Mrs. W--threw her arms around her neck, and cried,
"Don't, don't, Kitty, for mercy's sake!" It's Mr. W--, and you've
killed him!"

"Mr. W--indade!" retorted Kitty, indignantly, struggling to free
herself. "Is Mr. W--a thafe of a nager, ma'am?"

But even Kitty's eyes, as soon as they took the pains to look more
closely, saw that it was indeed all as the mistress had said.
W--had fallen over on his face, and his head and white neck were
not to be mistaken.

The pole dropped from Kitty's hands, and, with the exclamation,
"Och! murther!" she turned and shot from the room, with as good a
will as she had entered it.

The blow which W--received was severe, breaking through the flesh
and bruising and lacerating his ear badly. He recovered very soon,
however, and, as he arose up, caught sight of himself in a looking
glass that hung opposite. We may be sure that it took all parties,
in this exciting and almost tragical affair, some time to understand
exactly what was the matter. W--'s recollection of the loud
merriment that had driven him from the "Black Horse" on the previous
night, when it revived, as it did pretty soon, explained all to him,
and set him to talking in a most unchristian manner.

Poor Kitty was so frightened at what she had done that she gathered
up her "duds" and fled instanter, and was never again seen in that
neighborhood.

As for W--, he was cured of his nocturnal visits to the "Black
Horse," and his love of whisky toddy. Some months afterwards he
espoused the temperance cause, and I've heard him tell the tale
myself, many a time, and laugh heartily at the figure he must have
cut, when Kitty commenced beating him for a "thafe of a nager."






THE BROKEN PLEDGE.





"IT is two years, this very day, since I signed the pledge,"
remarked Jonas Marshall, a reformed drinker, to his wife, beside
whom he sat one pleasant summer evening, enjoying the coolness and
quiet of that calm hour.

"Two years! And is it, indeed, so long?" was the reply. "How swiftly
time passes, when the heart is not oppressed with cape and sorrow!"

"To me, they have been the happiest of my life," resumed the
husband. "How much do we owe to this blessed reformation!"

"Blessed, indeed, may it be called!" the wife said, with feeling.

"It seems scarcely possible, Jane, that one, who, like me, had
become such a slave to intoxication, could have been reclaimed. I
often think of myself, and wonder. A little over two years ago, I
could no more control the intolerable desire for liquor that I felt,
than I could fly. Now I have not the least inclination to touch,
taste, or handle it."

"And I pray Heaven you may never again have!"

"That danger is past, Jane. Two years of total abstinence have
completely changed the morbid craving once felt for artificial
stimulus, into a natural and healthy desire for natural and healthy
aliments."

"It would be dangerous for you even now, Jonas, to suffer a drop of
liquor to pass your lips; do you not think so?"

"There would be no particular danger in my tasting liquor, I
presume. The danger would be, as at first, in the use of it, until
an appetite was formed." Marshall replied, in a tone of confidence.