Azel Ames - "The Mayflower and Her Log, v6"

F. Hopkinson Smith - "Peter: A Novel of Which He is Not the Hero"

James Clerk Maxwell - "Five of Maxwell's Papers"

Charles de Bernard - "Gerfaut, v3"

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




"Isn't there! What's the reason of this?"

"Intemperance, I suppose."

"Drunkenness!" said the tavern-keeper. "That is the right word. He
don't spend much in bar-rooms, but look over his store bill and
you'll find rum a large item."

"Poor Bacon! He's a good sort of a man," remarked the lawyer. "I
can't help feeling sorry for him. He's his own worst enemy."

"I want you to push this matter through in the quickest possible
time," said Dyer, in a sharp, firm voice.

"Very well. It shall be done. I know my business."

"And I know mine," returned the tavern-keeper.

On the next day, Mr. Bacon was formally notified that proceedings
had been instituted for the satisfaction of the mortgage. This was
bringing the threatened evil before his eyes in the most direct
aspect. In considerable alarm and perturbation, he called over to
see Dyer.

"You cannot mean to press this matter on to the utmost extremity,"
said he, on meeting the tavern-keeper, the hard aspect of whose
features gave him little room for hope.

"I certainly mean to get my three hundred dollars," was replied.

"Can you not wait until after next harvest?"

"I have already told you that I want my money now," said Dyer, with
affected anger. "If you can pay me, well; if not, I will get my own
by aid of the Sheriff."

"That is a hard saying, Mr. Dyer," returned the farmer, in a subdued
voice.

"Nevertheless, it is a true one, friend Bacon, true as gospel."

"I haven't the money, nor can I borrow it, Mr. Dyer."

"Your misfortune, not mine. Though I must say, it is a little
strange."

"What is strange?"

"That a man who has lived in this community as long as you have,
can't find a friend willing to loan him three hundred dollars to
save his farm from the Sheriff. There's something wrong."

Yes, there was something wrong, and poor old Mr. Bacon felt it now
more deeply than ever. Another feeble effort at remonstrance was
made, when Mr. Dyer coldly referred him to Grant the lawyer, who had
now entire control of the business. But he did not go to him. He
felt that to do so would be utterly useless.

Regular proceedings were entered upon for the settlement of the
mortgage, and hurried to an issue as speedily as possible. It was
all in vain that Mr. Bacon sought to borrow three hundred dollars,
or to find some person willing to take the mortgage on his farm, and
let him continue to pay the interest. It was a season when few had
money to spare, and those who could have advanced the sum required,
hesitated about investing it where there was little hope of getting
the amount back again except by execution and sale. For, Mr. Bacon,
in consequence of his intemperance, was steadily running behindhand;
and all his neighbours knew it.

The effect of this trouble on the mind of Mr. Bacon was to cause him
to drink harder than before. His cheerful temper gave place to a
silent moodiness, when in partial states of sobriety, which where
now of rare occurrence, and he lost all interest in things around
him. A greater part of his time was spent in wandering restlessly
about his house or farm, but he put his hand to scarcely any work.

Deeply distressed were Mrs. Bacon and Mary. Each of them had called,
at different times on Mr. Dyer, in the hope of moving him by
persuasion to turn from his purpose.

But, only in one way would he agree to an amicable settlement, and
that was, by taking the farm for the mortgage and three hundred
dollars cash; by which means he would come into possession of
property worth from twelve to fifteen hundred dollars. This offer he
repeated to Mary, who was the last to call upon him in the hope of
turning him from his purpose.

"No! Mr. Dyer," said the young girl firmly, even while tears were in
her eyes. "My father will not let the place go at a third of its
real value."

"He over-estimates its worth," replied Dyer, with some impatience,
"and he'll find this out when it comes under the hammer."

"You will not, I am sure you will not, sacrifice my father's little
place,--the home of his children," said Mary, in an appealing voice.

"I shall certainly let things take their course," replied the
tavern-keeper. "Tell your father, from me, that he has nothing to
hope for from any change in my purpose, and that he need make no
more efforts to influence me. I will buy the place, as I said, for
six hundred dollars, its full value, or I will sell it for my
claim."

And saying this, the man left, abruptly, the room in which his
interview with Mary was held, and she, hopeless of making any
impression on his feelings, arose and retired from the house,
taking, with a sad heart, her way homeward. Never before had Mary, a
gentle-hearted, quiet, retiring girl, been forced into such rough
contact with the world at any point. Of this act of intercession for
her father, Mr. Bacon knew nothing. Had she dropped (sic) a a word
of her purpose in his hearing, he would have uttered a positive
interdiction. He loved Mary as the apple of his eye, and she loved
him with a tender, self-devoted affection. To him, she was a choice
and beautiful flower, and even though his mind had become, in a
certain degree, degraded and debased by intemperance, there was in
it a quick instinct of protection when any thing approached his
child.

Slowly and thoughtfully, with her eyes bent upon the ground, did
Mary Bacon pursue her way homeward; and she was not aware of the
approach of footsteps behind her, until a man stood by her side and
pronounced her name.

"Mr. Green!" said she, in momentary surprise, pausing as she looked
up.

Mr. Green was a farmer in easy circumstances, whose elegant and
highly cultivated place was only a short distance from her father's
residence. He was, probably, the richest man in the neighbourhood of
Brookville; though, exceedingly close in all money matters. Mr.
Bacon would have called upon him for aid in his extremity, but for
two reasons. One was, Mr. Green's known indisposition to lend money,
and the other was the fact that he had several times talked to him
about his bad drinking habits; at which liberty he had taken
offence, and retorted rather sharply for one of his mild temper.

The colour mounted quickly to Mary's face, as she paused and lifted
her eyes to the countenance of Mr. Green. The fact was, she had been
thinking about him, and, just at the moment he came to her side, she
had fully made up her mind to call upon him before going home.

"Well Mary," said he, kindly, and he took her hand.

Mary's lips quivered, but she could not utter a word.

Mr. Green moved on, still holding her hand, and she moved by his
side.

"I'm sorry to hear," said Mr. Green, "that your father is in
trouble. I learned it only an hour ago."

"That is just what I was coming to see you about," replied Mary,
with a boldness of speech that surprised even herself.

"Indeed! Then _you_ were coming to see me," said Mr. Green, in a
voice that was rather encouraging than otherwise.

"Yes, sir. But father knows nothing of my purpose."

"Oh! Well, Mary, what is it you wish to say to me?"

The young girl's bosom was heaving violently. Some moments passed
ere she felt calm enough to proceed. Then she said--

"Mr. Dyer has a mortgage on father's place for three hundred
dollars, and is going to sell it."

"Mr. Dyer is a hard man, and your father should not have placed
himself in his power," remarked Mr. Green.

"Unhappily, he is in his power."

"So it seems. Well, what do you wish me to do in the case?"

"To lend _me_ three hundred dollars," said Mary, promptly. Thus
encouraged to speak, she did not hesitate a moment.

"Lend _you_ three hundred dollars! returned Mr. Green, rather
surprised at the directness of her request. "For what use?"

"To pay off this mortgage, of course," replied Mary.

"But, who will pay me back my money?" inquired Mr. Green.

"I will," said Mary, confidently. "You! Pray where do you expect to
get so much money from?"

"I expect to earn it," was firmly answered.

Mr. Green paused, and turning towards Mary, looked earnestly into
her young face that was lit up with a beautiful enthusiasm.

"Earn it, did you say?"

"Yes, sir, I will earn and pay it back to you, if it takes a
lifetime to do it in."

"How will you earn it, Mary?"

Mary let her eyes fall to the ground, and stood for a moment or two.
Then looking up, she said--

"I will go to Lowell."

"To Lowell?"

"Yes, sir."

"And work in a factory?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Green moved on again, but in silence, and Mary walked with an
anxious heart by his side. For the distance of several hundred yards
they passed along and not a word was spoken.

"To Lowell?" at length dropped from the lips of Mr. Green, in a tone
half interrogative, half in surprise. Mary did not respond, and the
silence continued until they came to a point in the road where their
two ways diverged.

"Have you thought well of this, Mary?" said Mr. Green, as he paused
here, and laid his hand upon a gate that opened into a part of his
farm.

"Why should I think about it, Mr. Green?" replied Mary. "It is no
time to think, but to act. Hundreds of girls go into factories, and
it will be to me no hardship, but a pleasure, if thereby I can help
my father in this great extremity."

"Is he aware of your purpose?"

"Oh, no sir! no!"

"He would never listen to such a thing."

"Not for a moment."

"Then will you be right in doing what he must disapprove?"

"It is done for his sake. Love for him is my prompter, and that will
bear me up even against his displeasure."

"But he may prevent your going, Mary."

"Not if you will do as I wish."

"Speak on."

"Lend me three hundred dollars on my promise to you that I will
immediately go to Lowell, enter a factory, and remain at work until
the whole sum is paid back again from my earnings."

"Well!"

"I will then take the money and pay off the mortgage. This will
release father from his debt to Mr. Dyer, and bring me in debt to
you."

"I see."

"Father is an honest and an honourable man."

"He is, Mary," said Mr. Green. His voice slightly trembled, for he
was touched by the words of the gentle girl.

"He will not be able to pay you the debt in my stead."

"No."

"And, therefore, deeply reluctant as he may be to let me go, he
cannot say nay."

"Walk along with me to my house," said Mr. Green, as he pushed open
the gate at which he stood, "I must think about this a little more."

The result was according to Mary's wishes. Mr. Green was a true
friend of Mr. Bacon's, and he saw, or believed that he saw, in his
daughter's proposition, the means of his reformation. He, therefore,
returned into the village, and going to the office of Grant,
satisfied the mortgage on Mr. Bacon's property, and brought all the
papers relating thereto away and placed them in Mary's hands.

"Now," said he, on doing this, "I want your written promise to pay
me the three hundred dollars in the way proposed. I will draw up the
paper, and you must sign it."

The paper was accordingly drawn up and signed. It stipulated that
Mary was to start for Lowell within three weeks, and that she was to
have two years for the full payment of the debt.

"My brave girl!" said Mr. Green, as he parted with Mary. "No one
will be prouder of you than I, if you accomplish the work to which
you are about devoting yourself. Happy would I be, had I a daughter
with your true heart and noble courage."

Mary's heart was too full to thank him. But her sweet young face was
beaming with gratitude, as she turned away and hurried homeward.

Mr. Bacon was walking uneasily, backwards and forwards in the old
porch, when Mary entered the little garden gate. She advanced
towards him with a bright face, holding out as she did so, a small
package of papers.

"Good news, father!" she exclaimed. "Good news!

"How? What, child?" eagerly asked the old man, his mind becoming
suddenly bewildered.

"The mortgage is paid, and here is the release!" said Mary, still
holding out the package of papers.

"Paid! Paid, Mary! Who paid it?" returned Mr. Bacon, with the air of
a man awaking from a dream.

"I have paid it, father dear!" answered Mary, in a trembling voice;
and she kissed the old man's cheek, and then laid her face down upon
his breast.

"You, Mary?" Where did you get money?"

"I borrowed it," murmured the happy girl.

"Mary! Mary! what does this mean?" said the old man, pushing back
her face and gazing into it earnestly. "Borrowed the money! Why, who
would lend you three hundred dollars? Say, child!"

"I borrowed it of Mr. Green," replied Mary, and as she said this,
she glided past her father and entering into the house, hurried away
to her mother. But ere she had time to inform her of what she had
done, the father joined them, eager for some further explanations.
When, at last, he comprehended the whole matter, he was, for a time
like a man stricken down by a heavy blow.

"Never," said he, in the most solemn manner, "will I consent to
this. Mr. Green must take back his money. Let the farm go! It shall
not be saved at this price."

But he soon comprehended that it was too late to recall the act of
his daughter. The money had already passed into the hands of Dyer,
and the mortgage been cancelled. Still, he was fixed in his purpose
that Mary should not leave home to spend two long years of incessant
toil in a factory, and immediately called on Mr. Green in order to
make with him some different arrangement for the payment of the
loan. But, to his surprise and grief, he found that Mr. Green was
unyielding in his determination to keep Mary to her contract.

"Surely! surely! Mr. Green, "urged the distressed father," you will
not hold my dear child to this pledge, made under circumstances of
so trying a nature? You will not punish--I say _punish_--a gentle
girl like her for loving her father too well."

"If there is any hardship in the case," replied Mr. Green, calmly,
"you are at fault, and not me, Mr. Bacon."

"Why do you say that?" inquired the old man.

"For the necessity which drove your child to this act of
self-sacrifice, you are responsible."

"Oh sir! is this a time to wound me with words like these? Why do
you turn a seeming act of kindness into the sharpest cruelty?"

"I speak to you but the words of truth and soberness, Mr. Bacon.
These, no man should shrink from hearing. Seven years ago, your farm
was the most productive in the neighborhood, and you in easy
circumstances. What has produced the sad change now visible to all
eyes? What has taken from you the ability to manage your affairs as
prosperously as before? What has made it necessary for your child to
leave her father's sheltering roof and bury herself for two long
years in a factory, in order to save you from total ruin? Go home,
Mr. Bacon, and answer these questions to your own heart, and may the
pain you now suffer lead you to act more wisely in the future."

"My daughter shall not go!" exclaimed the old man, passionately.

"I hold her written pledge to repair to Lowell at the expiration of
three weeks, and to repay the loan I made her in two years. Will you
compel her to violate her contract?"

"I will execute another mortgage on my farm and pay you back the
loan."

"Act like a wise man," said Mr. Green. "Let your daughter carry out
her noble purpose, and thus relieve you from embarrassment."

"No, no, Mr. Green! I cannot think of this. Oh, sir! pity me! Do not
force my child away! Do not lay so heavy a burden on one so young.
Think of her as your own daughter, and do to me as you would
yourself wish to be done by."

But Mr. Green was deaf to all these appeals. He was a man of great
firmness of purpose, and not easily turned to the right nor to the
left.

During the next three weeks, Mr. Bacon tried every expedient in his
power, short of a total sacrifice of his little property, to raise
the money, but in vain. Except for a circumstance new in his life,
he would, in his desperation, have accepted Dyer's offer of six
hundred dollars for his farm, and thus prevented Mary's departure
for Lowell--that circumstance was his perfect sobriety. Not since
the day when Mr. Green charged upon him the responsibility of his
child's banishment from her father's house, had he tasted a drop of
strong drink. His mind was therefore clear, and he was restrained by
reason from acts of rashness, by which his condition would be
rendered far worse than it was already.

Bitter indeed were the sufferings of Mr. Bacon, during the quick
passage of the three weeks--at the expiration of which time Mary was
to leave home, in compliance with her contract--and the more bitter,
because his mind was unobscured by drink. At last, the moment of
separation came. It was a clear cold morning towards the latter end
of March, when Mary left, for the last time, her little chamber, and
came down stairs dressed for her journey. Ever, in the presence of
her father and mother, during the brief season of preparation, had
she maintained a cheerful and confident exterior; but, in her heart,
there was a painful shrinking back from the trial upon which she was
about entering. On going by the door of Mary's chamber, a few
minutes before she came down, Mrs. Bacon saw her daughter kneeling
at her bedside, with her face deeply buried among the clothes. Not
till that moment did she fully comprehend the trial through which
her child was passing.

The stage was at the door, and Mary's trunk strapped up in the boot
before she came down. In the porch stood her father and mother, and
her younger brother and sister, waiting her appearance.

"Good bye, father," said the excellent girl, in a cheerful voice, as
she reached out her hand.

Mr. Bacon caught it eagerly, and essayed to speak some tender and
encouraging words. But though his lips moved, there was no sound
upon the air.

"God bless you!" was at length uttered in a sobbing voice. A fervent
kiss was then pressed upon her lips, and the old man turned away and
staggered rather than walked back into the house.

More calmly the mother parted with her child. It was a great trial
for Mrs. Bacon, but she now fully comprehended the great use to flow
from Mary's self-devotion, and, therefore, with her last kiss,
breathed a word of encouragement.

"It is for your father. Let that sustain you to the end." A few
moments more, and the stage rolled away, bearing with it the very
sunlight from the dwelling of Mr. Bacon. Poor old man! Restlessly
did he wander about for days after Mary's departure, unable to apply
himself, except for a little while at a time, to any work; but his
inquietude did not drive him back to the cup he had abandoned. No,
he saw in it too clearly the cause of his present deep distress, to
look upon and feel its allurement. What had banished from her
pleasant home that beloved child, and sent her forth among strangers
to toil from early morning until the going down of the sun? Could he
love the cause of this great evil? No! There was yet enough virtue
in his heart to save him. Love for his child was stronger than his
depraved love of strong drink. A few more ineffectual efforts were
made to turn Mr. Green from his resolution to hold Mary to her
contract, and then the humbled father resigned himself to the
necessity he could not overcome, and with a clearer mind and a newly
awakened purpose, applied himself to the culture of his farm, which,
in a few months, had a more thrifty appearance than it had presented
for years.

In the mean time, Mary had entered one of the mills at Lowell, and
was doing her work there with a brave and cheerful spirit. Some
painful trials, to one like her, attended her arrival in the city
and entrance upon the duties assumed. But daily the trials grew
less, and she toiled on in the fulfilment of her contract with Mr.
Green, happy under the ever present consciousness that she had saved
her father's property, and kept their homestead as the gathering
place of the family. At the end of three months, she came back and
spent a week. How her young heart bounded with joy at the great
change apparent in every thing about the house and farm, but, most
of all, at the change in her father. He was not so light of word and
smilingly cheerful as in former times, but he was sober, perfectly
sober; and she felt that the kiss with which he welcomed her brief
return, was purer than it had ever been.

On the very day Mary came back, she called over to see Mr. Green,
and paid him thirty-seven dollars on account of the loan, for which
he gave her a receipt. Then he had many questions to ask about her
situation at Lowell, and how she bore her separation from home, to
all of which she gave cheerful answers, and, in the end, repeated
her thanks for the opportunity he had given her to be of such great
service to her father.

Mr. Green had a son who, during his term at college, exhibited
talents of so decided a character that his father, after some
deliberation, concluded to place him under the care of an eminent
lawyer in Boston. In this position he had now been for two years,
and was about applying for admission to the bar. As children, Henry
Green and Mary Bacon had been to the same school together, and, as
children, they were much attached to each other. Their intercourse,
as each grew older, was suspended by the absence of Henry at
college, and by other circumstances that removed the two families
from intimate contact, and they had ceased to think of each other
except when some remembrance of the past brought up their images.

After paying Mr. Green the amount of money which she had saved from
her earnings during the first three months of her factory life, Mary
left his house, and was walking along the carriage way leading to
the public road, when she saw a young man enter the gate and
approach her.

Although it was three years since she had met Henry Green, she knew
him at a glance, but he did not recognize her, although struck with
something familiar in her face as he bowed to her in passing.

"Who can that be?" said he to himself, as he walked thoughtfully
along. "I have seen her before. Can that be Mary Bacon? If so, how
much she has improved!"

On meeting his father, the young man asked if he was right in his
conjecture about the young person he had just passed, and was
answered in the affirmative.

"She was only a slender girl when I saw her last. Now, she is a
handsome young woman," said Henry.

"Yes, Mary has grown up rapidly," replied Mr. Green, evincing no
particular interest in the subject of his remark.

"How is her father doing now?" asked Henry.

"Better than he did a short time ago," was replied

"I'm glad to hear that. Does he drink as much as ever?"

"No. He has given up that bad habit."

"Indeed! Then he must be doing better."

"He ran himself down very low," said Mr. Green, "and was about
losing every thing, when Mary, like a brave, right-minded girl,
stepped forward and saved him."

"Mary! How did she do that, father?"

"Dyer had a mortgage of three hundred dollars on his farm, and was
going to sell him out in mid-winter, when nobody who cared to
befriend him had money to spare. On the very day I heard about his
trouble, Mary called on me and asked the loan of a sum sufficient to
lift the mortgage.

"But how could she pay you back that sum?" asked the young man in
surprise.

"I loaned her the amount she asked," replied Mr. Green, "and she has
just paid me the first promised instalment of thirty-seven dollars."

"How did she get the money?"

"She earned it with her own hands."

"Where?"

"In Lowell."

"You surprise me," said Henry. "And so, to save her father from
ruin, she has devoted her young life to toil in a factory?"

"Yes; and the effect of this self-devotion has been all that I hoped
it would be. It has reformed her father. It has saved him in a
double sense."

"Noble girl!" exclaimed the young man, with enthusiasm.

"Yes, you may well say that, Henry," replied Mr. Green. "In the
heart of that humble factory girl is a truly noble and womanly
principle, that elevates her, in my estimation, far above any thing
that rank, wealth, or social position alone can possibly give."

"But father," said Henry, "is it right to subject her to so severe a
trial? It will take a long, long time, for her to earn three hundred
dollars. Does not virtue like hers--"

"I know what you would say," interrupted Mr. Green. "True I could
cancel the obligation and derive great pleasure from doing so, but
it is the conclusion of my better judgment, all things considered,
that she be permitted to fill up the entire measure of her contract.
The trial will fully prove her, and bring to view the genuine gold
of her character. Moreover, it is best for her father that she
should seem to be a sufferer through his intemperance. I say seem,
for, really, Mary experiences more pleasure than pain from what she
is doing. The trial is not so great as it appears. Her reward is
with her daily, and it is a rich reward."

Henry asked no further question, but he felt more than a passing
interest in what he had heard. In the course of a week, Mary
returned to Lowell and he went back to Boston.