Pierre Loti - "Madame Chrysantheme, v2"

John Lothrop Motley - "The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1573 74"

Thomas Hardy - "A Laodicean"

Charlotte M. Yonge - "Heartsease or Brother's Wife"

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




This unlooked-for and serious turn which the discussion assumed, had
the effect to make Marshall hesitate to do what he had too hastily
made his mind up that he might venture upon without the slightest
danger. It also furnished reasons to the company why they should not
urge him to drink. The result was, that he escaped through all the
temptations of the evening, which would have overcome him,
inevitably, had his own inclination found a general voice of
encouragement.

But none of the strong arguments why he should not again run madly
into the way of evil, which had been so opportunely and unexpectedly
urged, had the effect to keep his eye off of the decanters and
brim-full glasses that circulated far too freely;--nor to prevent
the sight of them from exciting in his mind a strong, almost
unconquerable desire, to join with the rest. This very desire ought
to have warned him--it should have caused him to tremble and flee
away as if a raging wild beast had stood in his path. But it did
not. He deceived himself by assuming (sic) hat the desire which he
felt to drink with his friends arose from his love of sociality, not
of wine.

The evening was lonely and long to Mrs. Marshall, and there was a
shadow over her feelings that she endeavoured in vain to dispel. Her
husband's knock, which came between ten and eleven o'clock, and for
which she had been listening anxiously for at least an hour, made
her heart bound and tremble, producing a feeling of weakness and
oppression. As she opened the door for him, it was with a vague
fear. This was instantly dispelled by his first affectionate word
uttered in steady tones. He was still himself! Still as he had been
for the blessed two years that had just gone by!

"What is the matter, Jane? You look troubled," the husband remarked,
after he had seated himself, and observed his wife's appearance.

"Do I?--If so, it is because I have felt troubled this evening."

"Why were you troubled, Jane?"

"That question I can hardly answer, either to your satisfaction or
my own," Mrs. Marshall said. "From some cause or other, my feelings
have been strangely depressed this evening; and I have experienced,
besides, a consciousness of coming misery, that has cast a shadow
over my spirits, even now but half dispelled."

"But why is all this, Jane? There must be some cause for such a
change in your feelings."

"I know but one cause, dear husband!" Mrs. Marshall said, in a voice
of deep tenderness, laying her hand upon her husband's arm as she
spoke, and looking him in the face with an expression of earnest
affection.

"Speak out plainly, Jane. What is the cause?"

"Do not be offended, Jonas, when I tell you, that I have not been so
overcome by such gloomy feelings since that happy day when you
signed the pledge, as I have been this evening. The cause of these
feelings lies in the fact of your having become dissatisfied with
that pledge. I tremble, lest, in some unguarded moment, under the
assurance that old habits are conquered, you may be persuaded to
cast aside that impassable barrier, which has protected your home
and little ones for so long and happy a time."

"You are weak and foolish, Jane," her husband said, in a
half-offended tone.

"In many things I know that I am," was Mrs. Marshall's reply, "but
not in this. A wife who loves her husband and children as tenderly
as I do mine, cannot but tremble when fears are suddenly awakened
that the footsteps of a deadly enemy are approaching her peaceful
dwelling."

"Such an enemy is not drawing nigh to your dwelling, Jane."

"Heaven grant that it may not be so!" was the solemn ejaculation.

"To this, Marshall felt no inclination to reply. He had already said
enough in regard to his pledge to awaken the fears of his wife, and
to call forth from her expressions of strong opposition to his views
of the nature of his obligation. His silence tended, in no degree,
to quiet her troubled feelings.

On the next morning, Marshall was thoughtful and silent. After
breakfast, he went out to attend to business, as usual. As he closed
the door after him, his wife heaved a deep sigh, lifted her eyes
upwards, and prayed silently, but fervently, that her husband might
be kept from evil. And well might she thus pray, for he needed
support and sustenance in the conflict that was going on in his
bosom--a conflict far more vigorous than was dreamed of by the wife.
He had invited temptation, and now he was in the midst of a
struggle, that would end in a more perfect emancipation of himself
from the demon-vice that had once ruled him with a rod of iron, or
in his being cast down to a lower depth of wretchedness and misery
than that out of which he had arisen. In this painful struggle he
stood not alone. Good spirits clustered around him, anxiously
interested in his fate, and endeavouring to sustain his faltering
purposes; and evil spirits were also nigh, infusing into his mind
reasons for the abandonment of his useless pledge. It was a period
in his history full of painful interest. Heaven was moving forward
to aid and rescue him, and hell to claim another victim. But neither
the one nor the other could act upon him for good or for evil,
except through his own volition. It was for him to turn himself to
the one, and live, or to the other, and die.

So intense was this struggle, that, after he had entered his place
of business, he remained there for only a short time, unable to fix
his mind upon anything out of himself, or to bid the tempest in his
mind "be still." Going out into the street, he turned his steps he
knew not whither. He had moved onwards but a few paces, when the
thought of home and his children came up in his mind, accompanied by
a strong desire to go back to his dwelling--a feeling that required
a strong effort to resist. The moment he had effectually resisted
it, and resolved not to go home, his eye fell upon the tempting
exposure of liquors in a bar-room, near which he happened to be
passing. At the same instant, it seemed as if a strong hand were
upon him, urging him towards the open door.

"No--no--no!" he said, half aloud, hurrying forward, "I am not
prepared for that. And yet, what a fool I am," he continued, "to
suffer myself thus to be agitated! Why not come to some decision,
and end this uncertain, painful state at once? But what shall I do?
How shall I decide?"

"To keep your pledge," a voice, half audible, seemed to say.

"And be for ever restless under it,--for ever galled by its slavish
chains," another voice urged, instantly.

"Yes," he said, "that is the consequence which makes me hesitate.
Fool--fool--not to have taken a pledge for a limited period! I was
deceived--tricked into an act that my sober reason condemns! And
should I now be held by that act? No!--no!--no! The voice of reason
says no! And I will not!"

As he said this, he turned about, and walked with a firm, deliberate
step, towards the bar-room he had passed but a few moments before,
entered it, called for a glass of wine, and drank it off.

"Now I am a free man!" he said, as he turned away, and proceeded
towards his place of business, with an erect bearing.

He had not gone far, however, before he felt a strong desire for
another glass of wine, unaccompanied by any thought or fear of
danger. From the moment he had placed the forbidden draught to his
lips, the struggle in his mind had ceased, and a great calm
succeeded to a wild conflict of opposite principles and influences.
He felt happy, and doubly assured that he had taken a right step. A
second glass of wine succeeded the first, and then a third, before
he returned to his place of business. These gave to the tone of his
spirits a very perceptible elevation, but threw over his mind a veil
of confusion and obscurity, of which, however, he was not conscious.
An hour only had passed after his return to business, before he
again went out, and seeking an obscure drinking-house, where his
entrance would not probably be observed, he called for a glass of
punch, and then retired into one of the boxes, where it was handed
to him. Its fragrance and flavour, as he placed it to his lips, were
delightful--so delightful, that it seemed to him a concentration of
all exquisite perceptions of the senses.

Another was soon called for, and then another and another, each one
stealing away more and more of distinct consciousness, until at last
he sunk forward on the table before which he had seated himself,
perfectly lost to all consciousness of external things!

Gladly would the writer draw a veil over all that followed that
insane violation of a solemn pledge, sealed as it had been by the
hand-writing of confirmation. But he cannot do it. The truth, and
the whole truth needs to be told,--the beacon-light must be raised
on the gloomy shores of destruction, as a warning to the thoughtless
or careless navigator.

Sadder and more wretched was the heart of Mrs. Marshall during the
morning of that day, than it had been on the evening before. There
was an overwhelming sense of impending danger in her mind, that she
could not dissipate by any mode of reasoning with herself. As her
children came about her, she would look upon them with an emotion of
yearning tenderness, while her eyes grew dim with tears. And then
she would look up, and breathe a heart-felt prayer that He who
tempereth the winds to the shorn lamb, would regard her little ones.

The failure of her husband to return at the dinner hour, filled her
with trembling anxiety. Not once during two years had he been absent
from home without her being perfectly aware of the cause. Its
occurrence just at this crisis was a confirmation of her vague
fears, and made her sick at heart. Slowly did the afternoon pass
away, and at last the hour came for his return in the evening. But
though she looked for his approaching form, and listened for the
well-known sound of his footsteps, he did not come.

Anxiety and trembling uncertainty now gave way to an overwhelming
alarm. Hurriedly were her children put to bed, and then she went out
to seek for him, she knew not whither. To the store in which he had
become a partner, she first turned her steps. It was closed as she
had feared. Pausing for a few moments to determine where next to
proceed, she concluded to go to the house of his partner, and learn
from him if he had been to the store that day, and at what time. On
her way to his dwelling, she passed down a small street, in which
were several drinking-houses, hid away there to catch the many who
are not willing to be seen entering a tavern.

In approaching one of these, loud voices within, and the sound of a
scuffle, alarmed her. She was about springing forward to run, when
the door was suddenly thrown open, and a man dashed out, who fell
with a violent concussion upon the pavement, close by her feet.
Something about his appearance, dark as it was, attracted her eye.
She stooped down, and laid her hand upon him. It was her husband!

A wild scream, that rung upon the air,--a scream which the poor
heart-stricken creature could not have controlled if her life had
been the forfeit--brought instant assistance. Marshall was taken
into a neighbouring house, and a physician called, who, on making an
examination, said that a serious injury might, or might not have
taken place--he could not tell. One thing, however, was certain, the
man was beastly drunk.

O, with what a chill did that last sentence fall upon the ear of his
wife! It was the death-knell to all the fond hopes she had cherished
for two peaceful years. For a moment she leaned her head against the
wall near which she was standing, and wished that she could die. But
thoughts of her children, and thoughts of duty roused her.

A carnage was procured and her husband conveyed home, and then,
after he had been laid upon a bed, she was left alone with him, and
her own sad reflections. It was, to her, a sleepless night--but full
of waking dreams, whose images of fear made her heart tremble and
shrink, and long for the morning.

Morning at last came. How eagerly did the poor wife bend over the
still unconscious form of her husband, reading each line of his
features, as the pale light that came in at the windows gave
distinctness to every object! He still breathed heavily, and there
was an expression of pain on his countenance. A double cause for
anxiety and alarm, pressed upon the heart of Mrs. Marshall. She knew
not how serious an injury his fall might have occasioned,--nor how
utter might be his abandonment of himself, now that he had broken
his solemn pledge. As she bent over him in doubt, pain, and anxiety,
he suddenly awoke, and, without moving, looked her for a moment
steadily in the face, with a glance of earnest inquiry. Then came a
distinct recollection of his violated pledge; but all after that was
only dimly seen, or involved in wild confusion. His bodily
sensations told him but too plainly how deep had been his fall: and
the intolerable desire, that seemed as if it were consuming his very
vitals, was to him a sad evidence that he had fallen, never, he
feared, to rise again. All this passed through his mind in a moment,
and he closed his eyes, and turned his face away from the earnest,
and now tearful gaze of his wife.

"How do you feel, Jonas?" Mrs. Marshall inquired, tenderly,
modifying her tones, so as not to permit them to convey to his ear
the exquisite pain that she felt. But he made no reply.

"Say, dear, how do you feel?" she urged, laying her hand upon him,
and pausing for an answer.

"As if I were in hell!" he shouted, springing suddenly from the bed,
and beginning to dress himself, hurriedly.

"O, husband, do not speak so!" Mrs. Marshall said, in a soothing
tone. "All may be well again. One sin need not bring utter
condemnation. Let this be the last, as it has been the first,
violation of your pledge. Let this warn you against the removal of
that salutary restraint, which has been as a wall of fire around you
for years."

"Jane!" responded the irritated man, pausing, and looking at his
wife, fixedly, while there sat upon his face an expression of
terrible despair; "that pledge can never be renewed! It would be
like binding a giant with a spider's web. I am lost! lost! lost! The
eager, inexpressible desire that now burns within me, cannot be
controlled. The effort to do so would drive me mad. I must drink, or
die. And you, my poor wife!--and you, my children! what will become
of you? Who will give you sufficient strength to bear your dreadful
lot?"

As he said this, his voice fell to a low and mournful, despairing
expression--and he sunk into a chair, covering his face with his
hands.

"Dear husband!" urged his wife, coming to his side, and drawing her
arm around his neck, "do not thus give way! Let the love I have ever
borne you, and which is stronger and more tender at this moment than
it has ever been--let the love you feel for your dear little ones,
give you strength to conquer. Be a man! Nerve yourself, and look
upwards for strength, and you must conquer."

"No--no--no--Jane!" the poor wretch murmured, shaking his head,
mournfully. "Do not deceive your heart by false hopes, for they will
all be in vain. I cannot look up. The heavens have become as brass
to me. I have forfeited all claim to success from above. As I lifted
the fatal glass to my lips, I heard a voice, whose tones were as
distinct as yours--'Let us go hence!' and from that moment, I have
been weak and unsustained in the hands of my enemies. I am a doomed
man!"

As he said this, a shrinking shudder passed through his frame, and
he groaned aloud. The silence that then reigned through the chamber
was as appalling as the silence of death to the heart of Mrs.
Marshall. It was broken at length by her husband, who looked up with
an expression of tenderness in her face, as she still stood with her
hand upon him, and said--

"Jane, my dear wife! let me say to you now, while I possess my full
senses, which I know not that I ever shall again, that you have been
true and kind to me, and that I have ever loved you with an earnest
love. Bear with me in my infirmity;--if, amid the grief, and wrong,
and suffering, which must fall upon you and your children, you _can_
bear with the miserable cause of all your wretchedness. I shall not
long remain, I feel, to be a burden and a curse to you. My downward
course will be rapid, and its termination will soon come!"

A gush of tears followed this, and then came a stern silence, that
chilled the heart of Mrs. Marshall. She longed to urge still further
upon her husband to make an effort to restrain the intense desire he
felt, but could not. There seemed to be a seal upon her lips. Slowly
she turned away to attend to her little ones, upon whom she now
looked with something of that hopelessness which the widow feels, as
she turns from the grave of her husband, and looks upon her
fatherless children.

With a strong effort, Marshall remained in the house until breakfast
was on the table. But he could only sip a little coffee, and soon
arose, and lifted his hat to go out. His wife was by his side, as he
laid his hand on the door.

"Jonas," she said, while the tears sprang to her eyes, "remember
me--remember your children!" She could say no more; sobs choked her
utterance--and she leaned her head, weak and desponding, upon his
shoulder.

Her husband made no reply, but gently placed her in a chair, kissed
her cheek, and then turned hastily away, and left the house.

It was many minutes before Mrs. Marshall found strength to rise, and
then she staggered across the room, like one who had been stunned by
a blow. We will not attempt the vain task of describing her feelings
through that terrible day;--of picturing the alternate states of
hope and deep despondency, that now made her heart bound with a
lighter emotion,--and now caused it to sink low, and almost
pulseless, in her bosom. It passed away at last, and brought the
gloomy night--fall--but not her husband's return. Eight, nine, ten,
eleven, and twelve o'clock came, and went, and still he was absent.

For an hour she had been seated by the window, listening for the
sound of his approaching footsteps. As the clock struck twelve, she
started, listened for a moment still more intently, and then arose
with a deep sigh, her manner indicating a state of irresolution.
First she went softly to the bed, and stood looking down for some
moments upon the faces of her little ones, sleeping calmly and
sweetly, all unconscious of the anguish that swelled their mother's
heart almost to bursting. Then she raised her head, and again
assumed a listening attitude. An involuntary sigh told that she had
listened in vain. A few moments after she was aroused from a state
of deep abstraction of thought, by a strong shudder passing through
her frame, occasioned by some fearful picture which her excited
imagination had conjured up. She now went hastily to a wardrobe, and
took out her bonnet and shawl. One more glance at her children, told
her that they were sleeping soundly. In the next minute she was in
the street, bending her steps she knew not whither, in search of her
husband.

Almost involuntarily, Mrs. Marshall took her way towards that
portion of the city where she had, on the night previous,
unexpectedly found him. It was not longer before she paused by the
door at the same drinking-house from which her husband had been
thrust, when he fell, almost lifeless, at her feet. Although it was
past twelve o'clock, the sound of many voices came from within,
mingled with wild excitement, and boisterous mirth.

Now came a severe trial for her shrinking, sensitive feelings. How
could she, a woman, and alone, enter such a place, at such an hour,
on such an errand? The thought caused a sensation of faintness to
pass over her, and she leaned for a moment against the side of the
door to keep from falling. But affection and thoughts of duty
quickly aroused her, and resolutely keeping down every weakness, she
placed her hand upon the door, which yielded readily to even her
light hand, and in the next moment found herself in the presence of
about a dozen men, all more or less intoxicated. Their loud, insane
mirth was instantly checked by her entrance. They were all men who
were in the habit of mingling daily in good society, and more than
one of them knew Marshall, and instantly recognised his wife. No
rudeness was, of course, offered her. On the contrary, two or three
came forward, and kindly inquired, though they guessed too well, her
errand there at such an hour.

"Has my husband been here to-night, Mr.--?" she asked, in a
choking voice, of one whose countenance she instantly recognised.

"I have not met with him, Mrs. Marshall," was the reply, in a kind,
sympathizing tone, "but I will inquire if any one here has seen
him."

These inquiries were made, and then Mr.--came forward again, and
said, in a low tone,

"Come with me, Mrs. Marshall."

As the two emerged into the street, Mr.--said,

"I would not, if I were you, madam, attempt to look further for your
husband. I have just learned that he is safe and well, only a little
overcome, by having, accidentally, I have no doubt, drunken a little
too freely. In the, morning he will come home, and all will, I
trust, be right again."

"What you say, I know, is meant in kindness, Mr.--," Mrs. Marshall
replied, in a firmer tone, the assurance that her husband was at
least safe from external danger, being some relief to her, "but I
would rather see my husband, and have him taken home. Home is the
best place for him, under any circumstances--and I am the most
fitting one to attend to him. Will you, then, do me the favour to
procure a hack, and go with me to the place where he is to be
found?"

Mr.--saw that in the manner and tone of Mrs. Marshall which made
him at once resolve to do as she wished him. The hack was procured,
into which both entered. Directions were given, in a low tone, to
the driver, and then they rattled away over the resounding pavement,
for a space of time that seemed very long to the anxious wife. At
last the hack stopped, the door was opened, and the steps thrown
down. When Mrs. Marshall descended, she found herself in a narrow,
dark street, before a low, dirty-looking tavern, the windows and
doors of which had been closed for the night.

While Mr.--was knocking loudly for admission, her eyes, growing
familiar with the darkness, saw something lying partly upon the
street and partly upon the pavement a few yards from her, that grew
more and more distinct, the more intently she looked at it.
Advancing a few steps, she saw that it was the body of a man,--a few
paces further, revealed to her eyes the form of her husband. An
exclamation of surprise and alarm brought both Mr.--and the
hack-driver to her side.

In attempting to raise Marshall to his feet, he groaned heavily, and
writhed with a sensation of pain. Something dark upon the pavement
attracted the eye of his wife. She touched it with her hand, to
which it adhered, with a moist, oily feeling. Hurrying to the lamp
in front of the hack, with a feeling of sudden alarm, she lifted her
hand so that the light could fall upon it. It was covered with
blood!

With a strong effort, she kept down the sudden impulse that she felt
to utter a wild scream, and went back to Mr.--and communicated to
him the alarming fact she had discovered. Marshall was at once laid
gently down upon the pavement, and a light procured, which showed
that his pantaloons, above, below, and around the knees, were
saturated with blood.

"O, Mr.--! what can be the matter?" Mrs. Marshall said, in husky
tones, looking up, with a face blanched to an ashy paleness.

"Some passing vehicle has, no doubt, run over him--but I trust that
he is not much hurt. Remain here with him, until I can procure
assistance, and have him taken home."

"O, sir, go quickly!" the poor wife replied, in earnest tones.

In a short time, four men, with a litter, were procured, upon which
Marshall, now groaning, as if acutely conscious of pain, was placed,
and slowly conveyed home. A surgeon reached the house as soon as the
party accompanying the injured man. An examination showed that his
legs had been broken just above the knees. And one of them had the
flesh dreadfully torn and bruised, and both were crushed as if run
over by some heavy vehicle. A still further examination showed the
fracture to be compound, and extensive; but, fortunately, the knee
joint had entirely escaped. Already the limbs had swollen very
considerably, exhibiting a rapidly increasing inflammation. This was
a natural result flowing from the large quantity of alcohol which he
had evidently been taking through the day and evening.

Fortunately, notwithstanding the morbid condition of his body, and
the nature and extent of the injury he had sustained, the vital
system of Marshall, unexhausted by a long-continued series of
physical abuse from drinking, rallied strongly against the violent
inflammation that followed the setting of the bones, and dressing of
the wounds, and threw off the too apparent tendency to mortification
that continued, much to the anxiety of the surgeon, for many days.
During this time, he suffered almost incessant pain--frequently of
an excruciating character. The severity of this pain entirely
destroyed all desire for intoxicating drink. This desire, however,
gradually began to return, as the pain, which accompanied the
knitting of the bones, subsided. But he did not venture to ask for
it, and, of course, it was not offered to him.