Gilbert Parker - "The Judgment House"

William Makepeace Thackeray - "The History of Pendennis"

Gouverneur Morris - "Aladdin O'Brien"

Selected and arranged by William Patten - "The Junior Classics Volume 8"

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




"Aint you happy to-night, Clara! Aint you, old girl!" he said, in a
loud voice, striking her with his open hand upon the shoulder. "I'm
so happy that I feel just ready to jump out of my skin! Whoop!--Now
see how beautifully I can cut a pigeon's-wing."

And he sprang from his seat, and commenced describing the elegant
figure he had named, with industrious energy, much to the amusement
of one portion of the company, but to the painful mortification of
another. A circle was soon formed around him, to witness his
graceful movements, which strongly reminded those present who had
witnessed the performances, of a corn-field negro's Juba, or the
double-shuffle.

"Come," old Mr. Manley said, interrupting the young man in his
evolutions, by laying his hand upon his arm.

"Come! I want you a moment."

"Hel-lel-lel-lo, o-o, there! What's wanting? ha!" he said, pausing,
and then staggering forwards against Mr Manley. "Who are you, sir?"

"For shame, sir!" the old man replied in a stern voice. "Come with
me, I wish to speak to you."

"Speak here, then, will you? I've no se-se-secrets. I'm open and
above board! Jim Haley's the boy that knows what he's about!
Who-o-o-oop! Clear the track there!"

And starting away from the old man, he ran two or three paces, and
then sprang clear over the head of a young lady, frightening her
almost out of her wits.

"There! Who'll match me that? Jim Haley's the boy what's hard to
beat! Whoo-oo-oop, hurrah! But where's Clara? Where's my dear little
wifie? Ah! there--No, that isn't her, neither. Wh-wh-where is the
little jade?"

The whole of this passed in a few moments, with all the drunken
gestures required to give it the fullest effect.

Poor Clara, at first mortified, when she saw what a perfect madman
her husband had become, was so shocked that her feelings overcame
her, and she was carried fainting from the room. O, how bitter was
her momentary repentance of her blind folly, ere her bewildered
senses forsook her.

As for Haley, he grew worse and worse, until the brandy which he
continued to pour down, had completely stupified him, when he was
carried off to bed in a state of drunken insensibility; after which,
the company retired in oppressive and embarrassed silence.

Sad and lonely was the bridal chamber that night, and the couch of
the young bride was wet with bitter, but unavailing tears.

On the next morning, those who first entered the room where Haley
had slept, found it empty. Towards the middle of the day, a letter
was left for Clara by an unknown hand. It ran thus:

"DEAR CLARA--For you are still dear to me, although you have robbed
me of happiness for ever, and crushed your own hopes with mine. For
years before I came to this place, I had been a slave to
intoxication--a slave held in a fearful bondage. At last, I resolved
to break loose from my thraldom. One vigorous effort, and I was
free. There yet remained to me a small remnant of a wrecked fortune.
With this I abandoned my early home, and fixed my residence here,
determined once more to be a man. Temptations beset me on every
hand; but while I touched not, tasted not, handled not, I knew that
I was safe. But alas for the hour when you became my tempter! O,
that the remembrance of it could be blotted from my memory for ever!
When, for your sake, I raised that fatal glass to my lips, and the
single drop of wine that touched them thrilled wildly through every
nerve, I felt that I was lost. Horrible were my sensations, but your
tempting voice lured me to sip the scarcely tasted poison; I did so,
and my resolution was gone! All that occurred after that is only
dimly written on my memory. But I was a madman. That I can realize.
When drunk, I have always acted the madman. And now we part for
ever! I am a proud man, and cannot remain in the scene of my
disgrace. My property I leave for you, and go I know not, and care
not, whither--perhaps to die, unlamented, and unknown, and sink into
a drunkard's grave. Farewell!"

This letter bore neither name nor date. But they were not needed.

Five years from that sorrowful morning Clara sat by a window in her
father's house, near the close of day, looking dreamily up into the
serene and cloudless sky. Her face was pale, and had a look of
hopeless suffering. Five years!--It seemed as if twenty must have
passed over her head, each burdening her with a heavy weight of
affliction. O, what a wreck did she present! Five years of such a
life! Who can tell their history? She was alone; and sat with her
head upon her hand, and her eyes fixed, as if upon some object. But,
evidently, no image touched the nerve of vision. Presently her lips
moved, and a few mournful words were uttered aloud, almost
involuntarily.

"O, that I knew where he was! O, that I could but find him, if
alive!"

A slight noise startled her, and she turned quickly. Was it a
vision? Or did her long-lost husband stand before her, the shadow of
what he had been?

"Clara! Dear Clara!"

In a moment she was clinging to him with a trembling, eager,
convulsive grasp. Tenderly did he fold her in his arms, and press
his lips to hers fervently.

"Clara! Dear Clara!"

"My own dear husband!" was all she could utter, as she sank like a
helpless child on his bosom.

For four years from the night of his wedding, Haley had been a
common drunkard, with no power over himself. On the brink of the
grave, he was rescued, signed a pledge of total abstinence, and set
himself eagerly to work to elevate his condition. One year had
sufficed to efface many sad tokens of his degradation, but time
could not restore the freshness to his cheek, nor the light to his
eye. Then he returned and sought his bride, who still mourned him
with an inconsolable grief. A few months produced a happy change in
both. But they cannot look back. Over the past they throw a
veil,--the future is theirs, and it is growing brighter and
brighter. May its clear sky never be darkened!






THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT.





"Is there a good fire in the little spare room Jane?" said Mr. Wade,
a plain country farmer, coming into the kitchen where his good wife
was busy preparing for supper.

"Oh, yes, I've made the room as comfortable as can be," replied Mrs.
Wade; "but I wish you would take up a good armful of wood now, so
that we wont have to disturb Mr. N--, by going into the room after
he gets here."

"If he should come this evening," remarked the husband. "But it is
getting late, and I am afraid he won't be here Before the morning."

"Oh, I guess he will be along soon. I have felt all day as if he
were coming."

"They say he is a good man, and preaches most powerfully. Mr. Jones
heard him preach in New York at the last conference, and tells me he
never heard such a sermon as he gave them. It cut right and left,
and his words went home to every heart like arrows of conviction."

"I hope he will be here this evening," remarked the wife as she put
some cakes in the oven.

"And so do I." remarked Mr. Wade, as he turned away, and went out to
the wood pile for an armfull of wood for the expected minister's
room.

It was Saturday afternoon, and nearly sundown. Mr. N--, who was
expected to arrive, and for whose comfort every preparation in their
power to make, had been completed by the family at whose house he
was to stay, was the new Presiding Elder of B--District, in the
New Jersey Conference. Quarterly meeting was to be held on the next
day, which was Sunday, when Mr. N--was to preach, and administer
the ordinances of the church. Being his first visit to that part of
the District, the preacher was known to but few, if any, of the
members, and they all looked forward to his arrival with interest,
and were prepared to welcome him with respect and affection.

The house of Mr. Wade was known as the 'minister's home.' For years,
in their movements through the circuit, the preachers, as they came
round to this part in the field of their appointed labor, were
welcomed by Brother and Sister Wade, and the little spare chamber
made comfort. able for their reception. It was felt by these
honest-hearted people, more a privilege than a duty, thus to share
their temporal blessings with the men of God who ministered to them
in holy things. They had their weaknesses, as we all have. One of
their weaknesses consisted in a firm belief that they were deeply
imbued with the genuine religion, and regarded things spiritual
above all worldly considerations. They were kind, good people,
certainly, but not as deeply read in the lore of their own hearts,
not as familiar with the secret springs of their own actions, as all
of us should desire to be. But this was hardly to be wondered at,
seeing that their position in the church was rather elevated as
compared with those around them, and they were the subjects of
little distinguishing marks flattering to the natural man.

While Mr. Wade was splitting a log at the wood-pile, his thoughts on
the new Presiding Elder, and his feelings warm with the anticipated
pleasure of meeting and entertaining him, a man of common appearance
approached along the road, and when he came to where the farmer was,
stood still and looked at him until he had finished cutting the log,
and was preparing to lift the cleft pieces in his arms.

"Rather a cold day this," said the man.

"Yes, rather," returned Mr. Wade, a little indifferently, and in a
voice meant to repulse the stranger, whose appearance did not
impress him very favorably.

"How far is it to D--?" inquired the man.

"Three miles," replied Mr. Wade, who having filled his arms with
wood, was beginning to move off towards the house.

"So far!" said the man in a tone that was slightly marked with
hesitation. "I thought it was but a little way from this." Then with
an air of hesitation, and speaking in a respectful voice, he added,
"I would feel obliged if you would let me go in and warm myself. I
have walked for two miles in the cold, an--as D--is still three
miles off, I shall be chilled through before I get there."

So modest and natural a request as this, Mr. Wade could not refuse,
and yet, in the way he said--"Oh, certainly"--there was a manner
that clearly betrayed his wish that the man had passed on and
preferred his request somewhere else. Whether this was noticed or
not, is of no consequence; the wayfarer on this assent to his
request, followed Mr. Wade into the house.

"Jane," said the farmer as he entered the house with the stranger,
and his voice was not as cordial as it might have been; "let this
man warm himself by the kitchen fire. He has to go all the way to
D--this evening and says he is cold."

There is a kind of magnetic intelligence in the tones of the voice.
Mrs. Wade understood perfectly, by the way in which this was said,
that the husband did not feel much sympathy for the stranger, and
only yielded the favor asked because he could not well refuse to
grant it. Her own observation did not correct the impression her
husband's manner had produced. The man's dress, though neither dirty
nor ragged, was not calculated to impress any one very favorably.
His hat was much worn, and the old gray coat in which he was
buttoned up to the chin, had seen so much service that it was
literally threadbare from collar to skirt, and showed numerous
patches, darns, and other evidences of needlework, applied long
since to its original manufacture. His cow-hide boots, though whole,
had a coarse look; and his long dark beard gave his face, not a very
prepossessing one at best, a no very attractive aspect.

"You can sit down there," said Mrs. Wade, a little ungraciously, for
she felt the presence of the man, just at that particular juncture,
as an intrusion; and she pointed to an old chair that stood. near
the fire-place, in front of which was a large Dutch oven containing
some of her best cream short cakes, prepared especially for Mr.
N--, the new Presiding Elder now momently expected.

"Thank you, Ma'am," returned the stranger, as he took the chair, and
drew close up to the blazing hearth, and removing his thick woolen
gloves, spread his hands to receive the genial warmth.

Nothing more was said by either the stranger or Mr. Wade, for the
space of three or four minutes. During this time, the good
house-wife passed in and out, once or twice, busy as could be in
looking after supper affairs. The lid of the ample Dutch oven had
been raised once or twice, and both the eyes and nose of the
traveller greeted with a pleasant token of the good fare soon to be
served up in the family. He was no longer cold; but the sight and
smell of the cakes and other good things in preparation by the lady,
awakened a sense of hunger, and made it keenly felt. But, as the
comfort of a little warmth had been bestowed so reluctantly, he
could not think of trespassing on the farmer and his wife for a bite
of supper, and so commenced drawing on his heavy woolen gloves, and
buttoning up his old gray coat. While occupied in doing this, Mr.
Wade came into the kitchen, and said--

"I'm afraid Jane, that the minister won't be along this evening.
It's after sun-down, and begins to grow duskish."

"He ought to have been here an hour ago," returned Mrs. W., in a
tone of disappointment.

"It's getting late, my friend, and D--'s a good distance ahead,"
remarked the farmer, after standing with his back to the fire, and
regarding for some moments the stranger, who had taken off his
gloves, and was slowly unbuttoning his coat again.

"It's three miles you say?"

"Yes, good three miles, if not more; and it will be dark in half an
hour."

"What direction must I take?" required the stranger.

"You keep along the road until you come to the meeting house on the
top of the hill, half a mile beyond this, and then you strike off to
the right, and keep straight on."

"What meeting house is it?"

"The D--Methodist Meeting House."

"You are expecting the minister, I think you just now said?"

"Yes. Mr. N--, our new Presiding Elder, is to preach to-morrow,
and he was to have been here this afternoon."

"He is to stay with you?"

"Certainly he is. The ministers all stay at my house."

The man got up, and went to the door and looked out.

"Couldn't you give me a little something to eat before I go," he
said, returning. "I havn't tasted food since this morning, and feel
a little faint."

"Jane, can't you give him some cold meat and bread?" Mr. Wade turned
to his wife, and she answered, just a little fretfully, "Oh, yes, I
suppose so;" and going to the cupboard, brought out a dish
containing a piece of cold fat bacon that had been boiled with
cabbage for dinner, and half a loaf of bread, which she placed on
the kitchen table and told the man to help himself. The stranger did
not wait for another invitation; but set to work in good earnest
upon the bread and bacon, while the farmer stood with his hands
behind him, and his back to the fire, whistling the air of "Auld
Lang Syne," while he mentally repeated the words of the hymn of
"When I can read my title clear," and wished that his visitor would
make haste and get through with his supper. The latter, after eating
for a short time with the air of a man whose appetite was keen,
began to discuss the meat and bread with more deliberation, and
occasionally to ask a question, or make a remark, the replies to
which were not very gracious, although Mr. Wade forced himself to be
as polite as he could be.

The homely meal at length concluded, the man buttoned up his old
coat and drew on his coarse woolen gloves again, and thanking Mr.
and Mrs. Wade for their hospitality, opened the door and looked out.
It was quite dark, for there was no moon, and the sky was veiled in
clouds. The wind rushed into his face, cold and piercing. For a
moment or two, he stood with his hand upon the door, and then
closing it he turned back into the house, and said to the farmer

"You say it is still three miles to D--?"

"I do," said Mr. Wade coldly.

"I said so to you when you first stopped, and you ought to have
pushed on like a prudent man. You could have reached there before it
was quite dark."

"But I was cold and hungry, and might have fainted by the way."

The manner of saying this touched the farmer's feelings a little,
and caused him to look more narrowly into the stranger's face than
he had yet done. But he saw nothing more than he had already seen.

"You have warmed and fed me, for which I am thankful. Will you not
bestow another act of kindness upon one who is in a strange place,
and if he goes out in the darkness may lose himself and perish in
the cold?"

The peculiar form in which this request was made, and the tone in
which it was uttered, put it almost out of the power of the farmer
to say no.

"Go in there and sit down," he (sic) answed, pointing to the
kitchen, "and I will see my wife, and hear what she has to say."

And Mr. Wade went into the parlor where the supper table stood,
covered with a snow-white cloth, and displaying his wife's set of
bluesprigged china, that was only brought out on special occasions.
Two tall mould candles were burning thereon, and on the hearth
blazed a cheerful hickory fire.

"Hasn't that old fellow gone yet?" asked Mrs. Wade. She had heard
his voice as he returned from the door.

"No. And what do you suppose? He wants us to let him stay all
night."

"Indeed, and we'll do no such thing! We can't have the likes of him
in the house, no how. Where could he sleep?"

"Not in the best room, even if Mr. N--shouldn't come."

"No, indeed!"

"But I really don't see, Jane how we can turn him out of doors. He
doesn't look like a very strong man, and it's dark and cold, and
full three miles to D--."

"It's too much! He ought to have gone on while he had daylight, and
not lingered here as he did until it got dark."

"We can't turn him out of doors, Jane; and it's no use to think of
it. He'll have to stay now."

"But what can we do with him?"

"He seems like a decent man, at least; and don't look as if he had
anything bad about him. We might make him a bed on the floor
somewhere."

"I wish he had been to Guinea before he came here," said Mrs. Wade,
fretfully. The disappointment, the conviction that Mr. N--would
not arrive, and the intrusion of so unwelcome a visitor as the
stranger, completely unhinged her mind.

"Oh, well, Jane," replied her husband in a soothing voice, "never
mind. We must make the best of it. Poor man! He came to us tired and
hungry, and we have warmed him and fed him. He now asks shelter for
the night, and we must not refuse him, nor grant his request in a
complaining reluctant spirit. You know what the Bible says about
entertaining angels unawares."

"Angels! Did you ever see an angel look like him?"

"Having never seen an angel," said the husband smiling, "I am unable
to speak as to their appearance."

This had the effect to call an answering smile to the face of Mrs.
Wade, and a better feeling to her heart. And it was finally agreed
between them, that the man, as he seemed like a decent kind of a
person, should be permitted to occupy the minister's room, if that
individual did not arrive, an event to which they both now looked
with but small expectancy. If he did come, why the man would have
put up with poorer accommodations.

When Mr. Wade returned to the kitchen where the stranger had seated
himself before the fire, he informed him, that they had decided to
let him stay all night. The man expressed in a few words his
grateful sense of their kindness, and then became silent and
thoughtful. Soon after, the farmer's wife, giving up all hopes of
Mr. N--'s arrival, had supper taken up, which consisted of coffee,
warm cream short cakes, and sweet cakes, broiled ham, and broiled
chicken. After all was on the table, a short conference was held, as
to whether it would do not to invite the stranger to take supper. It
was true, they had given him as much bread and bacon as he could
eat; but then, as long as he was going to stay all night, it looked
too inhospitable to sit down to the table and not ask him to join
them. So, making a virtue of necessity, he was kindly asked to come
in to supper, an invitation which he did not decline. Grace was said
over the meal by Mr. Wade, and then the coffee was poured out, the
bread helped, and the meat served.

There was a fine little boy of some five or six years old at the
table, who had been brightened up, and dressed in his best, in order
to grace the minister's reception. Charley was full of talk, and the
parents felt a natural pride in showing him off, even before their
humble guest, who noticed him particularly, although he had not much
to say.

"Come, Charley," said Mr. Wade, after the meal was over, and he sat
leaning back in his chair, "can't you repeat the pretty hymn mamma
learned you last Sunday?"

Charley started off, without further invitation, and repeated, very
accurately, two or three verses of a new camp-meeting hymn, that was
just then very popular.

"Now let us hear you say the Commandments, Charley," spoke up the
mother, well pleased at her child's performance. And Charley
repeated them with only the aid of a little prompting.

"How many commandments are there?" asked the father.

The child hesitated, and then looking up at the stranger, near whom
he sat, said, innocently,--

"How many are there?"

The man thought for some moments, and said, as if in doubt--

"Eleven, are there not?"

"Eleven!" ejaculated Mrs. Wade, looking towards the man in unfeigned
surprise.

"Eleven!" said her husband, with more of rebuke than astonishment in
his voice. "Is it possible, sir, that you do not know how many
Commandments there are? How many are there, Charley? Come! Tell me;
you know, of course."

"Ten," said the child.

"Right, my son," returned Mr. Wade, with a smile of approval.

"Right. Why, there isn't a child of his age within ten miles who
can't tell you that there are ten Commandments. "Did you never read
the Bible, sir?" addressing the stranger.

"When I was a little boy, I used to read in it sometimes. But I'm
sure I thought there were eleven Commandments. Are you not mistaken
about there being only ten?"

Sister Wade lifted her hands in unfeigned astonishment, and
exclaimed--

"Could any one believe it? Such ignorance of the Bible!"

Mr. Wade did not reply, but he arose, and going to one corner of the
room, where the Good Book lay upon a small mahogany stand, brought
it to the table, and pushing away his plate, cup and saucer, laid
the volume before him, and opened that portion in which the
Commandments are recorded.

"There!" he said, placing his finger upon a proof of the man's
error. "There! Look for yourself!"

The man came round from his side of the table, and looked over the
farmer's shoulder.

"There! Ten;--d'ye see!"

"Yes, it does say ten," replied the man. "And yet it seems to me
there are eleven. I'm sure I have always thought so."

"Doesn't it say ten, here?" inquired Mr. Wade, with marked
impatience in his voice.

"It does certainly."

"Well, what more do you want? Can't you believe the Bible?"

"Oh, yes I believe in the Bible, and yet, somehow, it strikes me
that there must be eleven Commandments. Hasn't one been added
somewhere else?"

Now this was too much for Brother and Sister Wade to bear. Such
ignorance on sacred matters they felt to be unpardonable. A long
lecture followed, in which the man was scolded, admonished and
threatened with Divine indignation. At its close, he modestly asked
if he might have the Bible to read for an hour or two, before
retiring to rest. This request was granted with more pleasure than
any of the preceding ones. Shortly after supper the man was
conducted to the little spare room accompanied by the Bible. Before
leaving him alone, Mr. Wade felt it his duty to exhort him on
spiritual things, and he did so most earnestly for ten or fifteen
minutes. But he could not see that his words made much impression,
and he finally left his guest, lamenting his ignorance and obduracy.

In the morning, the man came down, and meeting Mr. Wade, asked him
if he would be so kind as to lend him a razor, that he might remove
his beard, which did not give his face a very attractive aspect. His
request was complied with.

"We will have family prayer in about ten minutes," said Mr. Wade, as
he handed him a razor and a shaving-box.

In ten minutes the man appeared and behaved himself with due
propriety at family worship. After breakfast he thanked the farmer
and his wife for their hospitality, and departing, went on his
journey.

Ten o'clock came, and Mr. N--had not yet arrived. So Mr. and Mrs.
Wade started off for the meeting house, not doubting that they would
find him there. But they were disappointed. A goodly number of
people were inside the meeting house, and a goodly number outside,
but the minister had not yet arrived.

"Where is Mr. N--?" inquired a dozen voices, as a little crowd
gathered around the farmer.

"He hasn't come yet. Something has detained him. But I still look
for him; indeed, I fully expected to find him here."

The day was cold, and Mr. Wade, after becoming thoroughly chilled,
concluded to go in, and keep a look-out for the minister from the
window near which he usually sat. Others, from the same cause,
followed his example, and the little meeting house was soon filled,
and still one after another came dropping in. The farmer, who turned
towards the door each time it opened, was a little surprised to see
his guest of the previous night enter, and come slowly along the
aisle, looking from side to side as if in search of a vacant seat,
very few of which were now left. Still advancing, he finally passed
within the little enclosed altar, and ascending to the pulpit, took
off his old gray overcoat and sat down.