Francois Coppee - "A Romance of Youth, v3"

James E. Seaver - "A Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemison"

Lafayette - "Memoirs of General Lafayette"

Eva Stern - "The Little Immigrant"

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




On Sunday she went, as was her custom, to church, and took her two
little girls with her. Her husband and son remained at home. When
she returned from service they were gone; instinctively turning to
where she had concealed her little treasure, of five dollars, she
found that it had also disappeared! She knew well how to account for
its loss. Her husband and son had robbed her! The little hope that
had animated her breast for the last few days, gave way, and she
sunk down into a condition of mind that was almost despair. Towards
evening, her husband and son came home drunk, and lay all night
stupid. In the morning, they stole off by day-light, and she was
left alone with her little ones, to brood over her melancholy
prospect. She could not, of course, go to market, for she had
nothing to sell, nor anything with which to purchase a little stock.

Mr. Williams, who felt a lively interest in her case, especially on
account of the unkind treatment she had received from his wife, used
to stop and inquire into her prospects whenever he saw her in the
market, and had been looking round for something better for her to
do. Missing her this morning, he went to her house, and there found
her in a state of complete despondency. He encouraged her in the
best way he could, but did not advance her another little capital,
which he would willingly have done under other circumstances, and
then went away, determined to get her some situation which would be
more suitable for one of her habits and feelings.

Not an hour after he learned that a head nurse was much wanted at
the alms-house. He made immediate application for her, and was happy
in securing the place. It was at once offered to her, and she
accepted it with gladness, especially as she would be allowed to
bring her two children with her. In due time, she removed to her new
abode, and soon won the good-will and kind consideration of the
Board of Trustees, and the affectionate regards of those to whose
afflictions she was called to minister. Her two little girls were
educated at the alms-house school, and grew up amiable, intelligent,
and industrious. Of her other children, I never knew much.

Mrs. Williams seemed to think the situation of her sister at the
alms-house, almost as disgraceful as her place in the market. She
never renewed a communication with her. Even up to the hour when
Mrs. Haller was called to her final account, which was many years
after, her sister neither saw nor spoke to her.






THE MAIDEN'S ERROR.





THE story of Julia Forrester is but a revelation of what occurs
every day. I draw aside the veil for a moment, would that some one
might gaze with trembling on the picture, and be saved!

The father of Julia had served an apprenticeship to the tanning and
currying business. He had been taken when an orphan boy of twelve
years old, by a man in this trade, and raised by him, without any of
the benefits of education. At twenty-one he could read and write a
little, but had no taste for improving his mind. His master, being
well pleased with him for his industry and sobriety, offered him a
small interest in his business, shortly after he was free, which
soon enabled him to marry, and settle himself in life.

His new companion was the daughter of a reduced tradesman; she had
high notions of gentility, but possessed more vanity and love of
admiration than good sense. Neither of them could comprehend the
true relation of parents. If they fed their children well, clothed
them well, and sent them to the most reputable schools, they
imagined that they had, in part, discharged their duty; and, wholly,
when they had obtained good-looking and well-dressed husbands for
their daughters. This may be a little exaggerated; but such an
inference might readily have been drawn by one who attentively
considered their actions.

I shall not spend further time in considering their characters.
Their counterpart may be found in every street, and in every
neighbourhood. The curious student of human nature can study them at
will. Julia Forrester was the child of such parents. When she was
fifteen, they were in easy circumstances. But at that critical
period of their daughter's life, they were ignorant of human nature,
and entirely unskilled in the means of detecting false pretension,
or discovering true merit.

Indeed, they were much more ready to consider the former as true,
and the latter as false. The unpretending modesty of real worth they
generally mistook for imbecility, or a consciousness of questionable
points of character; while bold-faced assurance was thought to be an
open exhibition of manliness--the free, undisguised manner of those
who had nothing to conceal.

It is rarely that a girl of Julia's age, but little over fifteen,
possesses much insight into character. It was enough for her that
her parents invited young men to the house, or permitted them to
visit her. Her favour, or dislike, was founded upon mere impulse, or
the caprice of first impressions. Among her earliest visitors, was a
young man of twenty-two, clerk in a dry-goods' store. He had an
open, prepossessing manner, but had indulged in vicious habits for
many years, and was thoroughly unprincipled. His name I will call
Warburton. Another visitor was a modest, sensible young man, also
clerk in another dry-goods' store. He was correct in all his habits,
and inclined to be religious. He had no particular end in view in
visiting at Forrester's, more than to mingle in society. Still, as
he continued his visits, he began to grow fond of Julia,
notwithstanding her extreme youth. The fact was, she had shot up
suddenly into a graceful woman; and her manners were really
attractive. Little could be gleaned, however, in her society, or in
that of but few who visited her, from the current chit-chat. It was
all chaffy stuff,--mere small-talk. Let me introduce the reader to
their more particular acquaintance. There is assembled at Mr.
Forrester's a gay social party, such as met there almost every week.
It is in the summer time. The windows are thrown open, and the
passers-by can look in upon the light-hearted group, at will.
Warburton and Julia are trifling in conversation, and the others are
wasting. the moments as frivolously as possible. We will join them
without ceremony.

"A more beautiful ring than this on your finger, I have never seen.
Do you know why a ring is used in marriage?"

"La! no, Mr. Warburton. Do tell me."

"Why, because it is an emblem of love, which has neither beginning
nor end."

"And how will you make that out, Sir Oracle? ha! ha!"

"Why as plain as a pike-staff. True love has no beginning; for those
who are to be married love each other before they meet. And it
cannot have an end. So you see that a ring is the emblem of love."

"That's an odd notion; where did you pick it up?"

"I picked it up nowhere. It is a cherished opinion of my own, and I
believe in it as firmly as some of the Jews of old did in the
transmigration of souls."

"You are a queer body."

"Yes, I _have_ got some queer notions; so people say: but I think I
am right, and those who don't agree with me, wrong. A mere
difference of opinion, however. All things are matters of opinion.
Aint it so, Perkins?" addressing the young man before alluded to.

"What were you talking about?"

"Why, I was just saying to Julia that all different ideas
entertained by different persons, were differences of opinion
merely."

"Do you mean to say, that there is no such thing as truth, or
error?"

"I do--in the abstract."

"Then we differ, of course--and as it would be, according to your
estimation, a mere difference of opinion, no argument on the subject
would be in place here."

"Of course not," replied Warburton, rather coolly, and dropped the
subject. Julia _almost_ saw that Warburton had made himself appear
foolish in the eyes of the dull, insipid Perkins--but her mental
vision was closed up as firmly as ever, in a moment.

A loud burst of laughter from a group at the other end of the room,
drew the attention of the company, who flocked to the scene of
mirth, and soon all were chattering and laughing in a wild and
incoherent manner, so loud as to attract the notice of persons in
the street.

"Ha! he! he!" laughed a young lady, hysterically, sinking into a
chair, with her handkerchief to her mouth--"what a droll body!"

"He-a, he-a, he-o-o-o," more boisterously roared out a fun-loving
chap, who knew more about good living than good manners. And so the
laugh passed round. The cause of all this uproar, was a merry
fellow, who had made a rabbit out of one of the girl's
handkerchiefs, and was springing it from his hand against the wall.
He seemed to have a fair appreciation of the character of his
associates for the evening; and though himself perfectly competent
to behave well in the best society, chose to act the clown in this.

In due course, order was restored, more from the appearance of a
waiter with nuts and raisins, than from an natural reaction.

"Name my apple, Mr. Perkins,"--(don't smile, reader--it's a true
picture)--whispered a young lady to the young man sitting next her.

"It is named."

"Name my apple, Mr. Collins," said Julia, with a nod and a smile.

"It is named."

"And mine, Mr. Collins"--"And mine, Mr. Warburton"--"And mine, Mr.
Jones."

The apples being eaten, the important business of counting seed came
next in order.

"How many have you got, Julia?"

"Six."

"She loves!"

"Who is it, Mr. Collins?" asked two or three voices.

"Mr. Warburton," was the reply.

"I thought so, I thought so,--see how she blushes."

And in fact the red blood was mounting fast to Julia's face.

The incident escaped neither the eye of Warburton nor of Perkins. To
go through the whole insipid scene would not interest any reader,
and so we will omit it.

After the apples were eaten, "hull-gull,"--"nuts in my hand," &c.,
were played, and then music was called for

"Miss Simmons, give us an air, if you please."

"Indeed you must excuse me, I am out of practice."

"No excuse can be taken. We all know that you can play, and we must
hear you this evening."

"I would willingly oblige the company, but I have not touched the
piano for two months, and cannot play fit to be heard."

"O, never mind, we'll be the judges of that."

"Come, Miss Simmons, do play for us now, that's a good soul!"

"Indeed you must excuse me!"

But no excuse would be taken. And in spite of protestations, she was
forced to take a seat at the piano.

"Well, since I must, I suppose I must. What will you have."

"Give us 'Bonny Doon'--it is so sweet and melancholy," said an
interesting-looking young man.

"'Charlie over the Water,' is beautiful--I dote on that pong; do
sing it, Miss Simmons!"

"Give us Auld Lang Syne.'"

"Yes, or Burns's Farewell.'"

"'Oft in the Stilly Night,' Miss Simmons--you can sing that."

"Yes, 'Oft in the Stilly Night,'--Miss Simmons," said half-a-dozen
voices, and so that was finally chosen. After running her fingers
over the keys for a few moments, Miss Simmons started off.

Before she had half finished the first verse, the hum of voices,
which had commenced as soon as she began to sing, rose to such a
pitch as almost to drown the sound of the instrument. She laboured
on through about a verse and a half of the song, when she rose from
the piano, and was proceeding to her vacant seat.

"O no!--no!--no!" said half-a-dozen voices at once.

"That will never do-we must have another song."

"Indeed I can't sing to-night, and _must_ be excused," said the lady
warmly, and so she _was_ excused. But soon another was chosen to be
victimized at the piano, and "will-ye-nill-ye," sing she must.
Simultaneous with the sound of the instrument rose the hum of
voices, which grew louder and louder, until the performer stopped,
discouraged and chagrined.

"That's beautiful! How well you play, Miss Emma!" and Miss Emma was
forced to resume the seat she had left half in mortification. All
was again still for a moment.

"Can you play the 'Harp and Lute,' Miss Emma?"

"No sir."

"Yes you can, though, for I've heard you many a time," said a smart
young lady sitting on the opposite side of the room.

The blood mounted to the performer's cheeks. "Indeed you're mistaken
though," half pettishly replied Miss Emma.

"But you _can_ play 'Yankee Doodle,'" retorted the first speaker.
Miss Emma left the instrument in anger.

"I'll never speak to the pert minx again as long as I live,"
whispered Miss Emma in the ear of a friend.

Thus ended the musical exhibition for that evening. As the spirit of
wine grew more active, the men became less formal in their
attentions, and the young ladies less reserved. Before the company
broke up, I almost blush to say, that there was scarcely a lady
present who had not suffered her red-ripe lips to be touched by
those of every young man in the room. And on all these proceedings,
the parents of Julia looked on with keen satisfaction! They liked to
see the young people enjoying themselves!

Then there were rambles by moonlight, during which soft things were
whispered in the ears of the young ladies. These were the occasions
on which Warburton loved most to steal away the fond confidence of
Julia; and, by degrees, he succeeded in fixing her regard upon
himself. Consent was asked of the parents, and given; and soon Julia
Forrester was Mrs. Warburton. It was only six months after the
marriage that a commercial crisis arrived; one of those reactions
from prosperity which occur in this country with singular
regularity, every ten or fifteen years, and swept from Julia's
father the whole of his property. This sudden revulsion so preyed
upon his mind, that a serious illness came on, which hurried him in
a brief period to the grave. The mother of Julia soon followed him.
Warburton, ere this, had neglected his wife, and wrung from her many
a secret tear. He had married her for the prospect of worldly gain
which the connection held out, and not from any genuine regard. And
when all hope of a fortune was suddenly cut off, he as suddenly
appeared in his real character of a heartless and unprincipled man.

He held the situation of clerk, at the time, in the same store where
he had been for years. But immediately upon the death of his
father-in-law, a flood of demands for debts due here and there came
in upon him, and not having where with to meet them, he was thrown
into jail, and obtained his freedom only by availing himself of the
law made and provided for the benefit of Insolvent Debtors.

His poor wife knew nothing of the proceedings against him, until he
was lodged in the jail. Hour after hour had passed since the time
for his return to dinner, and yet she listened in vain for his
well-known footsteps. She felt strangely oppressed in feeling when
the dim twilight came stealing sadly on, and still he came not home.
But when the clock struck nine, ten, eleven,--her distress of mind
became heightened to agony. The question, so often asked of herself,
"Where _can_ he be?" could find no answer. All night long she sat
listening at the window, and sunk into a heavy slumber, just as the
grey light of morning stole into the window and paled the expiring
lamp. From this slumber, which had continued for nearly two hours,
she was aroused by the entrance of a servant, who handed her a note,
addressed in the well-known hand of her husband. Tremblingly she
tore open the seal; at the first words:

Jail.

DEAR JULIA:

the note fell from her hand, and she pressed her aching head for a
moment, as if she feared that her senses would leave her. Then
snatching up the paper, she read:--

"Yesterday I was sent here for debt. I owe more than I can possibly
pay, and I see no chance of getting out but by availing myself of
the Insolvent Law, which I am determined to do. Don't let it trouble
you, Julia; I shall not be here long. To-morrow I shall probably be
at liberty. Good-bye, and keep a brave heart,

H. WARBURTON."

For some time after reading this letter, a stupor came over her
senses. Utterly unprepared for such a distressing event, she knew
not how to act. The idea of a jail had ever been associated in her
mind with disgrace and crime, and to think that her own husband was
in jail almost bereft her of rational thought. Slowly, however, she
at length rallied, and found herself able to appreciate her
situation, and to think more clearly on her course of action.

Her first determination was to go to her husband. This she
immediately did. When admitted, she fell senseless in his arms, and
it was a long time before she recovered her consciousness. Her
presence seemed to move his feelings less than it annoyed him. There
was nothing about his manner that sought affectionately her sympathy
and confidence--that which gives woman, in situations no matter how
distressing, something so much like happiness to bestow. He gave her
but little satisfaction as to the manner in which he became
involved, and when, after several hours, she prepared to go home, at
his suggestion, he told her that she must not come there again, as
it was not a fit place for her.

"If you are here, Henry," was her reply, the tears starting freshly
to her eyes--"it is a fit place for me."

"That's all nonsense and sentiment, Julia! This is no place for you,
and you must not come again. I shall be out in a day or two."

"A day or two is a long--long time,"--and the poor wife's voice
trembled as she spoke.

"It will soon pass away."

"It will seem ages to me, and you in this dreadful place. I must
come tomorrow, Henry. Tell me who has imprisoned you, and I will go
to him, and come to-morrow with his answer. He cannot stand the
pleadings of a wife for her husband."

"It's no use, at all, Julia. He is a hard-faced villain, and will
insult you if you see him."

"He cannot--he dare not!"

"He dare do anything."

"Dear Henry, tell me his name."

"No!--no!--no!--It's no use to ask me."

She had many times before suffered from his petulance and coldness;
but under present circumstances, when she sought to bring him
sympathy and relief, to be repulsed, seemed as though it would break
her heart. Slowly and in tears did she leave the dreadful place that
confined her husband, and sought her home. There she endeavoured to
rally her scattered thoughts, and devise some means of relief. Her
first movement was to go to the employers of her husband. They
received her coldly, and after she had stated the condition of her
husband, told her that they could offer no relief, and hinted that
his conduct had been such as to forfeit their confidence. This was a
double blow; and she returned home with but strength enough to seek
her chamber and throw herself, almost fainting, upon her bed.

For hours she lay in a kind of nervous stupor, the most fantastic
and troubled images floating through her brain. Sometimes she would
start up, at the imagined sound of her husband's voice, and spring
to the chamber-door to meet him. But the chilling reality would
drive her back in tears. Where now were the crowds of friends that
but a short time since had hovered round her? They were but
fashionable, soulless insects--the cold winds of adversity had swept
them away. Since the failure and death of her father, not one of the
many who had called her friend had come near her lonely dwelling.
But she could not complain. More than one friend had she deserted,
when misfortune came suddenly upon them.

She took no food through the whole of that dreadful day, and could
find no oblivious sleep during the night of agony that followed. On
the next day, just as she had determined to go again to the prison,
her quick ear recognised the foot-fall of her husband. She sprang to
meet him, with a gladder heart than she had known for many
weeks--but his cold manner and brief words threw back upon her
feelings a sickening chill.

"We must move from here, Julia," said he, after a few silent
moments, and looked at her as though he expected objection as a
matter of course.

"I am willing, if it is necessary, Henry. I will go anywhere with
_you_."

Her manner softened his feelings, and he said more tenderly,

"Things are changed with me, Julia. In expectation of something
handsome from your father, I have been imprudent, and am now largely
in debt. The Messrs. R. & L. will not, I am sure, take me back into
their store, and it will be hard, I am afraid, for me to get a
situation in town. Our furniture, which I have secured to you, is
all we have, except about money enough to pay our quarter's rent now
due. I see no wiser plan for us than to sell this furniture, except
enough for one chamber, and then go to boarding. It will bring a sum
sufficient to pay our board and other expenses for at least one
year, if we manage prudently; and, surely, I can get something to do
in the mean time."

"I am willing for anything, dear Henry!" said his wife, twining her
arms about his neck, and laying her pale cheek to his. The furniture
was accordingly sold, and the reduced and humbled couple removed to
a boardinghouse.

As he had expected, Warburton found it hard to get employment.
Finally, after doing nothing for two months, he accepted the
situation of bar-keeper at one of the city hotels. Julia pleaded
hard with him not to go there, for she feared the influence of such
a place upon him, but he would listen to no argument.

His wife soon began to observe indications of a change for the worse
in his character. He grew more pettish and dissatisfied, and
frequently acted towards her with great unkindness. He was rarely,
if ever, at home before midnight, and then repulsed every
affectionate act or word. Several times he came in intoxicated, and
once, while in that state, he struck her a severe blow on the head,
which caused an illness of several weeks.

At the end of a year, Warburton had not only become dissipated in
his habits, but had connected himself with a set of gamblers, who,
as he proved to be a skilful hand, and not at all squeamish,
resolved to send him on a trip down the Ohio and Mississippi, to New
Orleans, for mutual benefit. To this he had not the slightest
objection. He told his wife that he was going to New Orleans on
business for the Stage Office, and would probably be gone all
winter. Unkind as he had grown, it was hard parting. Gladly would
she have taken all the risk of fatigue, to have accompanied him with
her babe but four months old, but he would listen to no such
proposal. When he did go, she felt sick at heart, and, as the
thought flashed across her mind that he might probably desert her,
helpless and friendless as she was, it seemed as if the fever of her
mind would end in madness.

Regularly, however, for several months, she heard from him, and each
time he enclosed her money; but little more than was sufficient to
meet expenses. In the last letter she received, he hinted that he
might return home in a few weeks. At the usual time of receiving a
letter, she waited day after day, hoping and almost fearing to
receive one--anxious to hear from him, and yet fearing that he might
have changed his mind as to his contemplated return.

Week after week passed, and there were no tidings. Day after day she
went to the post-office with an anxious heart, which throbbed
quicker and quicker as the clerk mechanically and carelessly turned
over letter after letter, and at last pronounced the word "none,"
with professional indifference. Then it would seem to stop, and lie
like a motionless weight in her bosom, and she would steal away
paler and sicker than when she came. At last, her distress of mind
became so great, that she went, reluctantly, to the stage-office, to
inquire if they had heard from him recently. To her hesitating,
anxious inquiry, she received the brief reply that they knew nothing
of him.

"But is he not in the employment of this office?"

"I hope not," was the short, sneering reply of one of the clerks.

"What do you mean, sir?" she asked, in an excited tone--"he is my
husband."

The manner of the man instantly changed. "Nothing, ma'am.--It was
only a thoughtless reply. He is not, however, in our employment, and
never has been."

Mrs. Warburton turned pale as ashes. A chair was instantly handed to
her, and a glass of water, and every kind attention offered.

At this moment a man entered, who eyed Mrs. W. with a vulgar stare.
The person who had first spoken to Mrs. W. took him aside, and after
conversing in whispers for a few moments, turned to her and said
that he had just learned that her husband had joined a band of
traders, and was now on his way to Mexico.

"How do you know?" was the quick reply.

"This gentleman has just told me."

"And how do you know, sir?"

"I received a letter from him three weeks ago, in which he stated
the fact to me. He has been in my employment ever since he has been
away, but has left it and gone to Mexico."

"When did he say he would return?" she asked, in a calm voice.

"That is uncertain, madam."

She tottered out of the office, and stole home with an enfeebled
step. "Forsaken!--forsaken!"--was all the form her thoughts would
take, until she met the sweet face of her babe, and then her heart
felt warmer, and not all forsaken.