Peter B. Kyne - "The Long Chance"

Edith Bancroft - "Jane Allen: Junior"

Georges Ohnet - "Serge Panine, v3"

Raphael Sabatini - "The Life of Cesare Borgia"

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




Towards evening, these disagreeable consequences of the glass of
cholera-preventive he had taken in a great measure subsided; but
there followed a dryness of the palate, and a desire for some drink
more pleasant to the taste than water. In his store was a large
pitcher of ice-water; but, though thirsty, he felt no inclination to
taste the pure beverage; but, instead, went out and obtained a glass
of soda water. This only made the matter worse. The half gill of
syrup with which the water was sweetened, created, in a little
while, a more uneasy feeling. Still, there was no inclination for
the water that stood just at hand, and which he had daily found so
refreshing during the hot weather. In fact, when he thought of it,
it was with a sense of repulsion.

In this state, the idea of a cool glass of brandy punch, or a mint
julep, came up in his mind, and he felt the draught, in imagination,
at his lips.

"A little brandy twice a day; so the doctor said." This was uttered
half aloud.

Just at the moment a slight pain crossed his stomach. It was the
first sensation of the kind he had experienced since the epidemic he
so much dreaded had appeared in the city; and it caused a slight
shudder to go through his frame, for he was nervous in his fear of
cholera.

"A little mint with the brandy would make it better still. I don't
like this feeling. I'll try a glass of brandy and mint." Thus spoke
Mr. Hobart to himself.

Putting on his hat, he went forth for the purpose of getting some
brandy and mint. As he stepped into the street the pain was felt
again, and more distinctly. The effect was to cause a slight
perspiration to manifest itself on the face and forehead of Mr.
Hobart, and to make, in his mind, the necessity for the brandy and
mint more imperative. He did not just like to be seen going boldly
in at the door of a refectory or drinking-house in a public place,
for he was a Son of Temperance, and any one who knew this and
happened to see him going in, could not, at the same time, know that
he was acting under his physician's advice. So he went off several
blocks from the neighborhood in which his store was located, and
after winding his way along a narrow, unfrequented street, came to
the back entrance of a tavern, where he went in, as he desired,
unobserved.

Years before, Hobart had often stood at the bar where he now found
himself. Old, familiar objects and associations brought back old
feelings, and he was affected by an inward glow of pleasure.

"What! you here?" said a man who stood at the bar, with a glass in
his hand. He was also a member of the Order.

"And you here!" replied Mr. Hobart.

"It isn't for the love of it, I can assure you," remarked the man,
as he looked meaningly at his glass. "These are not ordinary times."

"You are right there," said Hobart. "A little brandy sustains and
fortifies the system. That all admit."

"My physician has ordered it for me. He takes a glass or two every
day himself, and tells me that, so far, he has not been troubled
with the first symptom."

"Indeed. That is testimony to the point."

"So I think."

"Who is your physician?"

"Dr. L--."

"He stands high. I would at any time trust my life in his hands."

"I am willing to do so." Then turning to the bar-keeper, Mr. Hobart
said--"I'll take a glass of brandy and water, and you may add some
mint."

"Perhaps you'll have a mint julep?" suggested the barkeeper, winking
aside to a man who stood near, listening to what passed between the
two members of the Order.

"Yes--I don't care--yes. Make it a julep," returned Hobart. "It's
the brandy and mint I want. I've had a disagreeable sensation," he
added, speaking to the friend he had met, and drawing his hand
across his stomach as he spoke, "that I don't altogether like. Here
it is again!"

"A little brandy will help it."

"I hope so."

When the mint julep was ready, Hobart took it in his hand and
retired to a table in the corner of the room, and the man he had met
went with him.

"Ain't you afraid to tamper with liquor?" asked this person, a
little seriously, as he observed the relish with which Hobart sipped
the brandy. Some thoughts had occurred to himself that were not very
pleasant.

"Oh, no. Not in the least," replied Mr. Hobart. "I only take it as a
medicine, under my physician's order; and I can assure you that the
taste is quite as disagreeable as rhubarb would be. I believe the
old fondness has altogether died out."

"I'm afraid it never dies out," said the man, whose eyes told him
plainly enough, that it had not died out in the case of the
individual before him, notwithstanding his averment on the subject.

"I feel much better now," said Mr. Hobart, after he had nearly
exhausted his glass. "I had such a cold sensation in my stomach,
accompanied by a very disagreeable pain. But both are now gone. This
brandy and mint have acted like a charm. Dr. L--understands the
matter clearly. It is fortunate that I saw him this morning. I would
not have dared to touch brandy, unless under medical advice; and,
but for the timely use of it, I might have been dangerously ill with
this fatal epidemic."

After sitting a little while longer, the two men retired through the
back entrance to escape observation.

"How quickly these temperance men seize hold of any excuse to get a
glass of brandy," said the bar-keeper to a customer, as soon as
Hobart had retired, laughing in a half sneer as he spoke. "They come
creeping in through our back way, and all of them have a pain! Ha!
ha!"

"I've taken a glass of brandy and water, every day for the last five
years," replied the man to whom this was addressed, "and I continue
it now. But I can tell you what, if I'd been an abstainer, you
wouldn't catch me pouring it into my stomach now. Not I! All who do
so are more liable to the disease."

"So I think," said the bar-tender. "But every one to his liking. It
puts money in our till. We've done a better business since the
cholera broke out, than we've done these three years. If it were to
continue for a twelve month we would make a fortune."

This was concluded with a coarse laugh, and then he went to attend
to a new customer for drink.

For all Mr. Hobart had expressed himself so warmly in favor of
brandy, and had avowed his freedom from the old appetite, he did not
feel altogether right about the matter. There was a certain pressure
upon his feelings that he could not well throw off. When he went
home in the evening, he perceived a shadow on the brow of his wife;
and the expression of her eyes, when she looked at him, annoyed and
troubled him.

After supper, the uneasiness he had felt during the afternoon,
returned, and worried his mind considerably. The fact was, the
brandy had already disturbed the well balanced action of the lower
viscera. The mucous membrane of the whole (sic) alementry canal had
been stimulated beyond health, and its secretions were increased and
slightly vitiated. This was the cause of the uneasiness he felt, and
the slight pains which had alarmed him. By ten o'clock his feelings
had become so disagreeable, that he felt constrained to meet them
with another "mouthful," of brandy. Thus, in less than ten hours,
Mr. Hobart had wronged his stomach by pouring into it three glasses
of brandy; entirely disturbing its healthy action.

The morning found Mr. Hobart far from feeling well. His skin was dry
and feverish and his mouth parched. There was an uneasy sensation of
pain in his head. Immediately upon rising he took a strong glass of
brandy. That, to use his own words, "brought him up," and made him
feel "a hundred per cent better." During the forenoon, however, a
slight diarrhoea manifested itself. A thrill of alarm was the
consequence.

"I must check this!" said he, anxiously. And, in order to do so,
another and stronger glass of brandy was taken.

In the afternoon, the diarrhoea appeared again. It was still slight,
and unaccompanied by pain. But, it was a symptom not to be
disregarded. So brandy was applied as before. In the evening, it
showed itself again.

"I wish you would give me a little of that brandy," said he to his
wife. "I'm afraid of this, it must be stopped."

"Hadn't you better see the doctor?"

"I don't think it necessary. The brandy will answer every purpose."

"I have no faith in brandy," said Mrs. Hobart. Poor woman! she had
cause for her want of faith!

"I have then," replied her husband. "It's the doctor's
recommendation. And he ought to know."

"You were perfectly well before you commenced acting on his advice."

"I was well, apparently. But, it is plain that the seeds of disease
were in me. There is no telling how much worse I would have been."

"Nor how much better. For my part I charge it all on the brandy."

"That's a silly prejudice," said Mr. Hobart, with a good deal of
impatience. "Every one knows that brandy is a remedy in diseases of
this kind; not a producing cause."

Mrs. Hobart was silent. But she did not get the brandy. That was
more than she could do. So her husband got it himself. But, in order
to make the medicinal purpose more apparent, he poured the liquor
into a deep plate, added some sugar, and set it on fire.

"You will not object to burnt brandy at least," said he. "That you
know to be good."

Mrs. Hobart did not reply. She felt that it would be useless. Only a
disturbance of harmony could arise, and that would produce greater
unhappiness. The brandy, after having parted with its more volatile
qualities, was introduced into Mr. Hobart's stomach, and fretted
that delicate organ for more than an hour.

"I thought the burnt brandy would be effective," said Mr. Hobart on
the next morning. "And it has proved so." In order not to lose this
good effect, he fortified himself before going out with some of the
same article, unburnt. But, alas! By ten o'clock the diarrhoea showed
itself again, and in a more decided form.

Oh dear!" said he in increased alarm. "This won't do. I must see the
doctor." And off he started for Doctor L--'s office. But, on the
way he could not resist the temptation to stop at a tavern for
another glass of brandy, notwithstanding he began to entertain a
suspicion as to the true cause of the disturbance. The doctor
happened to be in. "I think I'd better have a little medicine,
doctor," said he, on seeing his medical adviser. A stitch in time,
you know."

"Ain't you well?"

"No," and Mr. Hobart gave his symptoms.

"An opium pill will do all that is required," said the doctor.

"Shall I continue the brandy?" asked the patient.

"Have you taken brandy every day since I saw you?" inquired the
doctor.

"Yes; twice, and sometimes three times."

"Ah!" The doctor looked thoughtful.

"Shall I continue to do so?"

"Perhaps you had better omit it for the present. You're not in the
habit of drinking any thing?"

"No. I haven't tasted brandy before for five years."

"Indeed! Yes, now, I remember you said so. You'd better omit it
until we see the effect of the opium. Sudden changes are not always
good in times like these."

"I don't think the brandy has hurt me," said Mr. Hobart.

"Perhaps not. Still, as a matter of prudence, I would avoid it. Let
the opium have a full chance, and all will be right again."

An opium pill was swallowed, and Mr. Hobart went back to his place
of business. It had the intended effect. That is, it cured one
disease by producing another--suspended action took the place of
over-action. He was, therefore, far from being in a state of health,
or free from danger in a cholera atmosphere. There was one part of
the doctor's order that Mr. Hobart did not comply with. The free use
of brandy for a few days rekindled the old appetite, and made his
desire for liquor so intense, that he had not, or, if he possessed
it, did not exercise the power of resistance.

Sad beyond expression was the heart of Mrs. Hobart, when evening
came, and her husband returned home so much under the influence of
drink as to show it plainly. She said nothing to him, then, for that
she knew would be of no avail. But next morning, as he was rising,
she said to him earnestly and almost tearfully.

"Edward, let me beg of you to reflect before you go further in the
way you have entered. You may not be aware of it, but last night you
showed so plainly that you had been drinking that I was distressed
beyond measure. You know as well as I do, where this will end, if
continued. Stop, then, at once, while you have the power to stop. As
to preventing disease, it is plain that the use of brandy has not
done so in your case; but, rather, acted as a predisposing cause.
You were perfectly well before you touched it; you have not been
well since. Look at this fact, and, as a wise man, regard its
indications."

Truth was so strong in the words of his wife, that Mr. Hobart did
not attempt to gainsay them.

"I believe you are right," he replied with a good deal of depression
apparent in his manner. "I wish the doctor had kept his brandy
advice to himself. It has done me no good."

"It has done you harm," said his wife.

"Perhaps it has. Ah, me! I wish the cholera would subside."

"I think your fear is too great," returned Mrs. Hobart. "Go on in
your usual way; keep your mind calm; be as careful in regard to
diet, and you need fear no danger."

"I wish I'd let the brandy alone!" sighed Mr. Hobart, who felt as he
spoke, the desire for another draught.

"So do I. Doctor L--must have been mad when he advised it."

"So I now think. I heard yesterday of two or three members of our
Order who have been sick, and every one of them used a little brandy
as a preventive."

"It is bad--bad. Common sense teaches this. No great change of habit
is good in a tainted atmosphere. But you see this now, happily, and
all will yet be well I trust."

"Yes; I hope so. I shall touch no more of this brandy preventive. To
that my mind is fully made up."

Mrs. Hobart felt hopeful when she parted with her husband. But she
knew nothing of the real conflict going on in his mind between
reason and awakened appetite--else had she trembled and grown faint
in spirit. This conflict went on for some hours, when, alas!
appetite conquered.

At dinner time Mrs. Hobart saw at a glance how it was. The whole
manner of her husband had changed. His state of depression was gone,
and he exhibited an unnatural exhilaration of spirits. She needed
not the sickening odor of his breath to tell the fatal secret that
he had been unable to control himself.

It was worse at night. He came home so much beside himself that he
could with difficulty walk erectly. Half conscious of his condition,
he did not attempt to join the family, but went up stairs and groped
his way to bed. Mrs. Hobart did not follow him to his chamber.
Heartsick, she retired to another room, and there wept bitterly for
more than an hour. She was hopeless. Up from the melancholy past
arose images of degradation and suffering too dreadful to
contemplate. She felt that she had not strength to suffer again as
she had suffered through many, many years. From this state she was
aroused by groans from the room where her husband lay. Alarmed by
the sounds, she instantly went to him.

"What is the matter?" she asked, anxiously.

"Oh! oh! I am in so much pain!" was groaned half inarticulately.

"In pain, where?"

"Oh! oh!" was repeated, in a tone of suffering; and then he
commenced vomiting.

Mrs. Hobart placed her hand upon his forehead and found it cold and
clammy. Other and more painful symptoms followed. Before the doctor,
who was immediately summoned, arrived, his whole system had become
prostrate, and was fast sinking into a state of collapse. It was a
decided case of cholera.

"Has he been eating any thing improper?" asked Doctor L--, after
administering such remedies, and ordering such treatment as he
deemed the case required.

"Has he eaten no green fruit?"

"None."

"Nothing, to my knowledge, replied Mrs. Hobart. "We have been very
careful in regard to food."

"Nor unripe vegetables?"

Mrs. Hobart shook her head.

"Nor fish?"

"Nothing of the kind."

"That is strange. He was well a few days ago."

"Yes, perfectly, until he began to take a little brandy every day as
a preventive."

"Ah!" The doctor looked thoughtful. "But it couldn't have been that.
I take a little pure brandy every day, and find it good. I recommend
it to all my patients."

Mrs. Hobart sighed. Then she asked--"Do you think him dangerous?"

"I hope not. The attack is sudden and severe. But much worse cases
recover. I will call round again before bed time."

The doctor went away feeling far from comfortable. Only a few hours
before he, had left a man sick with cholera beyond recovery, who
had, to his certain knowledge, adopted the
brandy-drinking-preventive-system but a week before; and that at his
recommendation. And here was another case.

At eleven o'clock Dr. L--called to see Mr. Hobart again, and found
him rapidly sinking. Not a single symptom had been reached by his
treatment. The poor man was in great pain. Every muscle in his body
seemed affected by cramps and spasms. His mind, however, was
perfectly clear. As the doctor sat feeling his pulse, Hobart said to
him--

"Doctor L--, it is too late!"

"Oh, no. It is never too late," replied the doctor. "Don't think of
death; think of life, and that will help to sustain you. You are
not, by any means, at the last point. Hundreds, worse than you now
are, come safely through. I don't intend to let you slip through my
hands."

"Doctor," said the sick man, speaking in a solemn voice, "I feel
that I am beyond the reach of medicine. I shall die. What I now say
I do not mean as a reproach. I speak it only as a truth right for
you to know. Do you see my poor wife?"

The doctor turned his eyes upon Mrs. Hobart, who stood weeping by
the bedside.

"When she is left a widow, and my children orphans," continued the
patient, "remember that you have made them such!"

"Me! Why do you say that, Mr. Hobart?" The doctor looked startled.

"Because it is the truth. I was a well man, when you, as my medical
adviser, recommended me to drink brandy as a protection against
disease. I was in fear of the infection, and followed your
prescription. From the moment I took the first draught my body lost
its healthy equilibrium; and not only my body, but my mind. I was a
reformed man, and the taste inflamed the old appetite. From that
time until now I have not been really sober."

The doctor was distressed and confounded by this declaration. He had
feared that such was the case; but now it was charged unequivocally.

"I am pained at all this," he replied, "In sinning I sinned
ignorantly."

But, ere he could finish his reply, the sick man became suddenly
worse, and sunk into a state of insensibility.

"If it be in human power to save his life," murmured the doctor--"I
will save it."

Through the whole night he remained at the bed-side, giving, with
his own hands, all the remedies, and applying every curative means
within reach. But, when the day broke, there was little, if any
change for the better. He then went home, but returned in a couple
of hours.

"How is your husband?" he asked of the pale-faced wife as he
entered. She did not reply, and they went up to the chamber
together. A deep silence reigned in the room as they entered.

"Is he asleep?" whispered the doctor.

"See!" The wife threw back the sheet.

"O!" was the only sound that escaped the doctor's lips. It was a
prolonged sound, and uttered in a tone of exquisite distress. The
white and ghastly face of death was before him.

"It is your work!" murmured the unhappy woman, half beside herself
in her affliction.

"Madam! do not say that!" ejaculated the physician. "Do not say
that!"

"It is the truth! Did he not charge it upon you with his dying
breath?"

"I did all for the best, madam! all for the best! It was an error in
his case. But I meant him no harm."

"You put poison to his lips, and destroyed him. You have made his
wife a widow and his children orphans!"

"Madam!--"The doctor knit his brows and spoke in a stern voice. But,
ere he had uttered a word more, the stricken-hearted woman gave a
wild scream and fell upon the floor. Nature had been tried beyond
the point of endurance, and reason was saved at the expense of
physical prostration.

A few weeks later, and Doctor L--, in driving past the former
residence of Mr. Hobart, saw furniture cars at the door. The family
were removing. Death had taken the husband and father, and the poor
widow was going forth with her little ones from the old and pleasant
home, to gather them around her in a smaller and poorer place. His
feelings at the moment none need envy.

How many, like Mr. Hobart, have died through the insane prescription
of brandy as a preventive to cholera! and how many more have fallen
back into old habits, and become hopeless drunkards! Brandy is not
good for health at any time; how much less so, when the very air we
breathe is filled with a subtle poison, awaiting the least
disturbance in the human economy to affect it with disease.






THE TEMPERANCE PLEDGE.





"I WANT a quarter of a dollar, Jane."

This was addressed by a miserable creature, bloated and disfigured
by intemperance, to a woman, whose thin, pale face, and heart-broken
look, told but too plainly that she was the drunkard's wife.

"Not a quarter of a dollar, John? Surely you will not waste a
quarter of a dollar of my hard earnings, when you know that I can
scarcely get food and decent clothes for the children?"

As the wife said this, she looked up into her husband's face with a
sad appealing expression.

"I must have a quarter, Jane," said the man firmly.

"O, John! remember our little ones. The cold-weather will soon be
here, and I have not yet been able to get them shoes. If you will
not earn any thing yourself, do not waste the little my hard labor
can procure. Will not a sixpence do? Surely that is enough for you
to spend for--"

"Nothing will do but a quarter, Jane, and that I must have, if I
steal it!" was the prompt and somewhat earnest reply.

Mrs. Jarvis laid aside her work mechanically and, rising, went to a
drawer, and from a cup containing a single dollar in small pieces,
her little all, took out a quarter of a dollar, and turning to her
husband, said, as she handed it to him--

"Remember, that you are taking the bread out of your children's
mouths!"

"Not so bad as that, I hope, Jane," said the drunkard, as he
clutched the money eagerly; something like a feeble smile flitting
across his disfigured and distorted countenance.

"Yes, and worse!" was the response, made in a sadder tone than that
in which the wife had at first spoken.

"How worse, Jane?"

"John!" and the wife spoke with a sudden energy, while her
countenance lighted up with a strange gleam. "John, I cannot bear
this much longer! I feel myself sinking every day. And you--you who
pledged yourself--"

Here the voice of the poor woman gave way, and covering her face
with her hands, she bent her head upon her bosom, and sobbed and
wept hysterically.

The drunkard looked at her for a moment, and then turning hurriedly,
passed from the room. For some moments after the door had closed
upon her husband, did Mrs. Jarvis stand, sobbing and weeping. Then
slowly returning to her chair near the window, she resumed her,
work, with an expression of countenance that was sad and hopeless.

In the mean time, the poor wretch who had thus reduced his family to
a state of painful destitution, after turning away from his door,
walked slowly along the street with his head bowed down, as if
engaged in, to him, altogether a new employment, that of
self-communion. All at once a hand was laid familiarly upon his
shoulders, and a well-known voice said--

"Come, John, let's have a drink."

"Jarvis looked up with a bewildered air, and the first thing that
caught his eye, after it glanced away from the face of one of his
drinking cronies, was a sign with bright gold letters, bearing the
words, "EAGLE COFFEE-HOUSE." That sign was as familiar to him as the
face of one of his children. At the same moment that his eyes rested
upon this, creating an involuntary impulse to move towards the
tavern-door, his old crony caught hold of his coat-collar and gave
him a pull in the same direction. But much to the surprise of the
latter, Jarvis resisted this attempt to give his steps a direction
that would lead him into his old, accustomed haunt.

"Won't you drink this morning, Jarvis?" asked the other, with a look
of surprise.

There was evidently a powerful struggle going on in the mind of the
drunkard. This lasted only for a moment or two, when he said,
loudly, and emphatically--

"No!"

And instantly broke from his old boon companion, and hurried on his
way.

A loud laugh followed him, but he heeded it not. Ten minutes' walk
brought him to the store of a respectable tradesman.

"Is Mr. R--in?" he asked, as he entered.

"Back at the desk," was the answer of a clerk.

And Jarvis walked back with a resolute air.

"Mr. R--, I want to sign the pledge!"

"You, Jarvis?" Mr. R--said, in tones of gratified surprise.