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t of brown leather,
by Sliva 06 Dec '09

06 Dec '09

D out of hearing distance, and soon disappeared on the horizon. The beach was covered in every direction with little hills of sand, like haycocks, with scraggy bunches of sea-weed sticking out of the tops of them; and Davy was wondering how they came to be there, when he caught sight of a man walking along the edge of the water, and now and then stopping and gazing earnestly out to sea. As the man drew nearer, Davy saw that he was dressed in a suit of brown leather, and wore a high-peaked hat, and that a little procession, consisting of a dog, a cat, and a goat, was following patiently at his heels, while a parrot was perched upon his shoulder. They all wore very large linen collars and black cravats, which gave them a very serious appearance. Davy was morally certain that the man was Robinson Crusoe. He carried an enormous gun, which he loaded from time to time, and then, aiming carefully at the sea, fired. There was nothi

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veins. A look colours
by Riggsby Kastl 05 Dec '09

05 Dec '09

Ons of things for other people to do buzzing like bees about his head, acquired his tremendous and incredible power with us as a people because, in spite of his violent way of breaking out into a missionary every morning and every evening when he talked, it was not his talking but his singing that made him powerful--his singing, or doing things as if he believed in people, his I wills and I won'ts, his assuming every day, his acting every day, as if American men were men. He sang his way roughly, hoarsely, even a little comically at times into the hearts of people, stirred up in the nation a mighty heat, put a great crackling fire under it, put two great parties into the pot, boiled them, drew off all that was good in them, and at last, to-day, as I write (February 1913), the prospect of a good square meal in the White House (with some one else to say grace) is before the people. The people are waiting to sit down once more in the White House and refresh themselves. At least, the soup course is on the table. Who did it, please? Who bullied the cook and got everybody ready? Theodore Roosevelt, singing a little roughly, possibly hurrahing "_I will, I will, I won't, I won't_," and acting as if he believed in the world. Bryan in the village of Chicago sitting by at a reporter's table saw him doing it. Bryan saw how it worked. Bryan had it in him too. Bryan heard the shouts of the people across the land as they gloried in the fight. He saw the signals from the nations over the sea. Then Armageddon moved to Baltimore. * * * * * And now table is about to be spread. It is to be Mr. Wilson's soup. But the soup will have a Roosevelt flavour or tang to it. And we will wait to see what Mr. Wilson will do with the other courses. * * * * * A poet in words, with two or three exceptions, America has not produced. The only touch of poetry or art as yet that we have in America is--acting as if we believed in people. This particular art is ours. Other people may

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Necesita un refinado?
by pppehrserver-legal-eu＠lists.ourproject.org 27 Nov '09

27 Nov '09

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Necesita un refinado?
by pppehrserver-legal-eu＠lists.ourproject.org 27 Nov '09

27 Nov '09

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l through the short summe
by Opie Siems 03 Sep '09

03 Sep '09

Ten days had passed on wings of magic. He saw Angela every day and Claude all day. Featherstone was perfectly charming. He could not have exhibited greater solicitude for the comfort of his guest had he been the Shah of Persia or the Prince of Wales. Lady Featherstone was polite, and no more. Angela was frigid. She seemed to be beyond his power to excite. Once or twice she showed a slight interest in his actions or reminiscences. She had even openly admired his wonderful horsemanship; but she never failed to make perfectly clear the huge gulf that loomed between a "cowboy" and a daughter of British aristocracy. The ingenuous Claude was feeling extremely uncomfortable. He could not bring himself to believe that his father's extraordinary behavior was genuine. Politeness was one thing, but flattery was another. All that "attention" seemed so out of place with His Lordship, who was notoriously vain of his name and antecedents. Claude himself was a little sick of family pride. He had even on one occasion intimated to his mother that he knew for a fact that the first Featherstone got his Letters Patent for the noble act of assassinating a certain Du

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Lasco, "I talk to my violin sometimes like th
by Gavett 01 Sep '09

01 Sep '09

Tter, Monsieur, believe me. I will work so hard, and my voice will come back in time after--" She gazed at him and a mist came over her eyes. "Do take me," she said, "I beg you to take me--I beg you." The Kapellmeister passed his hand over his face: "Tschut, child!" he said, "What are you talking about? Be quiet now and sing this as I tell you. You have heard it before?" "Yes, I have heard it." "And sung it perhaps with Helmanoff?" "Yes--Monsieur." He handed her the score, running his fingers over the bird motive of 'Siegfried,' giving her the key. Then he leaned back again and folded his arms. Kaya gave her head a little backward movement as if to free her throat, and threw off the cloak, standing straight. [Illustration: Fragment of "Siegfried"] The tones came out like the sound of a flute, high and pure; they rose in her throat, swelling it out as she sang, pouring through the arch of her lips without effort or strain. "Bravo!" cried the Director, "Um Himmel's Willen, child, you have a voice like a lark rising in the meadows, and you sing--Bravo! Bravo!" He put out his hands and took the girl's trembling ones into his own. "You will take me?" she said, "You see, when I am not so nervous it will go better." The Kapellmeister laughed and took a card out of his pocket: "Write your name here," he said, "Your real one. I won't tell--and your address." Kaya drew back suddenly: "I live in the mill," she said, "You know, the Nonnen-Muehle by the promenade? You won't let any one know, will you, Monsieur, because--" "Are you afraid of spies, child? Tut,

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waiting to tak
by Corp Breutzman 31 Aug '09

31 Aug '09

Abor unions and it isn't the fear of new national power that prejudice against the Oriental--what is it? Why has almost every woman's club on the Pacific passed resolutions against the admission of the Oriental, and almost every woman's club in the East passed resolutions for the admission? Why did the former Minister of Labor in Canada say that "a minimum of publicity is desired upon this subject"? What did he mean when he declared "that the native of India is not a person suited to this country"? If the native Hindu is "not a person suited to Canada"--climate, soil, moisture, what not?--why isn't that fact sufficient to exclude the Oriental without any legislation? Italians never go to live at the North Pole. Nor do Eskimos come to live in the tropics. You may ask questions about Hindu immigration till you are black in the face. Unless you go out on the spot to the Pacific Coast, the most you will get for an answer is a "hush." And it would not be such an impossible situation if the other side were also going around with a finger to the lip and a "hush"; but the Oriental isn't. The Hindu and his advocates go from one end of Canada to the other clamoring at the tops of their voices, not for the privilege, but for the right, of admission to Canada, the right to vote,

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Greeny makes a mistake. I never do. Why, I remember
by Follette Marinacci 30 Aug '09

30 Aug '09

He could see them talking it over, and the other boys crowding around. "Who?" "Oh, Joe Bronson; he 's gone to sea. Used to chum with us." Joe pictured the scene proudly. Then he softened at the thought of his mother worrying, but hardened again at the recollection of his father. Not that his father was not good and kind; but he did not understand boys, Joe thought. That was where the trouble lay. Only that morning he had said that the world was n't a play-ground, and that the boys who thought it was were liable to make sore mistakes and be glad to get home again. Well, _he_ knew that there was plenty of hard work and rough exp

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illiamson being from home,
by Princess Erdelt 19 Aug '09

19 Aug '09

Ied off several horses. They were discovered and pursued to the Ohio river, when the pursuers, being reinforced, determined to follow on over into the Indian country. Crossing the river and ascending the Hockhocking, near to the falls, they came upon the camp of the savages. The whites opened an unexpected fire, which killing one and wounding another of the Indians, caused the remainder to fly, leaving their horses about their camp.--These were caught, brought back and restored to their owners. In April as Samuel Hull was engaged in ploughing a field for Major Benjamin Robinson, he was discovered by some Indians, shot, tomahawked, and scalped. The murder was first ascertained by Mrs. Robinson. Surprised that Hull did not come to the house as usual, to feed the horses and get his own dinner, she went to the field to see what detained him. She found the horses some distance from where they had been recently at work; and going on, presently saw Hull lying where he had been shot. ----- [1] News of the preliminary articles of peace, which had been signed at Paris, November 30, 1782, did not reach Fort Pitt until May, 1783. In July following, De Peyster, British commandant at Detroit, gathered at that post the chiefs of eleven tribes as far south as the Great Miami and the Wabash, and informed them of the event.--R. G. T. [2] The treaty was held at Fort McIntosh, at the mouth of the Beaver, early in January, 1785. The tribes represented were the Wyandots, Chippewas, Delawares, and Ottawas. The commissioners were Arthur Lee, Richard Butler, and George Rogers Clark. Col. Josiah Harmar was in charge of the troops.--R. G. T. [3] L. V. McWhorter, well informed in the local traditions, writes: "When the Indian sprang into the house, with drawn tomahawk, he closed and for a few moments stood with his back to the door. Then, while cutting an opening through the wall, he asked Mrs. Cunningham how many men there were in the other house. She answered by holding up the extended fingers of both hands, indicating 10."--R. G. T. [4] McWhorter: "Mrs. Cunningham related that the last she saw of her l

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right when you are
by Drisdelle 18 Aug '09

18 Aug '09

Nce. It was Mrs. Smith-Lessing. My first impulse was one of anger. It seemed to me that she was taking advantage of the sympathy which Ray's brutality during our last interview had forced from me. I spoke to her coldly, almost angrily. "Mrs. Smith-Lessing," I said, "I regret that I cannot receive you here. My position just now does not allow me to receive visitors." She simply raised her veil and sank into the nearest chair. I was staggered when I saw her face. It was positively haggard, and her eyes were burning. She looked at me almost with horror. "I had to come," she said. "I could not keep away a moment longer. Tell me the truth, Guy Ducaine. The truth, mind!" she repeated, fearfully. "What do you mean?" I asked, bewildered. "I do not understand you." "Tell me the truth about that man who came to see you on the seventh of January." I shook my head. "I have nothing to tell you," I said firmly. "When I found him on the marshes he was dead. I did not hear till afterwards that he had ever asked for me." "This is the truth?" she asked eagerly. "It is the truth!" I answered. I could see the relief shine in her face. She was still anxious, however. "Is it true," she asked, "that you told a girl in the village, Blanche Moyat, to keep secret the fact that this man inquired in the village for the way to your cottage?" "That also is true," I admitted. "She did not tell me until afterwards, and I saw no purpose in publishing the fact that the man had been on his way to see me." "You have been very foolish," she said. "You have qua

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