WAS IT THE LITTLE GALVANIC BATTERY? THE LAST CHAPTER RETOLD BY THE
PRESS. A PROPER RAILING. BUT THEY _WEREN'T_ DROWNED. WHAT'S THE FUSS?
MASTER CHANCELLORSHIP APPEARS AND VANISHES. ELECTUARY OF ST. SENNA.
AT GEORGIANA TERRACE. A LETTER FROM SALLY. ANOTHER FROM CONRAD.
EVERYTHING VANISHES!
Professor Sales Wilson, Mrs. Julius Bradshaw's papa, was enjoying
himself thoroughly. He was the sole occupant of 260, Ladbroke Grove
Road, servants apart. All his blood-connected household had departed
two days after the musical evening described in Chapter XL., and
there was nothing that pleased him better than to have London to
himself--that is to say, to himself and five millions of perfect
strangers. He had it now, and could wallow unmolested in Sabellian
researches, and tear the flimsy theories of Bopsius--whose name we
haven't got quite right--to tatters. Indeed, we are not really sure
the researches _were_ Sabellian. But no matter!
Just at the moment at which we find him, the Professor was not engaged
in any researches at all, unless running one's eye down the columns
of a leading journal, to make sure there is nothing in them, is a
research. That is what he was doing in his library. And he was also
talking to himself--a person from whom he had no reserves or
concealments. What he had to say ran in this wise:
"H'm!--h'm!--'The Cyclopean Cyclopædia.' Forty volumes in calf. Net
price thirty-five pounds. A digest of human knowledge, past, present,
and probable. With a brief appendix enumerating the things of which
we are still ignorant, and of our future ignorance of which we are
scientifically certain ... h'm! h'm!... not dear at the price. But
stop a bit! 'Until twelve o'clock on Saturday next copies of the
above, with revolving bookcase, can be secured for the low price of
seven pounds ten.'..." This did not seem to increase the speaker's
confidence and he continued, as he wrestled with a rearrangement of
the sheet: "Shiny paper, and every volume weighs a ton. Very full of
matter--everything in it except the thing you want to know. By-the-bye
... what a singular thing it is, when you come to think of it, that
so many people will sell you a thing worth a pound for sixpence, who
won't give you a shilling outright on any terms! It must have to do
with their unwillingness to encourage mendicancy. A noble self-denial,
prompted by charity organizations! Hullo!--what's this? 'Heroic rescue
from drowning at St. Sennans-on-Sea.' H'm--h'm--h'm!--can't read all
that. But _that's_ where the married couple went--St. Sennans-on-Sea.
The bride announced her intention yesterday of looking in at five
to-day for tea. So I suppose I shall be disturbed shortly."
The soliloquist thought it necessary to repeat his last words twice
to convince himself and the atmosphere that his position was one of
grievance. Having done this, and feeling he ought to substantiate his
suggestion that he was just on the point of putting salt on the tail
of an unidentified Samnite, or a finishing touch on the demolition of
Bopsius, he folded his newspaper, which we suspect he had not been
reading candidly from, and resumed his writing.
Did you ever have a quarter of an hour of absolutely unalloyed
happiness? Probably not, if you have never known the joys of profound
antiquarian erudition, with an unelucidated past behind you, and
inexpensive publication before. The Professor's fifteen minutes that
followed were not only without alloy, but had this additional
zest--that that girl would come bothering in directly, and he would
get his grievance, and work it. And at no serious expense, for he was
really very partial to his daughter, and meant, _au fond de soi_, to
enjoy her visit. Nevertheless, discipline had to be maintained, if
only for purposes of self-deception, and the Professor really believed
in his own "Humph! I supposed it would be that," when Lætitia's knock
came at the street door.
"Such a shame to disturb you, papa dear! But you'll have to give me
tea--you said you would."
"It isn't five o'clock yet. Well--never mind. Sit down and don't
fidget. I shall have done presently.... No! make yourself useful now
you _are_ here. Get me 'Passeri Picturæ Etruscorum,' volume three,
out of shelf C near the window ... that's right. Very good find for
a young married woman. Now sit down and read the paper--there's
something will interest you. You may ring for tea, only don't talk."
The Professor then became demonstratively absorbed in the Sabellians,
or Bopsius, or both, and Lætitia acted as instructed, but without
coming on the newspaper-paragraph. She couldn't ask for a clue after
so broad a hint, so she had to be contented with supposing her father
referred to the return of Sir Charles Penderfield, Bart., as a Home
Rule Unionist and Protectionist Free Trader. Only if it was that, it
was the first she had ever known of her father being aware of the
Bart.'s admiration for herself. So she made the tea, and waited
till the pen-scratching stopped, and the Sabellians or Bopsius were
blotted, glanced through, and ratified.
"There, that'll do for that, I suppose." His tone surrendered the
grievance as an act of liberality, but maintained the principle.
"Well, have we found it?"
"Found what?"
"The heroic rescue--at your place--Saint Somebody--Saint Senanus...."
"No! Do show me that." Lætitia forms a mental image of a lifeboat
going out to a wreck. How excited Sally must have been!
"Here, give it me and I'll find it.... Yes--that's right--a big lump
and a little lump. I'm to take less sugar because of gout. Very good!
Oh ... yes ... here we are. 'Heroic Rescue at St. Sennans' ... just
under 'Startling Elopement at Clapham Rise'.... Got it?"
Lætitia supplied the cup of tea, poured one for herself, and took
the paper from her father without the slightest suspicion of what was
coming. "It will have to wait a minute till I've had some tea," she
said. "I'm as thirsty as I can be. I've been to see my mother-in-law
and Constance"--this was Julius's sister--"off to Southend. And just
fancy, papa; Pag and I played from nine till a quarter-to-one last
night, and he never felt it, nor had any headache nor anything." The
topic is so interesting that the unread paragraph has to wait.
The Professor cannot think of any form of perversion better than
"Very discreditable to him. I hope you blew him well up?"
"Now, papa, don't be nonsensical! Do you know, I'm really beginning
to believe Pag's right, and it _was_ the little galvanic battery.
Shouldn't you say so, though, seriously?"
"Why, yes. If there wasn't a big galvanic battery, it must have been
the little one. It stands to reason. But _what_ does my musical
son-in-law think was the little galvanic battery?"
"Oh dear, papa, how ridiculous you are! Why, of course, his nerves
going away--as they really _have_ done, you know; and I can't see
any good pretending they haven't. Yesterday was the fourth evening
he hasn't felt them...."
"Stop a bit! There is a lack of scientific precision in the structure
of your sentences. A young married woman ought really to be more
accurate. Now let's look it over, and do a little considering.
I gather, in the first place, that my son-in-law's nerves going away
was, or were, a little galvanic battery...."
"Dear papa, don't paradox and catch me out. Just this once, be
reasonable! Think what a glorious thing it would be for us if his
nerves _had_ gone for good. Another cup? Was the last one right?"
"My position is peculiar. (Yes, the tea was all right.) I find
myself requested to be reasonable, and to embark on a career
of reasonableness by considering the substantial advantages to
my daughter and her husband of the disappearance of his nervous
system...."
"Oh, I wish you wouldn't! _Do_ be serious...." The Professor looked
at her reflectively as he drank the cup of tea, and it seemed to dawn
on him slowly that his daughter _was_ serious. The fact is, Tishy was
very serious indeed, and was longing for sympathy over a matter for
great elation. She and Julius had been purposely playing continuously
for long hours to test the apparent suspension or cessation of his
nervous affection, and had not so far seen a sign of a return; but
they were dreadfully afraid of counting their chickens in advance.
"I noticed the other evening"--the Professor has surrendered, and
become serious--"that Julius wasn't any the worse, and he had played
a long time. What should you do?" Tishy looked inquiringly. "Well,
I mean what steps could be taken if it were...?"
"If we could trust to it? Oh, no difficulty at all! Any number of
engagements directly."
"It would please your mother." Tishy cannot help a passing thought
on the oddity of her parents' relations to one another. Even though
he spoke of the Dragon as a connexion of his daughter he was but
little concerned with, the first thought that crossed his mind was
a sort of satisfaction under protest that she would have something
to be pleased about. Tishy wondered whether she and Julius would
end up like that. Of course they wouldn't! What pity people's
parents were so unreasonable!
"Yes; mamma wouldn't be at all sorry. Fiddlers are not Baronets, but
anything is better than haberdashing. _I'm_ not ashamed of it, you
know." She had subjected herself gratuitously to her own suspicion
that she might be, and resented it.
Her father looked at her with an amused face; looked down at these
social fads of poor humanity from the height of his Olympus. If he
knew anything about the Unionist Home Ruler's aspirations for Lætitia,
he said nothing. Then he asked a natural question--what _was_ the
little galvanic battery? Tishy gave her account of it, but before she
had done the Professor was thinking about Sabines or Lucanians. The
fact is that Tishy was never at her best with her father. She was
always so anxious to please him that she tumbled over her own anxiety,
and in this present case didn't tell her story as well as she might
have done. He began considering how he could get back to the shreds
of Bopsius, if any were left, and looked at his watch.
"Well, that was very funny--very funny!" said he absently. "Now,
don't forget the heroic rescue before you go."
Tishy perceived the delicate hint, and picked up the paper with "I
declare I was forgetting all about it!" But she had scarcely cast her
eyes on it when she gave a cry. "Oh, papa, papa; it's _Sally_! Oh
dear!" And then: "Oh dear, oh dear! I can hardly see to make it out.
But I'm sure she's all right! They say so." And kept on trying to
read. Her father did what was, under the circumstances, the best
thing to do--took the paper from her, and as she sank back with a
beating heart and flushed face on the chair she had just risen from
read the paragraph to her as follows:
"HEROIC RESCUE FROM DROWNING AT ST. SENNANS-ON-SEA.--Early this
morning, as Mr. Algernon Fenwick, of Shepherd's Bush, at present on
a visit at the old town, was walking on the pier-end, at the point
where there is no rail or rope for the security of the public, his
foot slipped, and he was precipitated into the sea, a height of at
least ten feet. Not being a swimmer, his life was for some minutes
in the greatest danger; but fortunately for him his stepdaughter, Miss
Rosalind Nightingale, whose daring and brilliant feats in swimming
have been for some weeks past the admiration and envy of all the
visitors to the bathing quarter of this most attractive of south-coast
watering-places, was close at hand, and without a moment's hesitation
plunged in to his rescue. Encumbered as she was by clothing, she was
nevertheless able to keep Mr. Fenwick above water, and ultimately to
reach a life-buoy that was thrown from the pier. Unfortunately, having
established Mr. Fenwick in a position of safety, she thought her best
course would be to return to the pier. She was unable in the end to
reach it, and her strength giving way, she was picked up, after an
immersion of more than twenty minutes, by the boats that put off
from the shore. It will readily be imagined that a scene of great
excitement ensued, and that a period of most painful anxiety followed,
for it was not till nearly four hours afterwards that, thanks to the
skill and assiduity of Dr. Fergus Maccoll, of 22A, Albion Crescent,
assisted by Dr. Vereker, of London, the young lady showed signs of
life. We are happy to say that the latest bulletins appear to point to
a speedy and complete recovery, with no worse consequences than a bad
fright. We understand that the expediency of placing a proper railing
at all dangerous points on the pier is being made the subject of a
numerously signed petition to the Town Council."
"That seems all right," said the Professor. And he said nothing
further, but remained rubbing his shaved surface in a sort of
compromising way--a way that invited or permitted exception to be
taken to his remark.
"All right? Yes, but--oh, papa, do think what might have happened!
They might both have been drowned."
"But they weren't!"
"Of course they weren't! But they _might_ have been."
"Well, it would have proved that people are best away from the seaside.
Not that any further proof is necessary. Now, good-bye, my dear; I must
get back to my work."
* * * * *
That afternoon Julius Bradshaw went on a business mission to Cornhill,
and was detained in the city till past five o'clock. It was then too
late to return to the office, as six was the closing hour; so he
decided on the Twopenny Tube to Lancaster Gate, the nearest point to
home. There was a great shouting of evening papers round the opening
into the bowels of the earth at the corner of the Bank, and Julius's
attention was caught by an unearthly boy with a strange accent.
"'Mail and Echo,' third edition, all the latest news for a 'apeny.
Fullest partic'lars in my copies. Alderman froze to death on the
Halps. Shocking neglect of twins. 'Oxton man biles his third wife
alive. Cricket this day--Surrey going strong. More about heroic rescue
from drowning at St. Senna's. Full and ack'rate partic'lars in my
copies only. Catch hold!..." Julius caught hold, and thought the boy
amusing. Conversation followed, during cash settlements.
"Who's been heroically rescued?"
"Friend of mine--young lady--fished her governor out--got drownded
over it herself, and was brought to. 'Mail' a 'apeny; torkin' a penny
extra! Another 'apeny." Julius acquiesced, but felt entitled to more
talking.
"Where was it?"
"St. Senna's, where they make the lectury--black stuff.... Yes, it
_was_ a friend o' mine, mister, so I tell you, and no lies! Miss
Rosalind Nightingale. I see her in the fog round Piccadilly way....
No, no lies at all! Told me her name of her own accord, and went
indoors." Julius would have tried to get to the bottom of this if he
had not been so taken aback by it, even at the cost of more pence for
conversation; but by the time he had found that his informant had
certainly read the paragraph, or at least mastered Sally's name right,
the boy had vanished. Of course, he was the boy with the gap in his
teeth that she had seen in the fog when Colonel Lund was dying. We
can only hope that his shrewdness and prudence in worldly matters
have since brought him the success they deserve, as his disappearance
was final.
Even the Twopenny Tube was too slow for Julius Bradshaw, so mad was
he with impatience to get to Georgiana Terrace. When he got there,
and went upstairs two steps at a time, and "I say, Tishy dearest, look
at _this_!" on his lips, he was met half-way by his young wife, also
extending a newspaper, and "Paggy, just _fancy_ what's happened! Look
at _this_!"
They were so wild with excitement that they refused food--at least,
when it took the form of second helpings--and when the banquet was
over Lætitia could do nothing but walk continually about the room with
gleaming eyes and a flushed face waiting furiously for the post; for
she was sure it would bring her a letter from Sally or her mother.
And she was right, for the rush to the street door that followed the
postman's knock resulted firstly in denunciations of an intransitive
letter-box nobody but a fool would ever have tried to stuff all those
into, and secondly in a pounce by Lætitia on Sally's own handwriting.
"You may just as well read it upstairs comfortably, Tish," says
Julius, meanly affecting stoicism now that it is perfectly clear--for
the arrival of the letter practically shows it--that nobody is
incapacitated by the accident. "Come along up!"
"All right!" says his wife. "Why, mine's written in pencil! Who's
yours from?"
"I haven't opened it yet. Come along. Don't be a goose!" This was a
little cheap stoicism, worth deferring satisfaction of curiosity three
minutes for.
"Whose handwriting is it?" She goes on devouring, intensely absorbed,
though she speaks.
"It looks like the doctor's."
"Of course! You'll see directly.... All right, I'm coming!"
Take your last look at the Julius Bradshaws, as they settle down with
animated faces to serious perusal of their letters. They may just as
well drink their coffee, though, and Julius will presently light his
cigar for anything we know to the contrary; but we shall not see it,
for when we have transcribed the two letters they are reading we
shall lay down our pen, and then, if you want to know any more about
the people in this story, you must inquire of the originals, all of
whom are still living except Dr. Vereker's mother, who died last year,
we believe. Here are the letters:
"MY DEAREST TISHY,
"I have a piece of news to tell that will be a great surprise
to you. I am engaged to Conrad Vereker. Perhaps, though, I
oughtn't to say as much as that, because it hasn't gone any
farther at present than me promising not to marry any one
else, and as far as I can see I might have promised any man
that.
"Now, don't write and say you expected it all along, because
I shan't believe you.
"Of course, tell anybody you like--only I hope they'll all say
that's no concern of theirs. I should be so much obliged to
them. Besides, so very little has transpired to go by that I
can't see exactly what they could either congratulate or twit
about. Being engaged is so very shadowy. Do you remember our
dancing-mistress at school, who had been engaged seven years
to a dancing-master, and then they broke it off by mutual
consent, and she married a Creole? And they'd saved up enough
for a school of their own all the time! However, as long as
it's distinctly understood there's to be no marrying at
present, I don't think the arrangement a bad one. Of course,
you'll understand I mean other girls, and the sort of men they
get engaged to. With Prosy it's different; one knows where one
is. Only I shouldn't consider it honourable to jilt Prosy,
even for the sake of remaining single. You see what I mean.
"The reason of pencil (don't be alarmed!) is that I am writing
this in bed, having been too long in the water. It's to please
Prosy, because my System has had a shake. I _am_ feeling very
queer still, and can't control my thumb to write. I must tell
you about it, or you'll get the story somewhere else and be
frightened.
"It was all Jeremiah's fault, and I really can't think what
he was doing. He admits that he was seedy, and had had a bad
night. Anyhow, it was like this: I followed him down to the
pier very early before breakfast, and you remember where the
man was fishing and caught nothing that day? Well, what does
Jeremiah do but just walk plump over the edge. I had all but
got to him, by good luck, and of course I went straight for
him and caught him before he sank. I induced him not to kick
and flounder, and got him inside a life-belt they threw from
the pier, and then I settled to leave him alone and swim to
the steps, because you've no idea how I felt my clothes, and
it would have been all right, only a horrible heavy petticoat
got loose and demoralised me. I don't know how it happened,
but I got all wrong somehow, and a breaker caught me. _Don't
get drowned_, Tishy; or, if you do, _don't be revived again_!
I don't know which is worst, but I think reviving. I can't
write about it. I'll tell you when I come back.
"They won't tell me how long I was coming to, but it must have
been much longer than I thought, when one comes to think of
it. Only I can't tell, because when poor dear Prosy had got me
to[A]--down at Lloyd's Coffeehouse, where old Simon sits all
day--and I had been wrapped up in what I heard a Scotchman
call 'weel-warmed blawnkets,' and brought home in a closed fly
from Padlock's livery stables, I went off sound asleep with my
fingers and toes tingling, and never knew the time nor
anything. (Continuation bit.) This is being written, to tell
you the truth, in the small hours of the morning, in secrecy
with a guttering candle. It seems to have been really quite
a terrible alarm to poor darling mother and Jeremiah, and much
about the same to my medical adviser, who resuscitated me on
Marshall Hall's system, followed by Silvester's, and finally
opened a vein. And there was I alive all the time, and not
grateful to Prosy at all, I can tell you, for bringing me to.
I have requested not to be brought to next time. The oddity
of it all was indescribable. And there, now I come to think
of it, I've never so much as seen the Octopus since Prosy and
I got engaged. I shall have to go round as soon as I'm up.
(Later continuation bit--after breakfast.) Do you know, it
makes me quite miserable to think what an anxiety I've been to
all of them! Mother and J. can't take their eyes off me, and
look quite wasted and resigned. And poor dear Prosy! How ever
shall I make it up to him? Do you know, as soon as it was
known I was to,[B] the dear fellow actually tumbled down
insensible! I had no idea of the turn-out there's been until
just now, when mother and Jeremiah confessed up. Just fancy
it! Now I must shut up to catch the post.
"Your ever affect. friend,
"SALLY."
[Footnote A: Part of a verb to _get to_, or _bring to_. Not
very intelligible!]
[Footnote B: See note, p. 563.][Transcriber's Note: This
footnote refers to Footnote A]
"MY DEAR BRADSHAW,
"I am so very much afraid you and your wife may be alarmed
by hearing of the events of this morning--possibly by a
press-paragraph, for these things get about--that I think it
best to send you a line to say that, though we have all had
a terrible time of anxiety, no further disastrous consequences
need be anticipated. Briefly, the affair may be stated thus:
"Fenwick and Miss Nightingale were on the pier early this
morning, and from some unexplained false step F. fell from the
lower stage into the water. Miss N. immediately plunged in to
his rescue, and brought him in safety to a life-buoy that was
thrown from the pier. It seemed that she then started to swim
back, being satisfied of his safety till other help came, but
got entangled with her clothes and went under. She was brought
ashore insensible, and remained so nearly four hours. For a
long time I was almost without hope, but we persevered against
every discouragement, with complete final success. I am a good
deal more afraid now of the effect of the shock on Mrs.
Fenwick and her husband than for anything that may happen to
Miss N., whose buoyancy of constitution is most remarkable.
You will guess that I had rather a rough time (the news came
rather suddenly to me), and all the more (but I know you will
be glad to hear this) that Miss N. and your humble servant had
only just entered on an engagement to be married at some date
hereafter not specified. I am ashamed to say I showed weakness
(but not till I was sure the lungs were acting naturally), and
had to be revived with stimulants! I am all right now, and, do
you know, I really believe my mother will be all the better
for it; for when she heard what had happened, she actually got
up and _ran_--yes, ran--to Lloyd's Coffeehouse (you remember
it?), where I was just coming round, and had the satisfaction
of telling her the news. I cannot help suspecting that her
case may have been wrongly diagnosed, and that the splanchnic
ganglion and solar plexus are really the seat of the evil. If
so, the treatment has been entirely at fault.
"I shall most likely be back to-morrow, so keep your congrats.
for me, old chap. No time for a letter. Love from us all to
yourself and Mrs. J. B.
"Yours ever,
"CONRAD VEREKER.
"P.S.--I reopen this (which I wrote late last night) to say
that Miss N., so far from having acquired a horror of the
water (as is usual in such cases), talks of 'swimming over the
ground' if the weather clears. I fear she is incorrigible."
THE END
* * * * *
BY WILLIAM DE MORGAN
JOSEPH VANCE
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=MAY SINCLAIR'S SUPERSEDED= 2nd printing. $1.25
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=MAY SINCLAIR'S AUDREY CRAVEN= 2nd printing. $1.50
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HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
"THE RETURN OF THE ESSAY"
=OVER AGAINST GREEN PEAK=
By MISS ZEPHINE HUMPHREY
The homely experiences of a bright young woman and her Aunt Susan, not
to mention the "hired girl," in New England country life. $1.25 net;
by mail, $1.33.
"The obvious friendliness of the little book was immediately disarming.
It is leisurely, restful, delightful. Throughout runs a vein of gentle
humor, of spontaneity, of unaffected enthusiasm, of a spirit keenly alive
to beauty and eager to share its delights."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
=COMMENTS OF BAGSHOT=
By J. A. SPENDER, editor of "The Westminster Gazette." $1.25 net;
by mail, $1.33.
Delightful comments upon a great range of subjects, including
"Friendship," "Bores," "The Eleventh-Hour Man," "Shyness," "Wealth,"
"Poverty," "The Needy and the Greedy," "Women's Morality," etc.
_The Spectator_ (London)--"While affording the easiest of reading,
nevertheless touches deep issues deeply and fine issues finely. Not
only thinks himself, but makes you think ... wise and witty....
Whether dealing with death and immortality, or riches and Socialism,
he always contrives to be pungent and interesting and yet urbane, for
there is no attempt either at flashy cynicism or cheap epigram....
We advise our readers to read carefully the admirable passage about
Socialism and Bagshot's defence of Aristotle's 'magnificent man.'"
=WORDS TO THE WISE--AND OTHERS=
By MISS ELLEN BURNS SHERMAN. $1.50 net; by mail, $1.60.
The Root and Foliage of Style--When Steel Strikes Punk--Our Kin and
Others--At the End of the Rainbow--Modern Letter Writing, with various
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_Boston Transcript_--"A freshness and piquancy wholly delightful....
Opens fresh doors into delightful thoughts and fancies."
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_Springfield Republican_--"The first satisfactory stopping-place is
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FIVE DELIGHTFUL ANTHOLOGIES
=POEMS FOR TRAVELERS=
Compiled by MARY R. J. DUBOIS. 16mo.
Covers France, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, and Greece in
some three hundred poems (nearly one-third of them by Americans) from
about one hundred and thirty poets. All but some forty of these poems
were originally written in English.
* * * * *
The three following books are uniform, with full gilt flexible covers
and pictured cover linings. 16mo. Each, cloth, $1.50; leather, $2.50.
=THE POETIC OLD WORLD=
Compiled by MISS L. H. HUMPHREY.
Covers Europe, including Spain, Belgium and the British Isles, in some
two hundred poems from about ninety poets. Some thirty, not originally
written in English, are given in both the original and the best
available translation.
=THE OPEN ROAD=
A little book for wayfarers. Compiled by E. V. LUCAS.
Some 125 poems from over 60 authors, including Fitzgerald, Shelley,
Shakespeare, Kenneth Grahame, Stevenson, Whitman, Browning, Keats,
Wordsworth, Matthew Arnold, Tennyson, William Morris, Maurice Hewlett,
Isaak Walton, William Barnes, Herrick, Dobson, Lamb, Milton, Whittier,
etc., etc.
"A very charming book from cover to cover."--_Dial._
=THE FRIENDLY TOWN=
A little book for the urbane, compiled by E. V. LUCAS.
Over 200 selections in verse and prose from 100 authors, including:
James R. Lowell, Burroughs, Herrick, Thackeray, Scott, Vaughn, Milton,
Cowley, Browning, Stevenson, Henley, Longfellow, Keats, Swift,
Meredith, Lamb, Lang, Dobson, Fitzgerald, Pepys, Addison, Kemble,
Boswell, Holmes, Walpole, and Lovelace.
"Would have delighted Charles Lamb."--_The Nation._
* * * * *
=A BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN=
Over 200 poems representing some 80 authors. Compiled by E. V. LUCAS.
With decorations by F. D. BEDFORD. _Revised edition_. $2.00. Library
edition, $1.00 net.
"We know of no other anthology for children so complete and well
arranged."--_Critic._
PUBLISHERS
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY NEW YORK
Transcriber's Note
This ebook retains the spelling variations of the original text.
Advertisements from the front of the original text have been moved to
the back of this ebook. Ellipses have been standardized.
The following typographical corrections have been made to this text:
Table of Contents: Changed CONRADE to CONRAD
(CONRAD VEREKER'S)
Page 98: Changed heathrug to hearthrug
(side of the hearthrug)
Page 110: Changed things to thing
(this sort of thing)
Page 119: Changed Sallikin to Sallykin
(My Sallykin has been)
Page 132: Removed duplicate word 'to'
(one word to save us)
Page 169: Changed Rosy to Rosey
(Rosey had found a guardian)
Page 188: Changed use to us
(both of us drowned)
Page 242: Changed Simly to Simply
(Simply this: to show you)
Page 270: Added missing single-quote
(to come hisself.')
Page 281: Added missing word 'on'
(Sally was on a stairflight)
Page 304: Removed duplicate word 'together'
(talk together earnestly)
Page 342: Changed you to your
(promise your mother)
Page 382: Added missing period
(recollection of B.C.)
Page 383: Changed tan-laden to tar-laden
(blowing the tar-laden)
Page 399: Changed explantory to explanatory
(self-explanatory colloquy)
Page 413: Added missing close-quotes
("Not?--not at all?")
Page 426: Changed Rosanlind to Rosalind
(breathing-space for Rosalind)
Page 433: Changed bendictions to benedictions
(bed, with benedictions)
Page 437: Added missing close-quotes
("But it's awful!")
Page 449: Changed same to some
(Had some flavour)
Page 459: Changed suprise to surprise
(surprise-tactics)
Page 471: Changed lighting-flash to lightning-flash
(decisive lightning-flash)
Page 476: Changed he to be
(be determined by either landlord)
Page 491: Changed elasped to elapsed
(his time had elapsed)
Page 494: Removed extraneous close-quotes
(trust to anything.)
Page 500: Changed skirits to skirts
(muslin skirts)
Page 505: Changed Kruetzkammer to Kreutzkammer
(Kreutzkammer--he's Diedrich)
Page 520: Changed new to knew
(she well knew)
Page 559: Changed recue to rescue
(plunged in to his rescue)