Genre Fiction. Page - 295

hey reachtheir fifteenth year. Then they go to work.In the Home of the Students we arose whenthe big bell rang in the tower and we wentto our beds when it rang again. Before weremoved our garments, we stood in thegreat sleeping hall, and we raised our rightarms, and we said all together with thethree Teachers at the head:

"We are nothing. Mankind is all. By the graceof our brothers are we allowed our lives.We exist through, by and for our brotherswho are the State. Amen."

Then we slept. The sleeping halls were whiteand clean and bare of all things save one hundred beds.

We, Equality 7-2521, were not happy inthose years in the Home of the Students.It was not that the learning was too hardfor us. It was that the learning was too easy.This is a great sin, to be born with ahead which is too quick. It is not goodto be different from our brothers, but itis evil to be superior to them. The Teacherstold us so, and they frowned when they looked upon us.

So we fought against thi

his hand, the golden Papa has a letter; and after he has made his excuse for disturbing us in our Infernal Region with the common mortal Business of the house, he addresses himself to the three young Misses, and begins, as you English begin everything in this blessed world that you have to say, with a great O. 'O, my dears,' says the mighty merchant, 'I have got here a letter from my friend, Mr.----'(the name has slipped out of my mind; but no matter; we shall come back to that; yes, yes--right-all-right). So the Papa says, 'I have got a letter from my friend, the Mister; and he wants a recommend from me, of a drawing-master, to go down to his house in the country.' My-soul-bless-my-soul! when I heard the golden Papa say those words, if I had been big enough to reach up to him, I should have put my arms round his neck, and pressed him to my bosom in a long and grateful hug! As it was, I only bounced upon my chair. My seat was on thorns, and my soul was on fire to speak but I held my tongue, and let Papa go...

a restaurant. How could I admire her? But tell me, what did she say about Mr. Dorian Gray?"

"Oh, something like, 'Charming boy--poor dear mother and I absolutely inseparable. Quite forget what he does--afraid he--doesn't do anything--oh, yes, plays the piano--or is it the violin, dear Mr. Gray?' Neither of us could help laughing, and we became friends at once."

"Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is far the best ending for one," said the young lord, plucking another daisy.

Hallward shook his head. "You don't understand what friendship is, Harry," he murmured--"or what enmity is, for that matter. You like every one; that is to say, you are indifferent to every one."

"How horribly unjust of you!" cried Lord Henry, tilting his hat back and looking up at the little clouds that, like ravelled skeins of glossy white silk, were drifting across the hollowed turquoise of the summer sky. "Yes; horribly unjust of you. I make a great difference between people. I ch

upon the farm and carried off the maiden, her father and brothers being from home, as he well knew. When they had brought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in an upper chamber, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long carouse, as was their nightly custom. Now, the poor lass upstairs was like to have her wits turned at the singing and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from below, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville, when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man who said them. At last in the stress of her fear she did that which might have daunted the bravest or most active man, for by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered (and still covers) the south wall she came down from under the eaves, and so homeward across the moor, there being three leagues betwixt the Hall and her father's farm.

"It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his guests to carry food and drink--with other worse things, perchance--to his captive, and so found the cage empty

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"That poor devil who escaped from Dartmoor five days ago."

Dick smiled.

"Is that your news?"

"Yes."

"There have been several escapes lately."

"But they've all been caught in no time; this chap ain't, and by gum, lad, if he come'd my way I'd help him out. I don't believe they'll get him; at least I hopes not."

"They'll have him right enough," said Dick. "A convict at large is a danger to all on the moor."

"This one ain't," said Brack. "'Sides, he may be innocent."

"Innocent men don't get into Princetown," said Dick.

"That's just where yer wrong," said Brack. "I've a brother in there now, and he's innocent, I'll swear it."

Dick maintained a diplomatic silence.

"Of course you'll not believe it, but it'll come out some day. He was on a man-o-warsman, and they lagged him for knocking a petty officer overboard; the chap was drowned, but Bill swore he never had a hand in it, and I believes him. At the trial it came out Bill had a dow

same day another important personage fell into the hands of the Southerners. This was no other than Gideon Spilen, a reporter for the New York Herald, who had been ordered to follow the changes of the war in the midst of the Northern armies.

Gideon Spilett was one of that race of indomitable English or American chroniclers, like Stanley and others, who stop at nothing to obtain exact information, and transmit it to their journal in the shortest possible time. The newspapers of the Union, such as the New York Herald, are genuine powers, and their reporters are men to be reckoned with. Gideon Spilett ranked among the first of those reporters: a man of great merit, energetic, prompt and ready for anything, full of ideas, having traveled over the whole world, soldier and artist, enthusiastic in council, resolute in action, caring neither for trouble, fatigue, nor danger, when in pursuit of information, for himself first, and then for his journal, a perfect treasury of knowledge on all sorts of curious subj

fe and children,perceiving it, began to cry after him to return; but the man puthis fingers in his ears, and ran on, crying, Life! life! eternallife! [Luke 14:26] So he looked not behind him, but fled towardsthe middle of the plain. [Gen. 19:17]

{19} The neighbours also came out to see him run [Jer. 20:10];and, as he ran, some mocked, others threatened, and some criedafter him to return; and, among those that did so, there were twothat resolved to fetch him back by force. The name of the one wasObstinate and the name of the other Pliable. Now, by this time,the man was got a good distance from them; but, however, they wereresolved to pursue him, which they did, and in a little time theyovertook him. Then said the man, Neighbours, wherefore are ye come?They said, To persuade you to go back with us. But he said, Thatcan by no means be; you dwell, said he, in the City of Destruction,the place also where I was born: I see it to be so; and, dyingthere, sooner or later, you will sink low

often. Mrs. Rachel, ponder as she might,could make nothing of it and her afternoon's enjoyment was spoiled.

"I'll just step over to Green Gables after tea and findout from Marilla where he's gone and why," the worthy womanfinally concluded. "He doesn't generally go to town thistime of year and he NEVER visits; if he'd run out of turnipseed he wouldn't dress up and take the buggy to go for more;he wasn't driving fast enough to be going for a doctor. Yetsomething must have happened since last night to start himoff. I'm clean puzzled, that's what, and I won't know aminute's peace of mind or conscience until I know what hastaken Matthew Cuthbert out of Avonlea today."

Accordingly after tea Mrs. Rachel set out; she had notfar to go; the big, rambling, orchard-embowered house wherethe Cuthberts lived was a scant quarter of a mile up theroad from Lynde's Hollow. To be sure, the long lane made ita good deal further. Matthew Cuthbert's father, as shy andsilent as his son after him, had got a

r VI and his son, Cesare Borgia, the Duke Valentino, and these characters fill a large space of "The Prince." Machiavelli never hesitates to cite the actions of the duke for the benefit of usurpers who wish to keep the states they have seized; he can, indeed, find no precepts to offer so good as the pattern of Cesare Borgia's conduct, insomuch that Cesare is acclaimed by some critics as the "hero" of "The Prince." Yet in "The Prince" the duke is in point of fact cited as a type of the man who rises on the fortune of others, and falls with them; who takes every course that might be expected from a prudent man but the course which will save him; who is prepared for all eventualities but the one which happens; and who, when all his abilities fail to carry him through, exclaims that it was not his fault, but an extraordinary and unforeseen fatality.

On the death of Pius III, in 1503, Machiavelli was sent to Rome to watch the election of his successor, and there he saw Cesare Borgia cheated into allowing th

MATTER AND SPIRIT XIV. RELIGION BY SEPARATION FROM THE QUALITIES XV. RELIGION BY ATTAINING THE SUPREME XVI. THE SEPARATENESS OF THE DIVINE AND UNDIVINE XVII. RELIGION BY THE THREEFOLD FAITH XVIII. RELIGION BY DELIVERANCE AND RENUNCIATION

CHAPTER I

Dhritirashtra: Ranged thus for battle on the sacred plain-- On Kurukshetra--say, Sanjaya! say What wrought my people, and the Pandavas?

Sanjaya: When he beheld the host of Pandavas, Raja Duryodhana to Drona drew, And spake these words: "Ah, Guru! see this line, How vast it is of Pandu fighting-men, Embattled by the son of Drupada, Thy scholar in the war! Therein stand ranked Chiefs like Arjuna, like to Bhima chiefs, Benders of bows; Virata, Yuyudhan, Drupada, eminent upon his car, Dhrishtaket, Chekitan, Kasi's stout lord, Purujit, Kuntibhoj, and Saivya, With Yudhamanyu, and Uttamauj Subhadra's child; and Drupadi's;-all famed! All mounted on their shining chariots! On our side, too,--thou