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Alexandre Dumas, PŠre - "La Tulipe Noire [abridged]"

Benedict de Spinoza - "The Ethics [Part 5]"

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - "Unterhaltungen deutscher Ausgewanderten"

Andy Adams - "The Outlet"

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).

Oldport Days

T >> Thomas Wentworth Higginson >> Oldport Days




And later, who that knew them can forget the picket-paths that
were worn throughout the Sea Islands of South Carolina,-- paths
that wound along the shores of creeks or through the depths of
woods, where the great wild roses tossed their airy festoons
above your head, and the brilliant lizards glanced across your
track, and your horse's ears suddenly pointed forward and his
pace grew uneasy as he snuffed the presence of something you
could not see. At night you had often to ride from picket to
picket in dense darkness, trusting to the horse to find his way,
or sometimes dismounting to feel with your hands for the track,
while the great Southern fire-flies offered their floating
lanterns for guidance, and the hoarse "Chuck-will's-widow"
croaked ominously from the trees, and the great guns of the siege
of Charleston throbbed more faintly than the drumming of a
partridge, far away. Those islands are everywhere so intersected
by dikes and ledges and winding creeks as to form a natural
military region, like La Vendee and yet two plantations that are
twenty miles asunder by the road will sometimes be united by a
footpath which a negro can traverse in two hours. These tracks
are limited in distance by the island formation, but they assume
a greater importance as you penetrate the mainland; they then
join great States instead of mere plantations, and if you ask
whither one of them leads, you are told "To Alabama," or "To
Tennessee."

Time would fail to tell of that wandering path which leads to the
Mine Mountain near Brattleborough, where you climb the high peak
at last, and perhaps see the showers come up the Connecticut till
they patter on the leaves beneath you, and then, swerving, pass
up the black ravine and leave you unwet. Or of those among the
White Mountains, gorgeous with great red lilies which presently
seem to take flight in a cloud of butterflies that match their
tints,--paths where the balsamic air caresses you in light
breezes, and masses of alder-berries rise above the waving ferns.
Or of the paths that lead beside many a little New England
stream, whose bank is lost to sight in a smooth green slope of
grape-vine: the lower shoots rest upon the quiet water, but the
upper masses are crowned by a white wreath of alder-blooms;
beside them grow great masses of wild-roses, and the simultaneous
blossoms and berries of the gaudy nightshade. Or of those winding
tracks that lead here and there among the flat stones of peaceful
old graveyards, so entwined with grass and flowers that every
spray of sweetbrier seems to tell more of life than all the
accumulated epitaphs can tell of death.

And when the paths that one has personally traversed are
exhausted, memory holds almost as clearly those which the poets
have trodden for us,--those innumerable by-ways of Shakespeare,
each more real than any high-road in England; or Chaucer's
"Little path I found
Of mintes full and fennell greene";

or Spenser's
"Pathes and alleies wide
With footing worne";


or the path of Browning's "Pippa"
"Down the hillside, up the glen,
Love me as I love!"

or the weary tracks by which "Little Nell" wandered; or the
haunted way in Sydney Dobell's ballad,
"Ravelstone, Ravelstone,
The merry path that leads
Down the golden morning hills,
And through the silver meads";

or the few American paths that genius has yet idealized; that
where Hawthorne's "David Swan" slept, or that which Thoreau found
upon the banks of Walden Pond, or where Whittier parted with his
childhood's playmate on Ramoth Hill. It is not heights, or
depths, or spaces that make the world worth living in; for the
fairest landscape needs still to be garlanded by the
imagination,--to become classic with noble deeds and romantic
with dreams.

Go where we please in nature, we receive in proportion as we
give. Ivo, the old Bishop of Chartres, wrote, that "neither the
secret depth of woods nor the tops of mountains make man blessed,
if he has not with him solitude of mind, the sabbath of the
heart, and tranquillity of conscience." There are many roads, but
one termination; and Plato says, in his "Republic," that the
point where all paths meet is the soul's true resting-place and
the journey's end.

The End.

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