| | 8 | Author: | Crane review: Anonymous | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | Stephen Crane : author of The black riders and other lines  | | | | Published: | 1995 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | You will look in vain through the pages of the Trade
Circular for any record of a story of New York life entitled
Maggie: A Girl of the Streets, which was published three or
four years ago in this city. At the moment of going to press the
timorous publishers withdrew their imprint from the book, which was
sold, in paper covers, for fifty cents. There seems to be
considerable difficulty now in securing copies, but the fact that
there is no publisher's name to the book, and that the author
appears under the nom de plume of "Johnston Smith," may have
something to do with its apparent disappearance. The copy which
came into the writer's possession was addressed to the Rev. Thomas
Dixon a few months ago, before the author went West on a
journalistic trip to Nebraska, and has these words written across
the cover: "It is inevitable that this book will greatly shock you,
but continue, pray, with great courage to the end, for it tries to
show that environment is a tremendous thing in this world, and
often shapes lives regardlessly. If one could prove that theory,
one would make room in Heaven for all sorts of souls (notably an
occasional street girl) who are not confidently expected to be
there by many excellent people." The author of this story and the
writer of these words is Stephen Crane, whose "Lines" (he does not
call them poems) have just been published by Copeland and Day, and
are certain to make a sensation. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 12 | Author: | Anonymous | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | "Ida M. Tarbell" | | | | Published: | 1995 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | Without expressing any opinion critically, it is quite safe to
say that there are few, if any, living American writers on
historical subjects in whom the general reading public has more
real interest than Miss Ida M. Tarbell, the author of the lives
of
Madame Roland, Napoleon and of Lincoln, and The History of the
Standard Oil, which is now running serially in McClure's
Magazine. Miss Tarbell was interviewed a short time ago for
THE BOOKMAN by Mr. Charles Hall Garrett, and out of that
interview
grew these paragraphs. Beginning biographically, it is enough to
say that Miss Tarbell attended school in Titusville,
Pennsylvania,
and later Alleghany College, Meadville, Pennsylvania, where she
was
an editor of the college publication. Being graduated with
honours, she became preceptress of the Seminary at Poland, Ohio.
Two years later she assumed the associate editorship of the
Chautauquan, published at Meadville in the interests of
its
Chautauqua work; and eventually became managing editor of that
publication. It was during this period that she awakened to a
realisation of her interest in historical and biographical
work. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 17 | Author: | Burnett, Frances Hodgson | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | The Dawn of A To-morrow | | | | Published: | 1995 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | THERE are always two ways of
looking at a thing, frequently
there are six or seven; but two ways
of looking at a London fog are quite
enough. When it is thick and yellow
in the streets and stings a man's
throat and lungs as he breathes it, an
awakening in the early morning is
either an unearthly and grewsome,
or a mysteriously enclosing, secluding,
and comfortable thing. If one
awakens in a healthy body, and with
a clear brain rested by normal sleep
and retaining memories of a normally
agreeable yesterday, one may lie watching
the housemaid building the fire;
and after she has swept the hearth
and put things in order, lie watching
the flames of the blazing and crackling
wood catch the coals and set them
blazing also, and dancing merrily and
filling corners with a glow; and in so
lying and realizing that leaping light
and warmth and a soft bed are good
things, one may turn over on one's
back, stretching arms and legs
luxuriously, drawing deep breaths and
smiling at a knowledge of the fog
outside which makes half-past eight
o'clock on a December morning as
dark as twelve o'clock on a December
night. Under such conditions
the soft, thick, yellow gloom has its
picturesque and even humorous aspect.
One feels enclosed by it at once
fantastically and cosily, and is inclined
to revel in imaginings of the picture
outside, its Rembrandt lights and
orange yellows, the halos about the
street-lamps, the illumination of shop-windows, the flare of torches stuck
up over coster barrows and coffee-stands, the shadows on the faces of
the men and women selling and buying
beside them. Refreshed by sleep
and comfort and surrounded by light,
warmth, and good cheer, it is easy to
face the day, to confront going out
into the fog and feeling a sort of
pleasure in its mysteries. This is one
way of looking at it, but only one. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
| 20 | Author: | Burnett, Frances Hodgson | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | T. Tembarom | | | | Published: | 1995 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | | | | Description: | THE boys at the Brooklyn public school which
he attended did not know what the "T."
stood for. He would never tell them. All
he said in reply to questions was: "It don't
stand for nothin'. You+'ve gotter have a'
'nitial, ain't you?" His name was, in fact,
an almost inevitable school-boy modification
of one felt to be absurd and pretentious.
His Christian name was Temple, which became
"Temp." His surname was Barom,
so he was at once "Temp Barom." In the natural tendency to
avoid waste of time it was pronounced as one word, and the
letter p being superfluous and cumbersome, it easily settled itself
into "Tembarom," and there remained. By much less inevitable
processes have surnames evolved themselves as centuries rolled
by. Tembarom liked it, and soon almost forgot he had ever
been called anything else. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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