text:
Page:Haiti- Her History and Her Detractors.djvu/204

184 to be able henceforth to devote his whole efforts to the improvement of his country! After four days of hesitation he finally accepted, on the 4th of July, the ordinance, which the Senate approved on the llth. When the exact wording of the ordinance became known, a shudder of indignation ran through the whole country. The old warriors took offense at the very thought of their independence being granted to them after their having fought so hard to gain it for themselves. The people were highly incensed at the lordly tone adopted by the King of France, as well as at the heavy burden laid upon them. As a result of this step President Boyer's popularity was deeply affected. Seeing the mistake he had made he set to work to try and counteract the ill effects of it. On the 21st of July, 1825, he despatched three plenipotentiaries to France with instructions to negotiate a treaty less offensive to the nation's self-respect. It was urgent to come to a clear understanding, for France, through a misconstruction of the Ordinance of April, 1825, was paying half of the duties, not only on her products imported to Haiti, but also on those exported from the island: in consequence there was an important decrease in the revenues at the very moment when Haiti was in sore need of money on account of the indemnity which was being extorted by France. In order to pay the first instalment, viz., 30,000,000 francs, it was necessary to resort to a loan, which was floated at Paris in November, 1825, and yielded 24,000,000 francs, though the Republic issued bonds for 30,000,000 francs. To make up the required sum the country was thus compelled to ship 6,000,000 of francs; all the disposable cash was in consequence sent to France. In this way the effects of payment of the indemnity and of the interest on the loan began to be heavily felt. The export of the metallic currency compelled the Haitian Government to issue paper money in September, 1826. The evil consequence of the Ordinance of 1825 could not be questioned. No wonder was it that the Haitians devoted all their energies to have it annulled. However, the plenipotentiaries


text:
Executive Order 13553

By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, including the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (50 U.S.C. 1701 et seq.) (IEEPA), the National Emergencies Act (50 U.S.C. 1601 et seq.), the Comprehensive Iran Sanctions, Accountability, and Divestment Act of 2010 (Public Law 111-195) (CISADA), and section 301 of title 3, United States Code, and in order to take additional steps with respect to the national emergency declared in Executive Order 12957 of March 15, 1995,

I,, President of the United States of America, hereby order:

. {|style="margin: 0.0em 0em 0em 4.0em;"

 * }

.

.
 * For the purposes of this order:

.
 * For those persons whose property and interests in property are blocked pursuant to this order who might have a constitutional presence in the United States, I find that because of the ability to transfer funds or other assets instantaneously, prior notice to such persons of measures to be taken pursuant to this order would render those measures ineffectual. I therefore determine that for these measures to be effective in addressing the national emergency declared in Executive Order 12957, there need be no prior notice of a listing or determination made pursuant to section 1(a) of this order.

.
 * The Secretary of the Treasury, in consultation with the Secretary of State, is hereby authorized to take such actions, including the promulgation of rules and regulations, and to employ all powers granted to the President by IEEPA and sections 105(a)-(c) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8514(a)-(c)), other than as described in sections 6 and 7 of this order, as may be necessary to carry out the purposes of this order other than the purposes of sections 6 and 7. The Secretary of the Treasury may redelegate any of these functions to other officers and agencies of the United States Government consistent with applicable law.  The Secretary of the Treasury, in consultation with the Secretary of State, is hereby further authorized to exercise the functions and waiver authorities conferred upon the President by section 401(b) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8551(b)) with respect to the requirement to impose or maintain sanctions pursuant to IEEPA under section 105(a) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8514(a)) and to redelegate these functions and waiver authorities consistent with applicable law.  All agencies of the United States Government are hereby directed to take all appropriate measures within their authority to carry out the provisions of this order.

.
 * The Secretary of State is hereby authorized to exercise the functions and authorities conferred upon the President by section 105(a) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8514(a)) with respect to imposition of the visa sanctions described in section 105(c) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8514(c)) and to redelegate these functions and authorities consistent with applicable law. The Secretary of State is hereby further authorized to exercise the functions and authorities conferred upon the President by section 105(c) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8514(c)) with respect to the promulgation of rules and regulations related to the visa sanctions described therein and to redelegate these functions and authorities consistent with applicable law.  The Secretary of State is hereby further authorized to exercise the functions and waiver authorities conferred upon the President by section 401(b) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8551(b)) with respect to the requirement to impose or maintain visa sanctions under section 105(a) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8514(a)) and to redelegate these functions and waiver authorities consistent with applicable law.  In exercising the functions and authorities in the previous sentence, the Secretary of State shall consult the Secretary of Homeland Security on matters related to admissibility or inadmissibility within the authority of the Secretary of Homeland Security.

.
 * The Secretary of State, in consultation with the Secretary of the Treasury, is hereby authorized to submit the initial and updated lists of persons who are subject to visa sanctions and whose property and interests in property are blocked pursuant to this order to the appropriate congressional committees as required by section 105(b) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8514(b)) and to redelegate these functions consistent with applicable law. The Secretary of State, in consultation with the Secretary of the Treasury, is hereby further authorized to exercise the functions and waiver authorities conferred upon the President by section 401(b) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8551(b)) with respect to the requirement to include a person on the list required by section 105(b) of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8514(b)) and to redelegate these functions and waiver authorities consistent with applicable law.

.
 * The Secretary of the Treasury, in consultation with the Secretary of State, is hereby authorized to take such actions, including the promulgation of rules and regulations, and to employ all powers granted to the President by IEEPA, as may be necessary to carry out section 104 of CISADA (22 U.S.C. 8513). The Secretary of the Treasury may redelegate any of these functions to other officers and agencies of the United States Government consistent with applicable law.

.
 * The Secretary of the Treasury, in consultation with the Secretary of State, is hereby authorized to determine that circumstances no longer warrant the blocking of the property and interests in property of a person listed in the Annex to this order, and to take necessary action to give effect to that determination.

.
 * This order is not intended to, and does not, create any right or benefit, substantive or procedural, enforceable at law or in equity by any party against the United States, its departments, agencies, or entities, its officers, employees, or agents, or any other person.

.
 * The measures taken pursuant to this order are in response to actions of the Government of Iran occurring after the conclusion of the 1981 Algiers Accords, and are intended solely as response to those later actions.

.
 * This order is effective at 12:01 a.m. eastern daylight time on September 29, 2010.

, September 28, 2010. [FR Doc. 2010–24839 Filed 9–30–10; 8:45 am] Billing Code 3195–W1–PBilling Code 4811–33–C

Individuals  Mohammad Ali JAFARI [Commander of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, born September 1, 1957] Sadeq MAHSOULI [Minister of Welfare and Social Security, former Minister of the Interior and Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces for Law Enforcement, born 1959] Qolam-Hossein MOHSENI-EJEI [Prosecutor-General of Iran, former Minister of Intelligence, born circa 1956] Saeed MORTAZAVI [Head of Iranian Anti-Smuggling Task Force, former Prosecutor-General of Tehran, born 1967]

Heydar MOSLEHI [Minister of Intelligence, born 1956]

Mostafa Mohammad NAJJAR [Minister of the Interior and Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces for Law Enforcement, born 1956]

Ahmad-Reza RADAN [Deputy Chief of the National Police, born 1963 or 1964]

Hossein TAEB [Deputy Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps Commander for Intelligence, former Commander of the Basij Forces, born 1963]

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

title: Executive Order 13553


text:
Passenger Cases

 * Smith v. Turner, ( 48 U.S. 283 ), ( 12 L.Ed. 702 ), ( 7 How. 283 )
 * 2nd case
 * 3rd case

title: Passenger Cases


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Diazomata

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Diazomata


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Batesford, John de


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bateson, Thomas


text:
The Noble Lord

CHARACTERS HE. SHE. PETERS.

''A secluded spot in the Maine woods in the neighborhood of a summer hotel. It is the middle of July. The trees are covered with foliage, a hot sun casts dancing shadows upon the mossy ground, and the air is full of the twittering of birds and the rustle of leaves. A winding path crosses from one side to the other, and near the center is a little clearing: the stump of a felled tree, with the lichen-covered trunk itself near it, and a patch of grassy turf. The eye cannot penetrate far through the riotously growing underbrush, but as one looks upwards, to the left, a thinning of foliage, allowing a glimpse of the sky, gives evidence of the near proximity of some small body of water.''

''As the curtain rises the scene is empty. There is only the song of birds, and the whisper of a gentle breeze. For a few seconds nothing else is heard. Then, suddenly, not far away, there is the sound of a splash, followed by the scream of a drowning woman, "Help! Help! Help!" There is a tremendous crashing through the underbrush, and another voice, very masculine, very English, shouts, "Where are you? Where are you?" Rather indefinitely the first speaker answers, "Here! Help! Help!" Another crashing through the underbrush, followed by a second splash, and presently, after a short pause, there enters upon the stage a tall, much bedraggled Englishman, bearing in his arms the motionless body of an extremely good-looking girl. Both of them are very wet, and a trail of water marks their progress across the scene. Reaching the clearing, the Englishman methodically deposits the girl on the ground, backs away a foot or so, and notices that his hands are wet. He reaches into a hip pocket and draws forth a handkerchief: the handkerchief is wetter than his hands. With a gesture of vexation he throws it away, and gives his attention to the girl. He looks at her quizzically; then, rather timidly, he kneels at her side, and lays his ear over her heart. He rises promptly with a satisfied nod, carefully removes his dripping coat, folds it neatly, and places it on the log. Again he kneels, this time with his knees on either side of the girl's head, and laboriously begins to apply the Sylvester method, counting audibly as he does so. At "ten" he stops wearily, pauses, and again applies his ear to her heart. The result is evidently pleasing, and after a few more Sylvester movements, he begins to vary the procedure by removing her shoes and alternately chafing her hands and feet. Presently she sighs deeply. For the third time he pauses to listen to her heart. Slowly and deliberately her left arm rises, to encircle his neck in a confiding clasp. He sits back on his haunches, politely surprised.''

SHE. (Faintly) Mother! Mother, dear!

HE. Eh?

SHE. Mother, dear, I'm so glad——

HE. (Interrupting energetically) Really, I beg your pardon.

SHE. (Continuing without a break) I'm so glad you've come.

HE. Ah, yes. . . . Quite so.

SHE. Kiss me, mother.

HE. (Trying to rise) Eh?

(She does not release him.)

SHE. Kiss me, mother.

HE. But I'm not your mother.

SHE. (Plaintively) Won't you kiss me, mother?

HE. (Looks around furtively. Then he obliges her.)

SHE. Ah! That's so nice. (She pauses. Shudders.) Hold me close, mother, hold me close. I've had such a terrible dream!

HE. Good Heavens! You're not dreaming now. . ..

SHE. I dreamt—I dreamt— (He has raised her to a sitting position. She stops abruptly. Looks about.) Where—where am I?

HE. (Surprised) Don't you know?

SHE. No.

HE. (In a matter-of-fact tone) We are about half a mile away from the Poland Springs Hotel, Poland Springs, Maine.

SHE. (Vaguely) Oh! (She pauses.) And you, how do you come here?

HE. Strolling.

SHE. Strolling?

HE. I reached the hotel this morning. It was hot—beastly hot. I went for a walk in the woods.

SHE. And then?

HE. I beg your pardon?

SHE. What happened then? How did we meet?

HE. Don't you know?

SHE. I remember nothing—I'm confused. (She tries to get up, but sits on the log with a little exclamation.) My shoes—where are my shoes?

HE. (Fetching them) Here they are.

SHE. Thank you. . . . (She looks at them.) Those aren't my shoes!

HE. (Politely) No?

SHE. They're wet.

HE. (Nodding) They would be.

SHE. But they're not mine.

HE. (Shrugging his shoulders) I found them on your feet.

SHE. (Confused) On my feet?

HE. Yes. . . . (An afterthought) One on each.

SHE. Oh! . . . (She tries to put them on.) I can't get them on.

HE. No?

SHE. Will you help me? (He assists her; she feels her clothes and exclaims): Oh!

HE. Did I hurt you?

SHE. (Astonished) My clothes are wet!

HE. (Thoughtfully) Yes.

SHE. How funny! (Noticing him.) And you—you're wet also!

HE. (Nodding) Soaked.

SHE. What a coincidence! How curious! How did it happen? (She pauses.) Oh, if I could only think! Think! (He rises, and waits politely.) Tell me: you must know.

HE. Well, I was strolling through the woods. I heard a splash

SHE. (Interrupting) A splash! Oh, don't say any more: I remember! That horrible lake! Horrible! It was so warm at the hotel: I had gone off to the woods. I was sitting at the edge of the lake—on a rock—reading. I must have been sleepy. I fell in.

HE. Then you screamed.

SHE. Yes: I was drowning! Drowning! I called for help!

HE. I heard you.

SHE. I sank—I sank, oh, miles and miles! It felt as if hands were trying to pull me down to the bottom! I screamed again—and then—then—I felt a strong arm around my waist—I was dizzy— there was a roaring in my ears—I knew no more.

HE. (Sympathetically) Too bad, too bad.

SHE. And you—(rising to her feet enthusiastically)—you were the man who jumped in!

HE. (Apologetically) I was passing by.

SHE. You saved my life! Oh, how can I ever thank you? My hero! (She throws her arms about his neck.)

HE. That's all right. . ..

SHE. But it's not all right. I can never repay you! Never! Never! Not if I live to be a thousand years old! (She kisses him.)

HE. (Calmly) That's the second time.

SHE. The second time?

HE. (Nodding) I kissed you before.

SHE. Oh! (Releasing him quickly.) You didn't!

HE. Yes, I did.

SHE. While I was unconscious?

HE. Precisely.

SHE. Oh, how could you do such a thing? How could you?

HE. (Taking up his coat) It was by request. (Takes cigarette case from pocket.)

SHE. (Incredulously) I asked you?

HE. You said, "Mother! Mother! Kiss me!" (Takes cigarette from case. Pleased to see that it is dry. Puts it between his lips.)

SHE. I said that?

HE. They were your first words. (Produces match-safe from trouser pocket.)

SHE. But you didn't have to kiss me.

HE. No? (Trying to strike a match. It is wet. So are the others.)

SHE. You didn't have to!

HE. I tried to explain that I was not your mother, but you seemed to know better. (He throws the cigarette away.) You insisted. I couldn't help it.

SHE. (After a pause, coquettishly) What do you mean: you couldn't "help it"?

HE. (Perfectly willing to flirt) You know—(He hesitates.)

SHE. (Encouragingly) Yes?

HE. You're a pretty girl—a deucedly pretty girl.

SHE. Oh, no!

HE. But you are; honor bright!

SHE. You really think so?

HE. (Nods) There was no one around. It was the kind of an opportunity which does not present itself every day: life is so— monotonous. And you didn't seem to object.

SHE. (Coyly) I couldn't very well—not while I was unconscious.

HE. That's so. I am a man, with a man's tastes. And you begged me so hard—it was so inviting—well, I kissed you.

SHE. (After a pause) On the lips?

HE. Yes. On the lips.

SHE. (After a pause) How often?

HE. Eh?

SHE. How often did you kiss me?

HE. Only once.

SHE. Was that all?

HE. (With a smile) Why, it's hardly worth mentioning.

SHE. (Going to him and taking his hands magnanimously) Well, I forgive you.

HE. Thank you.

SHE. (Invitingly) Two kisses is not a great deal for saving my life.

HE. No?

SHE. I owe you much more than that!

HE. (Standing motionless) Really?

SHE. (With her lips half an inch from his) Really! (A pause.) Really! (He does not kiss her. She gives it up. Sits on the log, drawing him to her side.) You must tell me all about yourself. Just think: if it hadn't been for you, I would be at the bottom of the lake now. What a horrible tragedy that would have been: to die in such a way! . . . (She pauses.) It's natural that I should want to know something about the man who saved me from that. . ..

HE. (With embarrassment) I don't like to talk about myself——

SHE. (Interrupting encouragingly) You're still a young man, aren't you?

HE. Thirty-one.

SHE. (Laying her hand on his) Are you?

HE. (Nodding) Last November.

SHE. (Lying with the insouciance of expertness) I'm just twenty. (He nods his head, without showing the least sign of disbelief.) Eleven years between us.

HE. Just the right ages, aren't we?

SHE. (Leaving her hand where it is) Do you think so?

HE. Eleven years difference—ideal!

SHE. Ten and a half.

HE. Eh?

SHE. I was born in June.

HE. Oh, were you? (Sagely.) That's better yet.

SHE. Do you think so—Lord Brookfield?

HE. (Surprised—or simulating it effectively.) Eh?

SHE. Lord Brookfield?

HE. How on earth did you know it?

SHE. (With a laugh) Oh, I am not so stupid as all that!

HE. You recognized me?

SHE. No. I have never seen you.

HE. A photo?

SHE. No.

HE. Then how did you know? . ..

SHE. (Interrupting) Lord Brookfield is a well-known man. The papers said he was coming to the hotel. I knew every other guest——

HE. But three or four others arrived this morning.

SHE. Americans.

HE. Oh!

SHE. You are English. I could see that right away.

HE. (After a pause) How clever of you!

SHE. Oh, Lord Brookfield!

HE. And how curious that I should meet you in this way—informal, so to speak.

SHE. (Laughing) Odd, wasn't it? (She rises.) Ugh!—how my clothes are sticking to me!

HE. That's so. You had better change.

SHE. And you?

HE. I'm rather wet myself.

SHE. Will you take me back to the hotel?

HE. The sun is very hot here.

SHE. (Instantly changing) Oh, would you rather stay?

HE. (Does not answer for a few seconds. Then, a little abruptly) Tell me: can you swim?

SHE. (Startled) Eh?

HE. Can you swim?

SHE. Lord Brookfield! Of course I can't!

HE. That's curious.

SHE. Curious?

HE. Neither can I.

SHE. (Staggered, but returning to the attack with magnificent self-possession) Oh, but you swam splendidly! Clothes and all! All the way from the other side of the lake!

HE. Did I?

SHE. Of course you did! One plunge, and a few magnificent overhand strokes. . . . (She notices his peculiar expression, and hesitates.)

HE. (Thoughtfully) Plunge?

SHE. Why, certainly.

HE. (Shaking his head) I would have sworn I waded.

SHE. (Laughing uneasily) You are really too modest, Lord Brookfield.

HE. Let's see. (He picks up his coat, and shakes it out.) Of course, I might have swum, but—Ah! the water line comes only as far as the waist!

SHE. That means nothing.

HE. No? (Feeling his head.) If I had plunged, my hair would have been wet.

SHE. It dried in the sun.

HE. Ah, yes! But my cigarettes! (Taking one from the case.)

SHE. The case is waterproof.

HE. Still, the matches are wet. (Producing the box from his trouser pocket, and trying to strike one.) You see?

SHE. (With a forced laugh) Lord Brookfield, don't deny that you saved my life!

HE. That is what I am trying to do.

SHE. (Frigidly) I beg your pardon?

HE. I jumped in without thinking. It was the natural thing to do: I heard you scream for help. But the moment the water came to my waist I knew that if it went any deeper I should have to call for help also.

SHE. Well?

HE. I was spared that humiliation: the pond isn't over three feet deep in any place. And I waded the whole twenty feet from one end to the other. . . . And I can't swim.

SHE. But I was drowning! Drowning!

HE. (Politely) Are you in the habit of drowning often?

SHE. (Rising indignantly) Lord Brookfield!

HE. I nearly forgot to mention——

SHE. What?

HE. That I saw you jump in.

SHE. Oh!

HE. It was pleasant while it lasted, wasn't it? And romantic! Why, romantic doesn't begin to describe it! (Imitating) "Mother, kiss me!"

SHE. Oh, how can you?

HE. Unconscious—helpless—and you didn't remember! Not even the shoes. That was clever—very clever! And the hands trying to pull you down to the bottom: that was the touch of genius! (He pauses with a smile.) Ah, well, I was willing to have a little fun. (A man is heard whistling a popular song in the distance. He listens attentively.)

SHE. (After a pause) You played with me—played with me. Oh, you're disgusting! Revolting! What a thing for a man to do! I thought—— (She breaks off.)

HE. (Encouraging her to continue) Yes?

SHE. Nothing. . . . (Then, seeing no reason to restrain herself.) I thought Lord Brookfield was a gentleman!

HE. Oh, but I'm not.

SHE. Not a gentleman?

HE. No. .. . I'm not Lord Brookfield.

SHE. Not Lord Brookfield?

HE. No.

SHE. Then who on earth are you?

HE. (Sweetly) I? I'm a friend of his.

SHE. A friend?

HE. A close friend—very close.

SHE. Who? Who?

HE. (Leisurely) I'm not related, you know, but I see a lot of him. We're thick—very thick.

SHE. (un patiently) Who are you?

HE. (Simply) I'm his valet.

SHE. (Horrified) Oh! . . . And you kissed me! A valet! You dared kiss me!

HE. At your request.

SHE. (Almost choking with rage) But a valet! A valet!

HE. I'm a good valet. One of the best there is.

SHE. Your insolence! Oh! (She seizes the handkerchief which he has left on the log, and wipes her mouth furiously.)

HE. My handkerchief.

SHE. (Throwing it to the ground) Oh, you coward! You. . . . You (She sits on the log, inarticulate with rage. The whistle is heard again.)

HE. Listen to me.

SHE. I won't.

HE. (Earnestly) Listen to me.

SHE. I don't want to talk to you!

HE. I'll help you.

SHE. (Rising) I don't want your help.

HE. (Bluntly) Then you're silly.

SHE. (Wheeling furiously) How dare you——

HE. (Interrupting) I'll make a bargain with you.

SHE. (Scornfully) What dealings can there be between us?

HE. Did you hear the whistling a minute ago?

SHE. Well?

HE. (With meaning) That's Brookfield.

SHE. (After a pause) Well?

HE. The path leads here. He is following the path——

SHE. (After still another pause) Well?

HE. You and I might be very good friends——

SHE. (Thoughtfully) Oh, you mean——

HE. A valet is not paid very well——

SHE. No. .. . Still——

SHE. If anything comes of it——

SHE. (Slowly) Comes of what?

HE. You understand me. (He pauses; smiles. Then, in a Mephistophelian manner): Your clothes are still wet, aren't they?

SHE. (With full comprehension) Yes——

HE. Enough said! (The whistle is heard, close at hand.) Quick!

SHE. (Going off) You won't tell? (He shakes his head.) I'll remember you. (She runs into the woods.)

HE. (Sits on the log, laughs heartily. He produces another cigarette, and tries in vain to light it. Then, as an atrocious little cockney enters whistling gaily, he addresses him sharply) Peters!

PETERS. (Surprised) M'lord?

HE. Give me a light, Peters.

PETERS. Yes, m'lord. (Produces match, etc.);

HE. Thanks. (He blows a few whiffs into the air. Then stops, and surveys Peters thoughtfully.) Peters, you're a brave man, aren't you?

PETERS. (Modestly) I am 'andy with me fists, m'lord.

HE. That's not quite what I mean, Peters. . . . (He pauses.) Peters, you have the making of a hero in you. Something tells me that you're going to have your chance.

(There is a loud splash from the same direction as before, followed by screams of "Help! Help!")

PETERS. (With excitement) M'lord!

HE. (Quietly) Yes, Peters?

PETERS. Somebody's calling for 'elp, m'lord!

HE. Yes, Peters.

PETERS. Shall I go, m'lord?

HE. Yes, Peters. . . . Gallop!

And as

PETERS. (Charges wildly into the shrubbery, shouting): H'I'm coming! H'I'm coming!

THE CURTAIN FALLS

title: The Noble Lord


text:
Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/112

 it seems to smell differently than the air did a few minutes ago." I stared around and wrinkled my brow.

"I think I know now," I finally said. "The temperature's changed somewhat. It's warmer."

Ed frowned. "Colder, I'd say."

I became puzzled. I waved my hands through the air a bit. "I think you're right, I must be wrong. Now it feels a bit colder."

Ed walked his horse a bit. I stared slowly after him.

"Y'know," I finally said, "I think I've got it. It's colder but it smells like warm air. I don't know if you can quite understand, what I'm driving at. It smells as if the temperature should be steaming yet actually it's sort of chilly. It doesn't smell natural."

Ed nodded. He was puzzled and so was I. There was something wrong here. Something that got on our nerves.

Far ahead I saw something sparkle. I stared as we rode and then mentioned it to Ed. He looked too.

There was something, no, several things that glistened far off at the edge of the bowl near the next rise. They looked like bits of glass.

"The meteor, maybe?" queried Ed. I shrugged. We rode steadily on in that direction. "Say, something smells funny here," Ed remarked, stopping again.

I came up next to him. He was right. The sense of strangeness in the air had increased the nearer we got to the glistening things. It was still the same—warm-cold. There was something else again. Something like vegetation in the air. Like something growing only there still wasn't any more growth than the usual cacti and sage. It smelled differently from any other growing things and yet it smelled like vegetation.

It was unearthly, that air. I can't describe it any other way. It was unearthly. Plant smells that couldn't come from any plant or forest I had ever encountered, a cold warmness unlike anything that meteorology records.

Yet it wasn't bad, it wasn't frightening. It was just peculiar. It was mystifying.

We could see the sparkling things now. They were like bubbles of glass. Big iridescent glassy balls lying like some giant child's marbles on the desert.

We knew then that, if they were the meteors, they were like none that had ever been recorded before. We knew we had made a find that would go on record and yet we weren't elated. We were ill at ease. It was the funny weather that did it.

I noticed then for the first time that there were black clouds beginning to show far in the west. It was the first wave of the storm.

We rode nearer the strange bubbles. We could see them clearly now. They seemed cracked a bit as if they had broken. One had a gaping hole in its side. It must have been hollow, just a glassy shell.

Ed and I stopped short at the same time. Or rather our horses did. We

title: Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/112


text:
Page:United States Reports, Volume 545.djvu/977

 Opinion of the Court place so that when Napster pulls the plug on their free service … or if the Court orders them shut down prior to that … we will be positioned to capture the flood of their 32 million users that will be actively looking for an alternative.’ ” Id., at 588–589, 861.

Thus, StreamCast developed promotional materials to market its service as the best Napster alternative. One proposed advertisement read: “Napster Inc. has announced that it will soon begin charging you a fee. That’s if the courts don’t order it shut down first. What will you do to get around it?” Id., at 897. Another proposed ad touted StreamCast’s software as the “#1 alternative to Napster” and asked “[w]hen the lights went off at Napster … where did the users go?” Id., at 836 (ellipsis in original). StreamCast even planned to flaunt the illegal uses of its software; when it launched the OpenNap network, the chief technology officer of the company averred that “[t]he goal is to get in trouble with the law and get sued. It’s the best way to get in the new[s].” Id., at 916.

The evidence that Grokster sought to capture the market of former Napster users is sparser but revealing, for Grokster launched its own OpenNap system called Swaptor and inserted digital codes into its Web site so that computer users using Web search engines to look for “Napster” or “[f]ree filesharing” would be directed to the Grokster Web site, where they could download the Grokster software. Id., at 992–993. And Grokster’s name is an apparent derivative of Napster.

StreamCast’s executives monitored the number of songs by certain commercial artists available on their networks, and an internal communication indicates they aimed to have a larger number of copyrighted songs available on their


text:
Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/113

 were willing, too, but our mounts got the idea just as quickly. It was the smell.

There was a new odor in the air. A sudden one. It had just that instant wafted itself across our nostrils. It was at first repelling. That's why we stopped. But sniffing it a bit took a little of the repulsion away. It wasn't so very awful.

In fact it wasn't actually bad. It was had to describe. Not exactly like anything I've ever smelled before. Vaguely it was acrid and vaguely it was dry. Mostly I would say that it smelled like a curious mixture of burning rubber and zinc ointment.

It grew stronger as we sat there and then it began to die away a bit as a slight breeze moved it on. We both got the impression at the same time that it had come from the broken glass bubbles.

We rode on cautiously.

"Maybe the meteors landed in an alkali pool and there's been some chemical reaction going on," I opined to Ed. "Could be," he said and we rode nearer.

The black clouds were piling up now in the west and a faint breeze began to stir. Ed and I dismounted to look into the odd meteors.

"Looks like we better get under cover till it blows over," he remarked.

"We've got a few minutes, I think," I replied. "Besides by the rise right here is just about the best cover around."

Back at the Weather Station, the temperature was rising steadily and the Chief was getting everything battened down. The storm was coming and, in meeting the thin edge of the Warm Front wedge which was now passing Rock Springs, would create havoc. Then the cold wave might get that far because it was over the Divide and heading for the other two. In a few minutes all hell would break loose. The Chief wondered where we were.

We were looking into the hole in the nearest bubble. The things—they must have been the meteors we were looking for—were about twelve feet in diameter and pretty nearly perfect spheres. They were thick-shelled, smooth, and very glassy and iridescent, like mother-of-pearl on the inside. They were quite hollow, and we couldn't figure out what they were made of and what they could be. Nothing I had read or learned could explain the things. That they were meteoric in origin I was sure because there was the evidence of the scattered ground and broken rocks about to show the impact. Yet they must have been terrifically tough or something because, save for the few cracks and the hole in one, they were intact.

Inside they stank of that rubber-zinc smell. It was powerful. Very powerful.

The stink had obviously come from the bubbles—there was no pool around.

It suddenly occurred to me that we had breathed air of some other world. For if these things were meteoric and the smell had come from the inside, then it was no air of Earth that smelled like burning rubber and zinc

title: Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/113


text:
User:Dgultekin

Contact Info Email IRC nick name: dgultekin AIM: denizgultekin G-chat: dmgultekin Location: San Francisco, CA

title: User:Dgultekin


text:
Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/114

. It was the air of somewhere, I don't know where, somewhere out among the endless reaches of the stars. Somewhere out there, out beyond the sun.

Another thought occurred to me.

"Do you think these things could have carried some creatures?" I asked. Ed stared at me a while, bit his lip, looked slowly around. He shrugged his shoulders without saying anything.

"The oddness of the air," I went on, "maybe it was like the air of some other world. Maybe they were trying to make our own air more breathable to them?"

Ed didn't answer that one either. It didn't require any. And he didn't ask me whom I meant by "they."

"And what makes the stink?" Ed finally commented. This time I shrugged.

Around us the smell waxed and waned. As if breezes were playing with a stream of noxious vapor. And yet, I suddenly realized, no breezes were blowing. The air was quite still. But still the smell grew stronger at one moment and weaker at another.

It was as if some creature were moving silently about, leaving no trace of itself save its scent.

"Look!" said Ed suddenly. He pointed to the west. I looked and stared at the sky. The whole west was a mass of seething dark clouds. But it was a curiously arrested mass. There was a sharply defined edge to the area—an edge of blue against which the black clouds piled in vain and we could see lightnings crackle and flash in the storm. Yet no wind reached us and no thunder and the sky was serene and blue overhead.

It looked as if the storm had come up against a solid obstacle beyond which it could go no further. But there was no such obstacle visible.

As a meteorologist I knew that meant there must be a powerful opposing bank of air shielding us. We could not see it for air is invisible but it must be there straining against the cloud bank.

I noticed now that a pressure was growing in my ears. Something was concentrating around this area. We were in for it if the forces of the air ever broke through.

The stink welled up powerfully, suddenly. More so than it had before. It seemed to pass by us and through us and around us. Then again it was gone. It almost vanished from everything. We could detect but the faintest traces of it after that passage.

Ed and I rode out to an outcropping of rock. We dismounted. We got well under the rock and we waited. It wouldn't be long before the protecting air bank gave way.

To the south now, storm clouds materialized, and then finally to the east and north. As I learned later the cold wave had eddied around us and met the Equatorial Front at last and now we were huddled with some inexplicable globes from unknown space and a bunch of strange stinks and atmosphere,

title: Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/114


text:
Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/115

 ringed around by a seething raging sea of storm. And yet above, the sky was still blue and clear.

We were in the midst of a dead center, in the midst of an inexplicable high pressure area, most of whose air did not originate on Earth and the powers of the Earth's atmosphere were hurling themselves against us from every direction.

I saw that the area of clear was slowly but surely contracting. A lancing freezing breeze suddenly enveloped us. A breakthrough from the north. But it seemed to become curiously blunted and broken up by countless thrusts of the oddly reeking air. I realized as the jet of cold air reached my lungs how different the atmosphere was in this pocket from that we are accustomed to breathe. It was truly alien.

And yet always this strange air seemed to resist the advances of the normal. Another slight breeze, this one wet and warm came in from the south and again a whirl of the rubbery odored wind dispersed it.

Then there came an intolerable moment. A moment of terrific compression and rise and the black storm clouds tore through in wild streaks overhead and spiderwebbed the sky rapidly into total darkness. The area of peace became narrow, restricted, enclosed by walls of lightning-shot storm.

I got an odd impression then. That we were embattled. That the forces of nature were determined to annihilate and utterly rip apart our little region of invading alien air, that the meteor gases were determined to resist to the last to keep their curious stinks intact!

The lightning flashed and flashed. Endless giant bolts yet always outside our region. And we heard them only when a lance of cold or hot storm pierced through to us. The alien air clearly would not transmit the sounds it was standing rigid against the interrupting vibrations!

Ed and I have conferred since then. We both agree that we had the same impressions. That a genuine life and death fight was going on. That that pocket of otherworldly air seemed to be consciously fighting to keep itself from being absorbed by the storm, from being diffused to total destruction so that no atom of the unearthly gases could exist save as incredibly rare elements in the total atmosphere of the Earth. It seemed to be trying to maintain its entirety, its identity.

It was in that last period that Ed and I saw the inexplicable things. We saw the things that don't make sense. For we saw part of the clear area suddenly contract as if some of the defending force had been withdrawn and we saw suddenly one of the glass globes, one of the least cracked, whirl up from the ground and rush into the storm, rush straight up!

It was moving through the clear air without any visible propulsion. We thought then that perhaps a jet of the storm had pierced through to carry it up as a ball will ride on a jet of water. But no, for the globe hurled itself into the storm, contrary to the direction of the winds, against the forces of the storm.

The globe was trying to break through the ceiling of black to the clear

title: Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/115


text:
Page:Shrinking the Commons.djvu/14

 The so called “copyleft” condition, a provision included in one form or another since GPLv1, limits the ability of authors of works derived from GPL-licensed software to release their own work under licenses more restrictive than the GPL. In its current form, the provision requires authors of a modified version of software derived from GPL-licensed code to “license the entire work, as a whole, under this License to anyone who comes into possession of a copy. This License will therefore apply. . . to the whole of the work, and all its parts, regardless of how they are packaged.”

In a license document that otherwise celebrates freedom and choice, the copyleft condition at first seems out of place. It limits, rather than enhances, one potentially important freedom enjoyed by users of the software—the freedom to license derivative software works they create on terms of their choosing. It is surely this loss of freedom that underlies pejorative labels, such as “viral” or “infectious,” that critics sometimes use in describing the GPL or other copyleft licenses. As a programmer, using GPL-licensed code in your own work makes you a FOSS author whether you wish to be or not, because the copyleft condition “infects” your final

title: Page:Shrinking the Commons.djvu/14


text:
Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/116

 air above. But the constant lightnings that flickered around it kept it in our sight. Again and again it darted against the mass of clouds and was hurled wildly and furiously about. For a moment we thought it would force its way out of our sight and then there was a sudden flash and a sharp snap that even we heard and a few fragments of glassy stuff came falling down.

I realized suddenly that the storm had actually abated its fury while this strange thing was going on. As if the very elements themselves watched the outcome of the ball's flight. And now the storm raged in again with renewed vigor as if triumphant.

The area was definitely being forced back. Soon not more than twenty yards separated us from the front and we could hear the dull endless rumbling of the thunder. The stink was back again all around us. Tiny trickles of cold wet air broke through now and then but were still being lost in the smell.

Then came the last moment. A sort of terrible crescendo in the storm and the stink finally broke for good. I saw it and what I saw is inexplicable save for a very fantastic hypothesis which I believe only because I must.

After that revealing moment the last shreds of the stellar air broke for good. For only a brief instant more the storm raged, an instant in which for the first and last time Ed and I got soaked and hurled around by the wind and rain and the horses almost broke their tethers. Then it was over. The dark clouds lifted rapidly. In a few minutes they had incredibly thinned out, there was a slight rain, and by the time ten more minutes had passed, the sun was shining, the sky was blue and things were almost dry. On the northern horizon faint shreds of cloud lingered but that was all.

Of the meteor globes only a few shards and splinters remained.

I've talked the matter over as I said and there is no really acceptable answer to the whole curious business. We know that we don't really know very much about things. As a meteorologist I can tell you that. Why, we've been discussing the weather from caveman days and yet it was not more than twenty years ago that the theory of weather fronts was formulated which first allowed really decent predictions. And the theory of fronts, which is what we modern weather people use, has lots of imperfections in it. For instance we still don't know anything about the why of things. Why does a storm form at all? We know how it grows, sure, but why did it start and how?

We don't know. We don't know very much at all. We breathe this air and it was only in the last century that we first began to find out how many different elements and gases made it up and we don't know for sure yet.

I think it's possible that living things may exist that are made of gas only. We're protoplasm you know but do you know that we're not solid matter—we're liquid? Protoplasm is liquid. Flesh is liquid arranged in suspension in cells of dead substances. And most of us is water, and water is the origin of all life. And water is composed of two common gases,

title: Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/116


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Rat

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Rat


text:
Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/117

 hydrogen and oxygen. And those gases are found everywhere in the universe astronomers say.

So I say that if the elements of our life can be boiled down to gases, then why can't gases combine as gases and still have the element of life? Water is always present in the atmosphere as vapor, then why not a life as a sort of water vapor variant?

I think it makes sense. I think it might smell odd if we accidentally inhaled such a vapor life. Because we could inhale it like we do water vapor. It might smell, say for example, like burning rubber and zinc ointment.

Because in that last moment when the storm was at its height and the area of unearthly air was compressed to its smallest I noticed that at one point a definite outline could be seen against the black clouds and the blue-white glare of the lightning. A section of the otherworldly air had been sort of trapped and pinned off from the main section. And it had a definite shape under that terrible storm pressure.

I can't say what it was like because it wasn't exactly like anything save maybe a great amoeba being pushed down against the ground. There were lots of arms and stubby wiggly things sticking out and the main mass was squashy and thick. And it flowed along the ground sort of like a snail. It seemed to be writhing and trying to slither away and spread out.

It couldn't because the storm was hammering at it. And I definitely saw a big black mass, round like a fist, hammer at one section of the thing's base as it tried to spread out.

Then the storm smashed down hard on the odd outline and it squashed out flat and was gone.

I imagine there were others and I think that when they aren't being compressed they could have spread out naturally about a hundred yards along the ground and upwards. And I think we have things like that only of Earthly origin right in the atmosphere now. And I don't think that our breathing and walking and living right through them means a thing to them at all. But they objected to the invaders from space. They smelled differently, they were different, they must have come from a different sort of planet, a planet cooler than ours with deserts and vegetation different from our own. And they would have tried to remake our atmosphere into one of their own. And our native air-dwellers stopped them.

That's what I think.

title: Page:Avon Fantasy Reader 10.djvu/117


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Ratafia

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Ratafia


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Dick, Thomas


text: Avon Fantasy Reader/Issue 10/Storm Warning


text:
Author:Donald Allen Wollheim

Novelettes

 * with Robert A. W. Lowndes

Short stories

 * Storm Warning (1942)
 * Storm Warning (1942)
 * Storm Warning (1942)
 * Storm Warning (1942)
 * Storm Warning (1942)
 * Storm Warning (1942)
 * Storm Warning (1942)
 * Storm Warning (1942)

Editor

 * Avon Fantasy Reader (1947 to 1952)
 * Avon Science Fiction Reader (1951 to 1952)
 * Cosmic Stories (1941)
 * Stirring Science Stories (1941 to 1942)

title: Author:Donald Allen Wollheim


text:
Wakulla/Chapter 7

Some light-wood splinters were quickly thrown upon the smouldering remains of the fire, and as it blazed up brightly, the lighter, in which the whites had been sleeping, was seen to be on its beam ends. One side rested high up on the bank and the other down in the mud at the bottom of the river, just on the edge of the channel. Some little distance down stream a sorry-looking figure, which was hardly recognizable as that of Jan, was floundering through the mud and water towards the bank. On the lower side of the lighter the canvas, that had been spread like a tent over the afterpart, had broken from its fastenings, and was now tossing and heaving in a most remarkable manner. From beneath it came the smothered cries of the Elmers, who had been suddenly wakened to find themselves mixed together in the most perplexing way, and entangled in their blankets and the loose folds of the canvas.

Captain Johnson seemed to be the only person who had his wits about him, and who was in a condition to render any assistance. As soon as he could pick himself up he made his way to the other end of the boat and dragged the canvas from off the struggling family. First Mr. Elmer emerged from the confusion, then Mrs. Elmer and Ruth were helped out, and last of all poor Mark, who had been buried beneath the entire family, was dragged forth, nearly smothered and highly indignant.

"It's a mean trick, and I didn't think—" he began, as soon as he got his breath; but just then his eye fell upon the comical figure of Jan. He was walking towards the fire, dripping mud and water from every point, and Mark's wrath was turned into hearty laughter at this sight. In it he was joined by all the others as soon as they saw the cause of his mirth.

After the Elmers had been helped up the steep incline of the boat, and were comfortably fixed near the fire, Captain Johnson and Jan, who said he didn't mind mud now any more than an alligator, took light-wood torches and set out to discover what had happened. As Jan climbed down the bank into the mud, and held his torch beneath the boat, he saw in a moment the cause of the accident, and knew just how it had occurred.

As the tide ebbed the lighter had been gradually lowered, until it rested on the upright branches of an old water-logged tree-top that was sunk in the mud at this place. The water falling lower and lower, the weight upon these branches became greater and greater, until they could support it no longer, and one side of the lighter went down with a crash, while the other rested against the bank. Jan, who had been sleeping on the upper side of the boat, was thrown out into the water when it fell, as some of the Elmers doubtless would have been had not their canvas shelter prevented such a catastrophe.

The rest of the night was spent around the fire, which was kept up to enable Jan to dry his clothes. By daylight the tide had risen, so that the lighter again floated on an even keel. By sunrise a simple breakfast of bread-and-butter and coffee had been eaten, and our emigrants were once more afloat and moving slowly up the tropical-looking river.

About ten o'clock Captain Johnson pointed to a huge dead cypress-tree standing on the bank of the river some distance ahead, and told the Elmers that it marked one of the boundary-lines of Wakulla. They gazed at it eagerly, as though expecting it to turn into something different from an ordinary cypress, and all felt more or less disappointed at not seeing any clearings or signs of human habitations. It was not until they were directly opposite the village that they saw its score or so of houses through the trees and undergrowth that fringed the bank.

As the Bangs place, to which the children gave the name of "Go Bang"—a name that adhered to it ever afterwards—was across the river from the village, the lighter was poled over to that side. There was no wharf, so she was made fast to a little grassy promontory that Captain Johnson said was once one of the abutments of a bridge. There was no bridge now, however, and already Mark saw that his canoe was likely to prove very useful.

The first thing to do after getting ashore and seeing the precious canoe safely landed was to find the house. As yet they had seen no trace of it, so heavy was the growth of trees every-where, except at the abutment, which was built of stone, covered with earth and a thick sod. From here an old road led away from the river through the woods, and up it Mr. and Mrs. Elmer and Captain Johnson now walked, Mark and Ruth having run on ahead. The elders had gone but a few steps when they heard a loud cry from Ruth, and hurried forward fearing that the children were in trouble. They met Ruth running back towards them, screaming, "A snake! a snake! a horrid big snake!"

"I've got him!" shouted Mark from behind some bushes, and sure enough there lay a black snake almost as long as Mark was tall, which he had just succeeded in killing with a stick.

Mrs. Elmer shuddered at the sight of the snake, though her husband assured her that it had been perfectly harmless even when alive.

Not far from where the snake had been killed they found a spring of water bubbling up, as clear as crystal, from a bed of white sand, but giving forth such a disagreeable odor that the children declared it was nasty. Mr. Elmer, however, regarded it with great satisfaction, and told them it was a sulphur spring, stronger than any he had ever seen, and that they would find it very valuable. They all drank some of the water out of magnolia-leaf cups; but the children made faces at the taste, and Mark said it made him feel like a hard-boiled egg.

A path leading from the spring at right angles to the road from the river took them into a large clearing that had once been a cultivated field, and on the farther side of this field stood the house. As they approached it they saw that it was quite large, two stories in height, with dormer windows in the roof, but that it bore many signs of age and long neglect. Some of the windows were broken and others boarded up, while the front door hung disconsolately on one hinge.

The house stood in a grove of grand live-oaks, cedars, and magnolias, and had evidently been surrounded by a beautiful garden, enclosed by a neat picket-fence; but now the fence was broken down in many places, and almost hidden by a dense growth of vines and creepers. In the garden, rose-bushes, myrtles, oleanders, and camellias grew with a rank and untrained luxuriance, and all were matted together with vines of honeysuckle and clematis.

The front porch of the house was so rotten and broken that, after forcing their way through the wild growth of the garden, the party had to cross it very carefully in order to enter the open door. The interior proved to be in a much better condition than they had dared hope, judging from the outside appearance of the house. It was filled with the close, musty odor common to deserted buildings, and they quickly threw wide open all the windows and doors that were not nailed up. On the first floor were four large rooms, each containing a fireplace and several closets, and up-stairs were four more, lighted by the dormer windows in the roof. A broad hall ran through the house from front to rear, opening upon a wide back porch which was also much out of repair. Beneath this porch Mr. Elmer discovered a brick cistern half full of dirty water, which he knew must be very foul, as the gutters along the roof were so rotten and broken that they could not have furnished a fresh supply in a long time.

Behind the main house, and surrounded by large fig-trees, they found another building, in a fair state of preservation, containing two rooms, one of which had been the kitchen. In the huge fireplace of this kitchen they were surprised to see freshly burned sticks and a quantity of ashes, while about the floor were scattered feathers and bones, and in one corner was a pile of moss that looked as though it has been used for a bed. Beyond the kitchen were the ruins of several out-buildings that had fallen by reason of their age, or been blown down during a gale.

Having thus made a hasty exploration of their new home, the party returned to the landing, to which their goods were being unloaded from the lighter by Jan and the crew. Leaving Mrs. Elmer and Ruth here, Mr. Elmer and Mark crossed the river to the village to see what they could procure in the way of teams and help.

Of the twenty houses in the village, many of which were in a most dilapidated condition, only two were occupied by white families, the rest of the population being colored. There were no stores nor shops of any kind, the only building not used as a dwelling-house being a small church very much out of repair. The white men living in the village were away from home, but from among the colored people, who were much excited at the arrival of strangers in their midst, Mr. Elmer engaged two men and their wives to cross the river and go to work at once. He also engaged a man who owned a team of mules and a wagon, and who would go over as soon as the lighter was unloaded and could be used to ferry him across.

On its return to the other side, the canoe was followed by a skiff containing the newly engaged colored help, whose amazement at everything they saw, and especially at the canoe, was unbounded. One of the men expressed his wonder at the little craft by saying, "Dat ar trick's so light, I reckon it's gwine leab de water some fine day, an' fly in de yair, like a duck."

Mrs. Elmer provided the women with brooms, mops, and pails, and took them up to the house, where they proceeded to put the lower story in order for immediate occupation. Mr. Elmer armed the men with axes, and soon had them engaged in a struggle with the tangled growth in the front yard, through which they cut a broad path to the house. While they were doing this, Mr. Elmer and Jan cut and placed in position some temporary supports under the rickety porches, and Mark was set work at the windows. From these he knocked away all the boards, letting in floods of blessed sunlight, that drove from their snug retreats numbers of bats and several comical little owls.

One of the colored women—"Aunt Chloe Cato," as she called herself, because she was Cato's wife—was sent into the kitchen to clean it and to make a fire in the great fireplace. She could not explain the traces of recent occupation, but "'lowed 'twere de ghoses, kase dis yere ole Bang place done bin hanted."

"Well, it'll be 'hanted' now by the Elmer family," said Mark, who overheard her, "and they'll make it lively for any other 'ghoses' that come round."

"Don't ye, now, honey I don't ye go fo' to set up yo'sef agin de ghoses, kase dey's powerful pernickety when dey's crassed," said the old woman, whom Mark, with his love for nick-names, had already called "Ole Clo."

At noon all hands stopped work to eat a hasty lunch, and soon afterwards the lighter, being unloaded, was poled across the river for the team. With the help of Captain Johnson and his crew, who had agreed to remain over that night, most of the household goods were moved up to the house during the afternoon and placed under shelter.

While this work was going on, one of the white men from the village came over to see his new neighbors. He brought with him a wild-turkey, half a dozen ducks, and a string of freshly caught fish, as cards of introduction. His name was Bevil, and he welcomed the Elmers most heartily, and said that he considered their coming a sign of better times for that section of the country. He told Mr. Elmer that the Bangs place used to be considered one of the finest plantations in the county, and that its lands were as rich now as ever.

Before night the lower story of the old house looked quite comfortable, and almost homelike; and when the family sat down to dinner, it was with the keen appetites resulting from hard work. The dinner was a bountiful meal, largely composed of Mr. Bevil's game and fish; and before they ate it Mr. Elmer offered up a heart-felt thanksgiving for the mercies that had been granted them thus far, and prayed for a blessing on their new home.

That evening he arranged with Captain Johnson to start at daylight and go with his lighter to the nearest saw-mill, sixty miles away, for a load of lumber and shingles. He also commissioned him to buy and bring back a large skiff, such as were used on the river.

The tired household went early to bed that first night in their new home, and though their beds were made down on the floor, they all slept soundly.

All but Mark, who, after sleeping for some hours, woke suddenly to find himself sitting bolt-upright in bed, and staring at the broken window in front of him, through which a flood of moonlight was pouring. He was as certain as he could be of anything that he had seen a face at that window as he started up—a wild, haggard face, framed by long unkempt hair. He sprang from his bed and looked out, but could see nobody, and heard no unusual sound except the distant "who-who-whoo" of an owl.

title: Wakulla/Chapter 7


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Rate

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Rate


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Ratel

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Ratel


text:
1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Rath, Gerhard vom

RATH, GERHARD VOM (1830-1888), German mineralogist, was born at Dinsburg in Prussia, on the 20th of August 1830. He was educated at Cologne, at Bonn University, and finally at Berlin, where he graduated Ph.D. in 1853. In 1856 he became assistant to Nöggerath in the mineralogical museum at Bonn, and succeeded to the directorship in 1872. Meanwhile in 1863 he was appointed extraordinary professor of geology, and in 1872 he became professor of geology and mineralogy in the university at Bonn. He was distinguished for his accurate researches on mineralogy and crystallography; he described a great many new minerals, some of which were discovered by him, and he contributed largely to our knowledge of other minerals, notably in an essay on tridymite. He travelled much in southern Europe, Palestine and the United States, and wrote several essays on petrology, geology and physical geography, on earthquakes and on meteorites. He died at Coblenz on the 23rd of April 1888.


text:
Wakulla/Chapter 8

It must be confessed that, before getting to sleep again, Mark thought of what Aunt Chloe had said about the "ghoses"; but having been taught to disbelieve in such things, and always to seek for some natural explanation of whatever appeared supernatural or unreal, he made up his mind to wait and make the attempt to unravel this mystery by himself before saying anything about it.

The four days that remained of the week were very busy days for the Elmers and those whom they had employed to help them. During this time the interior of the old house was thoroughly cleansed and sweetened by the energetic use of soap and water, and straw matting was laid on the floors of the rooms down-stairs. The broken windows were all repaired by Mark, who found several boxes of glass and a bladder of putty among the building material they had brought from Bangor, and who, after a few trials, became quite a skilful glazier. The cistern was emptied of its stagnant water and thoroughly cleansed, and the gutters were repaired as well as they could be before the arrival of Captain Johnson and the lumber.

It was not until the windows and gutters were repaired that Mrs. Elmer would allow any of the furniture, not absolutely needed, to be unpacked, for fear it might be injured by the dampness. Among the packages that thus remained boxed up, or wrapped in burlaps, was one which none of them could remember having seen before. It was large and square, and different in shape from anything that had stood in their house in Norton. What could it be? Mark and Ruth asked each other this question a dozen times a day, and, but for their mother's refusal to allow them to do so, would have long since solved the riddle by opening the package.

On Friday night the house was pronounced to be practically water-tight, and at breakfast-time the following morning Mrs. Elmer said they would unpack and arrange the furniture that day.

"And the mystery?" cried Mark. "May we open that first?" "Certainly," replied his mother; "you may, if you wish, open that the moment you have finished breakfast."

"That's this very minute, ain't it, Ruth? Come along. We'll soon find out what's inside those burlaps," exclaimed the boy, pushing back his chair, and rising from the table as he spoke.

He brought a hammer with which to knock off the rough frame of boards that almost formed a box around the package, and Ruth ran for the shears to cut the stitches of the burlaps.

The frame quickly fell to pieces under Mark's vigorous blows, and then his penknife assisted Ruth's shears. Beneath the burlaps was a thick layer of straw; then came heavy wrapping-paper, and, under this, layers and wads of news-paper, until the children began to think the whole package was nothing but wrappings.

At last the papers were all pulled away, and there stood revealed, in all its beauty of structure and finish, a little gem of a cabinet organ. To one of its handles was tied a card, on which was printed in big letters:

"A Christmas Present, with wishes for a very merry Christmas, from Uncle 'Christmas' to his grandniece Ruth Elmer."

"Oh! oh! oh! ain't it lovely?" cried Ruth. "Dear old 'Uncle Christmas!' And I thought he had forgotten me, and only remembered Mark, too."

The organ was placed in the parlor, and from that day forth was a source of great pleasure, not only to Ruth and the Elmer family, but to their neighbors across the river, who frequently came over in the evening to hear Ruth play.

Among the events of that week were two that impressed Mark deeply, as they seemed to be connected in some way with the face he had seen at the window. One of these was the mysterious disappearance, on that same night, of a loaf of bread and a cold roast duck from the kitchen. The other was the appearance, two days later, at the kitchen door, of a poor wounded dog, who dragged himself out from the woods back of the house, and lay down on the step, evidently in great pain.

Ruth saw him as he lay there, panting and moaning, and ran to tell Mark, and her father and mother, of their visitor and his wretched plight. They all went to see him, and after a careful examination of the suffering animal, Mr. Elmer said he had been cruelly treated and badly wounded; but that, with proper treatment and care, he could be cured. "He is a cross between a pointer and a hound," continued Mr. Elmer, "and looks like a valuable dog. The wounds from which he is suffering are those caused by a charge of small shot, that must have been fired into him quite recently. I will do what I can for him, and then I shall turn him over to you and Ruth, Mark, and if he recovers he shall belong to you both. His present owner has forfeited all claim to him by cruel treatment, for without our care now the poor beast would certainly die. The first thing to do is to give him water, for he is very feverish."

The dog seemed to know, as well as his human friends, that the pain he suffered, while most of the shot were extracted on the point of a pen-knife, was for his good; for while he moaned and whined during the operation, he lay perfectly still, and did not offer the slightest resistance. After his wounds had been dressed, he was carefully removed to a bed of soft moss on the back porch, and here he lay quietly, only feebly wagging his tail whenever any of his new friends came to see him.

"Who could have shot this dog?" and "Why did the animal drag himself to our kitchen door?" were questions that puzzled Mark considerably during the rest of that day and for some days afterwards.

During that week Jan Jansen and the two negroes had worked hard at cutting away the undergrowth immediately around the house, and by Saturday night they had wonderfully improved the general appearance of things. The garden in front of the house had been cleared of everything except the ornamental shrubs properly belonging there. The fence had been freed from its crushing weight of vines, and its broken panels repaired, so that it now only needed a coat of paint to make it look as good as new. Back of the house they had cleared an acre of what had formerly been the kitchen-garden, and had opened a broad avenue down to the river, so that the back windows of the house now looked out upon it and the village beyond.

Late on Saturday evening Captain Johnson returned to Wakulla with a lighter-load of shingles, window-blinds, fence-pickets, and assorted lumber. He also brought the skiff that Mr. Elmer had commissioned him to buy.

The next day being Sunday, every member of the little community was prepared to enjoy a well-earned rest. During the morning they all crossed the river to the village, leaving "Go Bang" closed, and unprotected save by "Bruce," as the children had named the wounded dog.

In the village they found the little church closed and empty; so they went to the house of Mr. Bevil, whom they found at home, and who introduced them to his family. Mrs. Bevil expressed great pleasure at meeting Mrs. Elmer, and apologized for not having called; and Ruth was delighted to find that the eldest of the three Bevil children was a girl of about her own age, named Grace.

In reply to Mr. Elmer's inquiries, the Bevils said that no regular services were held in the church, and that it was only opened when some preacher happened to visit them.

Mr. Elmer proposed that they should organize a Sunday-school, to be held in the church every Sunday, and that they should make a beginning that very day.

To this the Bevils gladly consented, and two servants were immediately sent out—one to open the church and ring the bell, and the other to invite all the colored people of the place to meet there in an hour.

Then the Elmers and Bevils went together to the house of Mr. Carter, the other white man of the village. Here were two children, a girl and a boy, both younger than Ruth; and Mr. and Mrs. Carter readily agreed to help establish the Sunday-school, and promised to be at the church at the appointed time.

When the Elmers entered the church they found nearly fifty men, women, and children assembled, and waiting with eager curiosity to see what was going to be done. The church was as dilapidated as most of the buildings in the village, and many of its windows were broken. In that climate, where snow is unknown and frost comes but seldom, this made little difference, and this Sunday was so warm and bright that the breeze coming in through the broken windows was very refreshing.

Mr. Elmer made a short address to the people, telling them that he and his family had come to live among them, and that he thought it would be very pleasant for them all to meet in that house every Sunday, for the purpose of studying the Bible and mutually helping one another. Then he asked all who were willing to help him establish a Sunday-school to hold up their hands, and every hand was immediately raised.

Mr. Bevil moved that Mr. Elmer be made superintendent of the Sunday-school, Mr. Carter seconded the motion, and it was unanimously carried.

The rest of the hour was occupied in forming classes and giving out lessons to be learned for the next Sunday. As most of the colored people could not read, it seemed important that they should be taught this first, and both Mark and Ruth were made teachers of ABC classes composed of the younger children.

Before the meeting closed Mr. Bevil made some remarks, in which he thanked the Elmers for what they had undertaken, reminded the school that the next day was the first of a new year, and said that, as he had already told Mr. Elmer, the coming and settling of these strangers among them marked the dawn of a new era of prosperity for Wakulla.

As the Elmers neared their home after Sunday-school they heard Bruce bark loudly; but when they reached it they found him cowed and whimpering. His eyes were fixed upon the point of woods nearest the house, and he exhibited signs of great fear. They also found the kitchen door standing wide open, though Mrs. Elmer was certain she had fastened it before leaving.

Again Mark thought of the "ghoses," but still he said nothing, and the opening of the door was finally credited to the wind.

That afternoon Mr. Bevil came over to make a call, and was much interested in the improvements already made and proposed. He declared that it reminded him of old times, when that side of the river was inhabited by a dozen or more families, and when Wakulla was one of the most prosperous towns in the State. He showed Mr. Elmer the sites of the old foundry and mills that once stood on that side of the river, and told him of the wharves that had lined both banks, the great cotton-presses, and the many vessels that used to fill it from bank to bank as they lay awaiting their loads of cotton. In those days a line of steam-ships plied regularly between Wakulla and New Orleans, and a steam-tug was kept constantly busy towing vessels between the town and the mouth of the river. Then a fine plank-road reached back from Wakulla a hundred miles into the country, and the two hotels of the place were constantly crowded with invalids, who came to receive the benefits of its famous sulphur and mineral springs. In those days six large stores were hardly sufficient for the business of the place, and then the land on both sides of the river for miles was cultivated, and produced heavy crops of cotton.

Now all that remained to tell of this former prosperity were a few rotten piles in the river where the wharves had stood, the bridge abutments, a handful of tumble-down houses, and here and there in the dense woods traces of cultivated fields, and an occasional brick chimney or pile of stone to mark the site of some old plantation house.

Mr. Elmer was much interested in all this, and mentally resolved that he would do all that lay in his power to revive the old-time prosperity of the place in which he had established his home.

"What we most need here now," concluded Mr. Bevil, "is a bridge over the river and a mill. It ought to be a saw-mill, grist-mill, and cotton-gin all in one."

The next morning Mr. Elmer said that he must go to Tallahassee, the nearest city, on business, and that he might be absent several days. Before going he laid out the work that he wanted each one to do while he was away. Mark was to take him down the river to the railroad station at St. Mark's, in his canoe, and on his return he and Jan were to go into the woods after as many cedar fence-posts as they could cut. The colored men were to prepare the large cleared field in front of the house, in which were about ten acres, for ploughing, and to dig post-holes around it on lines that he had marked. Captain Johnson and his crew were to unload the lighter and haul all the lumber and shingles up to the house.

When he and Mark went down to the canoe, it seemed to the latter that she was not just where he had left her the day before, and he thought she looked as though she had been recently used; but as he could not be certain, he said nothing about it to his father.

Mr. Elmer took a light rifle with him in the canoe, saying that there was no knowing but what they might find a chance to use it going down the river, and that Mark could bring it back. Mark was glad of this, for he inherited a love for shooting from his father, and having been carefully instructed, was a capital shot.

The day was unusually warm and bright for that season of the year, and as they floated quietly down-stream they surprised a number of alligators lying on the banks sunning themselves. As they were the first of these great reptiles that either Mr. Elmer or Mark had ever seen, they watched them with curiosity not unmixed with fear lest they should attack and upset the light canoe. They afterwards learned that their fears were groundless, and that cases of this kind are almost unknown.

They reached St. Mark's in time for Mr. Elmer to catch the train, and after he had gone Mark got the mail, of which quite a quantity had collected here for them, there being no post-office in Wakulla, and started for home.

On the way up the river the boy was strangely oppressed by the solitude and almost unbroken silence about him, and was very glad when he found himself within a mile of home.

Suddenly the silence was broken by a cry so terrible and agonized that he was for a moment nearly petrified with fright. He quickly recovered his presence of mind, and the first cry being followed by screams for help and a crashing of the bushes on a small wooded point that jutted into the river just ahead of him, he hastily ran the canoe up to the bank, seized his rifle, and sprang ashore.

title: Wakulla/Chapter 8


text:
1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Ratke, Wolfgang

RATKE (RATCHIUS), WOLFGANG (1571-1635), German educationist, was born at Wilster, Holstein, on the 18th of October 1571, and educated at the university of Rostock. His system of education was based upon Bacon's philosophy, the principle being that of “proceeding from things to names,”

from the particular to the general, and from the mother tongue to foreign languages. In 1618 he opened schools at Augsburg and elsewhere, but at Köthen difficulties with the clergy led to his imprisonment for eight months, and after starting another school at Magdeburg in 1620 which failed, he became a wanderer and died at Erfurt on the 27th of April 1635. His ideas were far in advance of his time, but he lacked executive ability.


text:
Page:Syria, the land of Lebanon (1914).djvu/259

HAMATH THE GREAT straps and strings dropped off one beast and dangled under his heels. Then, as soon as the harness was repaired, our driver let his reins fall among the flying hoofs. He took these mishaps very philosophically; much more so, to tell the truth, than we did. Doubtless he pitied us Western infidels for our evident nervousness and lack of faith. Suppose that the coach should indeed upset—it would be the will of Allah, and who were we to object!

We had but one fellow-traveler, a fat old Moslem wearing the turban of a haj who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca. He was a most companionable fellow who insisted upon explaining to us all the points of interest along the road; and the fact that his explanations were usually wrong did not in the least detract from our enjoyment of his company. Every time the diligence stopped—and, with our drunken driver and worn-out harness, this was quite often—the Haj would laboriously descend, spread out his handkerchief upon some clean, level spot alongside the road, and turn toward Mecca to recite his prayers. He must have been a very holy man.

The road from Homs to Hama runs almost due north, a straight white line cutting across the green fields. It is one of the oldest highways in the world. For at least five thousand years caravans have been passing along it just as we saw them—long strings of slow-moving camels laden with brightly colored bags of wheat. One could almost imagine that [ 209 ]


text:
Page:Syria, the land of Lebanon (1914).djvu/260

SYRIA, THE LAND OF LEBANON Pharaoh was again calling down the corn of Hamath to fill his granaries, against the impending seven years of famine. But even here the old things are passing. Just beyond the line of camels, a longer line of peasant women, with dirty blue dresses kilted above their knee?, were carrying upon their heads baskets of earth and stone for the road-bed of the new French railway. The carriage road is French, too; and a very good road it is. We noticed some men repairing it with a most ingenious roller. A huge rounded stone, drawn by two oxen, had its axle prolonged by a twenty-foot pole, at the end of which a bare-legged Syrian was fastened to balance the contrivance. If the stone had chanced to topple over, the spectacle of the captive road-maker dangling at the top of the slender flag-staff would have been well worth watching.

All along the journey we were reminded of the fact that this was not only the East, but the old, old East. The soil is fertile, but the very wheat-fields are different from ours. Only a few yards in width, they are often of prodigious length; the thin green strips sometimes stretch away until in the far distance they are lost over the curve of the treeless plain. At one place the road is cut through a hill honeycombed with rock-tombs, which the Haj said were of Jewish origin. Every now and then we passed a tell, or great hemispherical mound built up of the rubbish of dozens of ruined towns which, one [ 210 ]


text:
Page:Syria, the land of Lebanon (1914).djvu/261

HAMATH THE GREAT after the other, were built upon the same site. Even as late as Roman times, this was a densely populated and prosperous district. There is now no timber available for building purposes, and so in a number of villages the houses are constructed with conical roofs of stone. Where the rock happens to be of a reddish tinge, the windowless structures remind one of nothing so much as a collection of Indian wigwams; where the stone is white, as at Tell Biseh, it glitters and sparkles like a city cut out of loaf sugar.

"Hamath the Great," as the prophet Amos called it, is still the most important city between Damascus and Aleppo. It is larger than Homs and seems more prosperous, but the difference between the two is not marked enough to prevent considerable mutual jealousy. Hama is especially busy in the early morning, when the market squares are crowded with kneeling camels and the bazaars are bright with newly opened rolls of rich silks, which may be bought at ridiculously low prices—if the purchaser knows how to bargain.

You see the same types in other Syrian cities—rough camel-drivers, veiled ladies, ragged peasants, underfed soldiers, Moslem wise men and reverend Arab sheikhs. Along tourist-beaten routes, however, the picture lacks somewhat of perfection because of the Hotel d'Orient or Hotel Victoria in the background, and, just as you have warmed to an  [ 211 ]


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Lodge, Thomas (1558?-1625)


text:
Avon Fantasy Reader

Issue #1 – February 1947
Avon Fantasy Reader 1

 * "The Power Planet" by Murray Leinster
 * "The Shuttered House" by August Derleth (© Copyright Renewed: August Derleth (A); 20Jul64; R341606.)
 * "Justice" by The Gibsons
 * "The Voice in the Night" by William Hope Hodgson
 * "The Woman of the Wood" by A. Merritt
 * "The Truth About Pyecraft" by H. G. Wells
 * "The Vaults of Yoh-Vombis" by Clark Ashton Smith (© Copyright Renewed as part of Weird Tales, May 1932; Steinberg Press, Inc.; 1960-1-18; R250138.)
 * "Nostalgia" by Howard Phillips Lovecraft
 * "The Central Figure" by H. Russell Wakefield
 * "The Three Infernal Jokes" by Lord Dunsany
 * "Climax for a Ghost Story" by I. A. Ireland

Issue #2 – April 1947
Avon Fantasy Reader 2

 * "Stenographer's Hands" by David H. Keller, M.D.
 * "The Strange Case of Lemuel Jenkins" by Philip Fisher
 * "The Day of the Dragon" by Guy Endore (© Copyright Renewed as part of Blue Book Magazine, June 1934; McCall Corp.; 27Sep61; R282249.)
 * "The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune" (Kull series) by Robert E. Howard
 * "The Yellow Sign" by Robert W. Chambers
 * "Automata" by S. Fowler Wright
 * "The City of the Living Dead" by Laurence Manning & Fletcher Pratt

Issue #3 – June 1947
Avon Fantasy Reader 3

 * "Rhythm of the Spheres" by A. Merritt (© Copyright Renewed as part of Thrilling Wonder Stories, October 1936; Popular Library, Inc.; 11Sep63; R321807.)
 * "The Silent Trees" by Frank Owen
 * "The Queer Story of Brownlow's Newspaper" by H. G. Wells (© Copyright Renewed as part of Ladies Home Journal, February or April 1932; Curtis Pub. Co.; 11Dec59; R247672 or R247674.)
 * "The Silver Key" (Randolph Carter series) by H. P. Lovecraft
 * "Black Thirst" (Northwest Smith series) by C. L. Moore (© Copyright Renewed: Catherine L. Moore Kuttner (A); 19May61; R276546.)
 * "Mimic" by Donald A. Wollheim (as Martin Pearson) (© Copyright Renewed as part of Astonishing Stories, December 1942; Popular Publications, Inc,; 10Nov69; R472055.)
 * "Bishop's Gambit" by August Derleth (as Stephen Grendon) (© Copyright Renewed: April Derleth & Balden Derleth(C); 20Jun75; R607403.)
 * "Evening Primrose" by John Collier (© Copyright Renewed as part of Presenting Moonshine; John Collier (A); 8Mar68; R431233.)
 * "Homecoming" by Ray Bradbury (© Copyright Renewed: Ray Bradbury (A); 24Jun74; R579952.)

Issue #4 – September 1947
Avon Fantasy Reader 4

 * "The Arrhenius Horror" by P. Schuyler Miller
 * "The Hollow Man" by Thomas Burke (© Copyright Restored due to URAA as part of The Evening Standard Book of Strange Stories, 1933; PD in the UK)
 * "Conquerors' Isle" by Nelson Bond (See Discussion about the copyright status)
 * "The Hoard of the Gibbelins" by Lord Dunsany
 * "The Derelict" by William Hope Hodgson
 * "The Man Upstairs" by Ray Bradbury (© Copyright Renewed as part of Harper's Magazine, March 1947; Minneapolis Star and Tribune Company, Inc; 9Sep74; R585I75.)
 * "The Planet of the Dead" by Clark Ashton Smith (© Copyright Renewed as part of Weird Tales, March 1932; Steinberg Press, Inc.; R250136.)
 * "A Warning to the Curious" by M. R. James
 * "Defense" by A. E. van Vogt (© Copyright Renewed: A. E. Van Vogt (A); 18Aug75; R611735.)

Issue #5 – March 1948
Avon Fantasy Reader 5

 * "Scarlet Dream" (Northwest Smith series) by C. L. Moore (© Copyright Renewed: C. L. Moore; 27Jul61; R279616.)
 * "Sambo" by William Fryer Harvey
 * "Fane of the Black Pharaoh" by Robert Bloch (© Copyright Renewed: Robert Bloch; 7Jul65; R364297.)
 * "The Random Quantity" by Carl Jacobi (© Copyright Renewed: Carl Jacobi; 16Jul75; R609279.)
 * "The Gold Dress" by Stephen Vincent Benét (© Copyright Renewed as part of Cosmopolitan, July 1942; Hearst Corp. (PCW); 30Jun69; R464835.)
 * "The Miracle of the Lily" by Clare Winger Harris
 * "In the Court of the Dragon" by Robert W. Chambers
 * "A Study in Amber" by Frank Owen
 * "The Words of Guru" by C. M. Kornbluth

Issue #6 – May 1948
Avon Fantasy Reader 6

 * "The Crawling Horror" by Thorp McClusky
 * "Beyond the Wall of Sleep" by H. P. Lovecraft
 * "The Metal Man" by Jack Williamson
 * "The Thing in the Cellar" by David H. Keller, M.D.
 * "The Drone" by A. Merritt
 * "From the Dark Waters" by Joseph E. Kelleam
 * "The Star-Stealers" by Edmond Hamilton
 * "The Philosophy of Relative Existences" by Frank R. Stockton
 * "The Trap" (Gerald Canevin series) by Henry S. Whitehead

Issue #7 – September 1948
Avon Fantasy Reader 7

 * "Shambleau" (Northwest Smith series) by C. L. Moore
 * "The Curse of a Thousand Kisses" by Sax Rohmer
 * "The Dreams of Albert Moreland" by Fritz Leiber
 * "The Slugly Beast" (Joseph Jorkens series) by Lord Dunsany
 * "The Cairn on the Headland" by Robert E. Howard
 * "Aquella" (aka "The Planet Called Aquella") by Martin Pearson
 * "The Empire of the Necromancers" (Zothique series) by Clark Ashton Smith
 * "When Old Gods Wake" by A. Merritt
 * "The Were-Snake" by Frank Belknap Long
 * "The Gun" by Frank Gruber

Issue #8 – December 1948
Avon Fantasy Reader 8

 * "Queen of the Black Coast" (Conan series) by Robert E. Howard
 * "The Machine Man of Ardathia" (Ardathia series) by Francis Flagg
 * "The Cat-Woman" by Mary Elizabeth Counselman
 * "The Man with a Thousand Legs" by Frank Belknap Long, Jr.
 * "Zero Hour" by Ray Bradbury
 * "The Other Wing" by Algernon Blackwood
 * "The Temple" by H. P. Lovecraft
 * "The Goblins Will Get You" by John Michel (as by Hugh Raymond)
 * "The Canal" by Everil Worrell
 * "An Inhabitant of Carcosa" by Ambrose Bierce

Issue #9 – February 1949
Avon Fantasy Reader 9

 * "The Flower-Women" (Maal Dweb series) by Clark Ashton Smith
 * "The Night Wire" by H. F. Arnold
 * "Through the Vibrations" (Alexander Gregory series) by P. Schuyler Miller
 * "The Man Who Never Grew Young" by Fritz Leiber (© Copyright Renewed as part of Night's Black Agents, 1947: Fritz Leiber, Jr; 20Jun75; R607402.)
 * "The Man from the Moon" by Otis Adelbert Kline
 * "The Unspeakable Betrothal" by Robert Bloch (© Copyright Renewed: Robert Bloch; 16Apr76; R630957.)
 * "The Stone Ship" by William Hope Hodgson
 * "Child's Play" by Alice-Mary Schnirring
 * "The Madness of Andelsprutz" by Lord Dunsany
 * "The Painted Mirror" by Donald Wandrei (© Copyright Renewed as part of Esquire, May 1937: Esquire, Inc.; 7Mar63; R311983.)

Issue #10 – July 1949
Avon Fantasy Reader 10

 * "A Witch Shall Be Born" (Conan series) by Robert E. Howard
 * "Bimini" by Bassett Morgan
 * "The Statement of Randolph Carter" (Randolph Carter series) by H. P. Lovecraft
 * "The Mentanicals" by Francis Flagg
 * "Vengeance in Her Bones" by Malcolm Jameson
 * "The Gostak and the Doshes" by Miles J. Breuer, M.D
 * "Storm Warning" by Donald A. Wollheim (as Millard Verne Gordon)
 * "Omega" by Amelia Reynolds Long

Issue #11 – October 1949
Avon Fantasy Reader 11

 * "Glamour" by Seabury Quinn
 * "The Golden Hour of Kwoh Fan" by Frank Owen
 * "Uncommon Castaway" by Nelson S. Bond
 * "Mogglesby" by T. S. Stribling (© Copyright Renewed as part of Adventure, June 1, 1930; Popular Publications, Inc.; 8Nov57; R202653.)
 * "Asleep in Armageddon" by Ray Bradbury
 * "The Inheritors" by John Michel & Robert Lowndes
 * "The Dancer in the Crystal" by Francis Flagg

Issue #12 – January 1950
Avon Fantasy Reader 12

 * "The Blonde Goddess of Bal-Sagoth" (aka "The Gods of Bal-Sagoth") by Robert E. Howard
 * "The Chain of Aforgomon" by Clark Ashton Smithh
 * "In the Valley of the Sorceress" by Sax Rohmer
 * "The Kelpie" by Manly Wade Wellman
 * "The Captured Cross-Section" by Miles J. Breuer, M.D
 * "The Wonderful Window" by Lord Dunsany
 * "Tiger Dust" by Bassett Morgan
 * "An Episode of Cathedral History" by M. R. James
 * "The Day Has Come" by Walter Kubilius

Issue #13 – April 1950
Avon Fantasy Reader 13

 * "The Love-Slave and the Scientists" (aka "The Body-Masters") by Frank Belknap Long
 * "The Cave" by Beatrice Grimshaw
 * "The Forgotten Planet" (John Hanson series) by Sewell Peaslee Wright
 * "The Curious Case of Norton Hoorne" by Ray Cummings
 * "The Power and the Glory" by Charles W. Diffin
 * "He Walked by Day" by Julius Long
 * "Original Sin" by S. Fowler Wright
 * "The Thing that Walked on the Wind" by August Derleth (© Copyright Renewed: August Derleth (A); 4Apr60; R255766.)
 * "Raiders of the Universes" by Donald Wandrei
 * "The House of Shadows" by Mary Elizabeth Counselman
 * "The Ship of Silence" by Albert Richard Wetjen
 * "The Street That Wasn't There" by Clifford D. Simak & Carl Jacobi

Issue #14 – July 1950
Avon Fantasy Reader 14

 * "Temptress of the Tower of Torture and Sin" (aka "The Voice of El-Lil") by Robert E. Howard
 * "Ylla" (aka "I'll Not Look for Wine") by Ray Bradbury
 * "The Three Eyed Man" (Tubby series)] by Ray Cummings
 * "The Cave of the Invisible" by James Francis Dwyer
 * "Guard in the Dark" by Allison V. Harding
 * "The Still Small Voice" by Clive Jackson
 * "The Curse of Yig" by Z. B. Bishop
 * "The Yeast Men" by David H. Keller, M.D.
 * "The Headless Miller of Kobold's Keep" by Irvin Ashkenazy
 * "The Shadows" by Henry S. Whitehead

Issue #15 – February 1951
Avon Fantasy Reader 15

 * "A Man, a Maid, and Saturn's Temptation" (aka "Flight on Titan") by Stanley G. Weinbaum (© Copyright Renewed: details pending)
 * "Mommy" by Mary Elizabeth Counselman
 * "The Great Gizmo" by Gilbert Wright (© Copyright Renewed: details pending)
 * "Gray Ghouls" by Bassett Morgan
 * "Venus" by Maurice Baring
 * "Ship-in-a-Bottle" by P. Schuyler Miller
 * "Up There" by Donald A. Wollheim (as by Martin Pearson)
 * "The Einstein See-Saw" by Miles J. Breuer, M.D
 * "In Amundsen's Tent" by John Martin Leahy
 * "Ubbo-Sathla" by Clark Ashton Smith (© Copyright Renewed as part of Weird Tales, July 1933; Weird Tales; 1961-1-25; R269995.)
 * "Kazam Collects" by Cyril M. Kornbluth (as by S. D. Gottesman)

Issue #16 – April 1951
Avon Fantasy Reader 16

 * "The Black Kiss" (Michael Leigh series) by Robert Bloch
 * "Mr. Strenberry's Tale" (aka "Doomsday") by J. B. Priestley (© Copyright: First publication in the United Kingdom)
 * "The Man Who Lived Backward" by Gelett Burgess (© Copyright Renewed: details pending)
 * "Something From Above" by Donald Wandrei (© Copyright Renewed as part of Weird Tales, December 1930; Weird Tales; 1958-2-4; R208386.)
 * "The Wax Doll" by Greye La Spina (as Ezra Putnam)
 * "The Forest of Lost Men" by Beatrice Grimshaw
 * "The Place of Pain" by M. P. Shiel
 * "The River" by L. Major Reynolds
 * "The Water Ghost of Harrowby Hall" by John Kendrick Bangs
 * "The Hounds of Tindalos" by Frank Belknap Long
 * "The Picture" by Francis Flagg (© Copyright Renewed as part of Weird Tales, February-March 1931; Weird Tales; 1958-2-4; R208388.)

Issue #17 – June 1951
Avon Fantasy Reader 17

 * "The Sapphire Siren" (aka "The Sapphire Goddess") by Nictzin Dyalhis
 * "Jack-in-the-Box" by Ray Bradbury (© Copyright Renewed: Ray Bradbury (A); 3Mar75; R599694.)
 * "The Noticeable Conduct of Professor Chadd" (Rupert Grant and Basil Grant series) by G. K. Chesterton
 * "The Pink Caterpillar" (Fergus O'Breen series) by Anthony Boucher (© Copyright Renewed as part of Adventure, February 1945; 8Jan73; RS43l67.)
 * "The Phantom Dictator" by Wallace West (© Copyright Renewed as part of Astounding Stories, August 1935; 3Aug62; R299476.)
 * "Through the Gates of the Silver Key" (Randolph Carter series) by H. P. Lovecraft & E. Hoffmann Price
 * "The Bookshop" by Nelson Bond (© Copyright Renewed as part of The Blue Book Magazine, October 1941; 12Mar69; R457437.)
 * "One-Man God" by Frank Owen
 * "The Mystery of the Sargasso" (aka "The Mystery of the Derelict") by William Hope Hodgson

Issue #18 – January 1952
Avon Fantasy Reader 18

 * "The Witch from Hell's Kitchen" by Robert E. Howard (© Copyright Renewed: P. M. Kuykendall (PPW), 1979-09-20; RE0000034522.)
 * "The Devil in Hollywood" by Dale Clark (© Copyright Renewed as part of Argosy, August 8, 1936; 12Nov63; R325552.)
 * "The Watcher in the Green Room" by Hugh B. Cave (© Copyright Renewed as part of Weird Tales, September 1933; Weird Tales; 1961-1-25; R269997.)
 * "A Victim of Higher Space" (John Silence series) by Algernon Blackwood
 * "Out of the Eons" by Hazel Heald (ghost written by H. P. Lovecraft)
 * "Just What Happened" by Gelett Burgess (© Copyright Renewed as part of The Blue Book Magazine, June 1944; 8Sep71; R512068.)
 * "The Phantom Ship of Dirk Van Tromp" by James Francis Dwyer
 * "Amina" by Edward Lucas White
 * "The Haunted Jarvee" (Carnacki series) by William Hope Hodgson (© Copyright Restored due to URAA, first published in the UK, The Premier Magazine, March 1929.)

title: Avon Fantasy Reader


text:
Page:Syria, the land of Lebanon (1914).djvu/262

SYRIA, THE LAND OF LEBANON interest in the bright scenes of Oriental life, a pert young fellow in French clothes is apt to ask you into his shop or offer to guide you through the bazaars at ten francs a day. But while we were in Hama there was, so far as I know, no other Frank in the city, only one other pair of European trousers, and but two natives who spoke any English. There is not even a resident missionary, and on the rare occasions when American ladies visit the city, they adopt the local costume, veil and all, in order to avoid annoying curiosity.

The citizens enjoyed us fully as much as we did them. Everywhere we went we were followed by a train of a dozen or two, and when we stopped to look at anything the crowd threatened to interfere with traffic—not that this would have seemed a serious offense to the Oriental mind! They were so interested in our every movement that I could never get room to use my camera until my friend would walk a little way off with an intense expression on his face and draw the cortège after him. Yet these people were not in the least noisy or rude and—I almost hesitate to make such a startling statement about a Syrian city—I do not remember being once asked for bakhsheesh.

The inhabitants of Hama bear the reputation of being very proud and fanatical; but we did not find them so. We stayed with a young physician, a recent graduate of the college at Beirut; and in the [ 212 ]


text:
Page:Syria, the land of Lebanon (1914).djvu/263

HAMATH THE GREAT evening a number of his friends dropped in to see us. As our own supply of Arabic was not at that time equal to the demands of a long conversation, we essayed one or two gymnastic tricks, only to be immediately outdone by our Syrian acquaintances. Then the ice was broken, and we settled down to a long evening of rough games, which always ended in somebody having his hand slapped with a knotted handkerchief. These strangely garbed men with their brown, wrinkled faces, entered into it all with such a childlike enjoyment that we were soon laughing and shouting as we had not done since the Christmas days of boyhood; and the little brazier, with its bright bed of charcoal that sent fearsome shadows of turbaned heads and long mustachios dancing on the white walls overhead, seemed a natural substitute for the Yule log which that very night was burning in the home across the seas.

As the Christians form a quite insignificant minority of the population of Hama, they receive a degree of consideration from their Moslem neighbors such as is not granted in cities where the two religions are more nearly balanced and where jealousy and hatred consequently lead to frequent reprisals. Our host, Dr. Taufik, told us that some of his warmest friends were young Moslems. He has a large practice among the harems of the city, and has performed heroic operations upon their inmates. One afternoon he guided us through a narrow,  [ 213 ]


text:
Page:Syria, the land of Lebanon (1914).djvu/265

HAMATH THE GREAT beautiful Arab stallions, we asked Dr. Taufik how much wealth was necessary for one to live in such luxury, and what was the business of his Moslem friend. "Oh, he does not work at all," was the answer. "He does not need to, for he has property which brings him an income of forty thousand piasters a year"—which equals a little over fourteen hundred dollars!

Hama has an acropolis somewhat larger than that of Homs, but it is less symmetrical in shape and is not so well preserved. From the summit is seen the same far-reaching historic plain; but the attention is soon drawn back to the city which lies just below. If the visitor has resided in Syria, it is not the twenty-four minarets which hold his gaze, not even the Great Mosque, which is one of many shrines that claim to guard the bones of John the Baptist; but beautiful and interesting above all is the river which winds its slender cord of blue through the heart of the city. Rising on the eastern slopes of Lebanon, then passing northward through Hollow Syria and the Entering In of Hamath, dammed up by the old Hittites to form the Holy Lake by Homs, growing slowly as it flows through the "Land of Hama" until at Antioch it is almost deep enough for modern shipping—the Orontes fathered three of the great cities of the ancient world.

There are few real rivers in this land. Although they make Damascus so fertile, Abana and Pharpar [ 215 ]