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The author, well known and famous for her Green Gables stories, has written a wealth of beautiful short stories, all set in the Canadian landscape of Ontario or Prince Edward Island. This edition contains the best of them and offers all stories from 1896 through 1903, including: A Case of Trespass A Christmas Inspiration A Christmas Mistake A Strayed Allegiance An Invitation Given on Impulse Detected by the Camera In Spite of Myself Kismet Lilian's Business Venture .. and many more ...
It was the forenoon of a hazy, breathless day, and Dan Phillips was trouting up one of the back creeks of the Carleton pond. It was somewhat cooler up the creek than out on the main body of water, for the tall birches and willows, crowding down to the brim, threw cool, green shadows across it and shut out the scorching glare, while a stray breeze now and then rippled down the wooded slopes, rustling the beech leaves with an airy, pleasant sound. Out in the pond the glassy water creamed and shimmered in the hot sun, unrippled by the faintest breath of air. Across the soft, pearly tints of the horizon blurred the smoke of the big factory chimneys that were owned by Mr. Walters, to whom the pond and adjacent property also belonged. Mr. Walters was a comparative stranger in Carleton, having but recently purchased the factories from the heirs of the previous owner; but he had been in charge long enough to establish a reputation for sternness and inflexibility in all his business dealings. One or two of his employees, who had been discharged by him on what they deemed insufficient grounds, helped to deepen the impression that he was an unjust and arbitrary man, merciless to all offenders, and intolerant of the slightest infringement of his cast-iron rules. Dan Phillips had been on the pond ever since sunrise. The trout had risen well in the early morning, but as the day wore on, growing hotter and hotter, they refused to bite, and for half an hour Dan had not caught one. He had a goodly string of them already, however, and he surveyed them with satisfaction as he rowed his leaky little skiff to the shore of the creek. "Pretty good catch," he soliloquized. "Best I've had this summer, so far. That big spotted one must weigh near a pound. He's a beauty. They're a good price over at the hotels now, too. I'll go home and get my dinner and go straight over with them. That'll leave me time for another try at them about sunset. Whew, how hot it is! I must take Ella May home a bunch of them blue flags. They're real handsome!" He tied his skiff under the crowding alders, gathered a big bunch of the purple flag lilies with their silky petals, and started homeward, whistling cheerily as he stepped briskly along the fern-carpeted wood path that wound up the hill under the beeches and firs. He was a freckled, sunburned lad of thirteen years. His neighbours all said that Danny was "as smart as a steel trap," and immediately added that they wondered where he got his smartness from—certainly not from his father! The elder Phillips had been denominated "shiftless and slack-twisted" by all who ever had any dealings with him in his unlucky, aimless life—one of those improvident, easygoing souls who sit contentedly down to breakfast with a very faint idea where their dinner is to come from. When he had died, no one had missed him, unless it were his patient, sad-eyed wife, who bravely faced her hard lot, and toiled unremittingly to keep a home for her two children—Dan and a girl two years younger, who was a helpless cripple, suffering from some form of spinal disease. Dan, who was old and steady for his years, had gone manfully to work to assist his mother. Though he had been disappointed in all his efforts to obtain steady employment, he was active and obliging, and earned many a small amount by odd jobs around the village, and by helping the Carleton farmers in planting and harvest. For the last two years, however, his most profitable source of summer income had been the trout pond. The former owner had allowed anyone who wished to fish in his pond, and Dan made a regular business of it, selling his trout at the big hotels over at Mosquito Lake. This, in spite of its unattractive name, was a popular summer resort, and Dan always found a ready market for his catch.
Reproduction of the original: Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1909 to 1922 by Lucy Maud Montgomery
On the 6th December, 1856, I embarked, with my wife, on board the Royal Mail Screw Steamer “Ireland,” for the Cape of Good Hope, en route to Mozambique, to which place I had been appointed as Her Majesty’s Consul. Externally, the “Ireland” was what sailors call a very “tidy craft.” She was about 1,000 tons burthen; long, low, and rakish; having three masts and one funnel, and what is called a stump bowsprit. As she was fitted with a screw propeller, she was devoid of those great protuberances called paddle-boxes, which in a steamer so materially (to my eye) destroy the symmetry of the hull of the vessel, which, in this case, was built of iron, and painted entirely black. Flying at the mizen peak was the well known ensign of Old England, the field of which appeared to me unusually disfigured by the talismanic letters, W.S.L., in a glaring yellow colour, begrimed by soot. On asking the meaning of those letters, I was told that they were the initials of an M. P., who had not only sufficient interest to obtain the contract for carrying the mail in a line of very slow steamers, but who was held in such dread by a venerable body of old gentlemen sitting behind the sign of the “Sea Horses,” in Whitehall, known as the Board of Admiralty, that the M. P., W.S.L., was permitted to place the initials of his name on the national ensign, without being subjected to the usual fines and penalties inflicted on those similarly offending. Others told me that W.S.L. stood for the “worst steam line,” but this I looked upon as the invention of some disappointed mail contractor. Such was the “Ireland” externally; and, as she was at anchor in the beautiful little west-country harbour of Dartmouth, which boasted W.S.L. for its representative in the House of Commons, the saucy craft might well say, “I am monarch of all I survey.” Arriving alongside of the “Ireland,” about one hour before her advertised time of sailing, in a small steamer full of fellow passengers, which had brought us some miles down the little river Dart, we imagined that there would be every accommodation for our reception; but, on the contrary, we found that we were not supposed to come near her for some imaginary time, which they on board could not name to us. All that we learned was, that the numerous barges then alongside of her, full of coals, had to be cleared of their cargoes before the passengers were allowed on board. To our repeated applications to be permitted alongside, we were told to return to the shore; and as it was raining very heavily, the man who was steering the small steamer, put her helm up and made for the land; however, this being done without the consent of the passengers, they soon took matters into their own hands, and compelled the small craft to dash alongside, causing considerable damage to the coal-barges. Exposed to a volley of abuse, some of the most adventurous of the gentlemen scrambled on board, and we were actually compelled to appeal to the commander of the vessel before we could get the ladies on the deck of the “Ireland.” It appears that we had unfortunately arrived alongside of the vessel at the cabin dinner-hour, and were exposed to all this inconvenience at the whim of the chief officer and the head steward; the former of whom wished to clear the coal-barges, and the latter to save himself the trouble of laying a few more plates on the table. No sooner were we on board of this passenger ship than we found ourselves rudely pushed about, and, after having been driven round the wet deck with pigs, sheep, and poultry, with considerable difficulty we threaded our way through hampers, water-casks, coals, &c., to the cabin saloon. This was an elegant apartment, decorated with gold and green, having at the further end a grate and marble mantel-piece; but as the chimney led to the screw propeller, of course, the first time a fire was lighted, the saloon and cabins were deserted in consequence of the smoke, which made one almost fancy that the ship was on fire; so it turned out to be for ornament and not for use. Observing the state of confusion in which everything was on board this first-class passenger ship—being an old traveller—as soon as the ladies were placed in shelter from the rain, which was coming down in a most pitiless manner, I returned to the deck to look after my luggage, when I found that the chief officer had ordered the small steamer to return to the shore with the luggage of all those passengers who had succeeded in reaching the deck of the “Ireland,” contrary to his wishes. This officer, who was promised a command in the W.S.L. Line of Steamers on his return to England, took upon himself to mark the passengers who had so offended him, and during the passage he had to be admonished by the commander for his marked rudeness to some of the ladies, as well as the gentlemen who had acted contrary to his wishes on the occasion referred to. On an application being made to the commander, the small steamer was ordered alongside, and we recovered our luggage.
This title is part of UC Press's Voices Revived program, which commemorates University of California Press’s mission to seek out and cultivate the brightest minds and give them voice, reach, and impact. Drawing on a backlist dating to 1893, Voices Revived makes high-quality, peer-reviewed scholarship accessible once again using print-on-demand technology. This title was originally published in 1969.
In American Little Magazines of the Fin de Siecle, Kirsten MacLeod examines the rise of a new print media form - the little magazine - and its relationship to the transformation of American cultural life at the turn of the twentieth century. Though the little magazine has long been regarded as the preserve of modernist avant-gardes and elite artistic coteries, for whom it served as a form of resistance to mass media, MacLeod's detailed study of its origins paints a different picture. Combining cultural, textual, literary, and media studies criticism, MacLeod demonstrates how the little magazine was deeply connected to the artistic, social, political, and cultural interests of a rising professional-managerial class. She offers a richly contextualized analysis of the little magazine's position in the broader media landscape: namely, its relationship to old and new media, including pre-industrial print forms, newspapers, mass-market magazines, fine press books, and posters. MacLeod's study challenges conventional understandings of the little magazine as a genre and emphasizes the power of "little" media in a mass-market context.