 an encounter with an interviewer by Mark Twain. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by James Christopher, JXChristopher at Yahoo.com. An encounter with an interviewer by Mark Twain. The nervous dapber, pert young man took the chair I offered him and said he was connected with the daily thunderstorm and added, hoping it's no harm, I've come to interview you. Come to what? Interview you. Ah, I see. Yes. Yes. Hmm. Yes, yes. I was not feeling bright that morning. Indeed, my power seemed a bit under a cloud. However, I went to the bookcase and when I had been looking six or seven minutes, I found I was obliged to refer to the young man. I said, how do you spell it? Spell what? Interview. Oh, my goodness. What do you want to spell it for? I don't want to spell it. I want to see what it means. Well, this is astonishing. I must say. I can tell you what it means if you, if you. Oh, all right. That will answer and much obliged to you too. I-N-N-T-E-R-TUR. Inter. Then you spell it with an I. Why, certainly. Oh, that is what took me so long. Why, my dear sir, what did you propose to spell it with? Well, I-I hardly know. I had the inner bridge and I was ciphering around the back end, hoping I might tree your among the pictures. But it's a very old addition. Why, my friend, they wouldn't have a picture of it even in the latest- My dear sir, I beg your pardon. I mean no harm in the world, but you do not look as... intelligent as I expected you would. No harm. I mean no harm at all. Oh, don't mention it. It is often been said, and by people who would not flatter, and could have no inducement to flatter, that I am quite remarkable in that way. Yes, yes, they always speak of it with rapture. I can easily imagine it. But about this interview, you know it is a custom now to interview any man who has become notorious. Indeed, I have not heard of it before. It must be very interesting. What do you do it with? Ah, well, well, well, this is disheartening. You'd have to be done with a club in some cases. But customarily it consists in the interviewer asking questions and the interviewed answering them. It is all the rage now. Will you let me ask you certain questions calculated to bring out the salient points of your public and private history? Oh, with pleasure. With pleasure. I have a very bad memory, but I hope you will not mind that. That is to say, it is an irregular memory, singularly irregular. Sometimes it goes in a gallop and then again it will be as much as a fortnight passing a given point. This is a great grief to me. Oh, it is no matter, so you will try to do the best you can. I will. I will put my whole mind on it. Thanks. Are you ready to begin? Ready. How old are you? Nineteen in June. Indeed, I would have taken you for thirty-five or six. Where were you born? In Missouri. When did you begin to write? In eighteen thirty-six. Why, how could that be if you were only nineteen now? I don't know. It does seem curious somehow. It does indeed. Whom do you consider the most remarkable man you ever met? Aaron Burr. But you could never have met Aaron Burr if you were only nineteen years. Now, if you know more about me than I do, what do you ask me for? Well, it was only a suggestion, nothing more. How did you happen to meet Burr? Well, I happened to be at his funeral one day, and he asked me to make less noise, and... But, good heavens, if you were at his funeral, he must have been dead. And if he was dead, how could he care whether you made a noise or not? I don't know. He was always a particular kind of man that way. Still, I don't understand at all. You say he spoke to you, and that he was dead. I didn't say he was dead. But wasn't he dead? Well, some said he was, some said he wasn't. What do you think? Oh, it was none of my business. It wasn't any of my funeral. Did you? However, we can never get this matter straight. Let me ask about something else. What was the date of your birth? Monday, October 31st, 1693. What? Impossible. It would make you 180 years old. How do you account for that? I don't account for it at all. But you said at first you were only nineteen, and now you make yourself out to be 180. It is an awful discrepancy. Why, have you noticed that? Shaking hands. Many a time it has seemed to me like a discrepancy, but somehow I couldn't make up my mind. How quick you notice a thing. Thank you for the compliment as far as it goes. Had you or have you any brothers or sisters? Eh? I think so, yes. But I don't remember. Well, that is the most extraordinary statement I've ever heard. Why, what makes you think that? How could I think otherwise? Why, look here. Who is this a picture of on the wall? Isn't that a brother of yours? Oh, yes. Yes, yes. Now you remind me of it. That was a brother of mine. That's William. Bill, we called him. Poor old Bill. Why, is he dead then? Ah, well, I suppose so. We never could tell. There was a great mystery about it. That is sad. Very sad. He disappeared then. Well, yes, in a sort of general way. We buried him. Buried him? Buried him without knowing whether he was dead or not. Oh, no, not that. He was dead enough. Well, I confess that I can't understand this. If you buried him and you knew he was dead. Oh, no, no. We only thought he was. Oh, I see. He came to life again. I bet he didn't. Well, I never heard anything like this. Somebody was dead. Somebody was buried. Now, where was the mystery? Ah, that's just it. That's it, exactly. You see, we were twins, defunct, and I. And we got mixed up in the bathtub when we were only two weeks old. And one of us was drowned. But we didn't know which. Some think it was Bill. Some think it was me. Well, that's remarkable. What do you think? Goodness knows. I would give whole worlds to know. This solemn, this awful mystery has cast a gloom over my whole life. But I will tell you a secret now, which I have never revealed to any creature before. One of us had a peculiar mark, a very large bowl in the back of his left hand. That was me. That child was the one that was drowned. Very well then. I don't see that there is any mystery about it after all. You don't? Well, I do. Anyway, I don't see how they could ever have been such a blundering lot to go and bury the wrong child. But, shh, don't mention it where the family can hear of it. Heaven knows they have heartbreaking troubles enough without adding this. Well, I believe I have gotten material enough for the present. I am very much obliged to you for the pains you have taken. But I was a good deal interested in that account of Aaron Burr's funeral. Would you mind telling me what particular circumstances it was that made you think Burr was such a remarkable man? Oh, it was a mere trifle. Not one man in fifty would have noticed it at all. The sermon was over and the procession all ready to start for the cemetery and the body all arranged nice and rehearsed. He said he wanted to take a last look at the scenery and so he got up and rode with the driver. Then the young man reverently withdrew. He was very pleasant company and I was sorry to see him go. End of An Encounter with an Interviewer by Mark Twain Recording by James Christopher JXChristopher at Yahoo.com Evil Allures But Good Endures by Leo Tolstoy Read for LibriVox.org by Alan Davis Drake Translation by Konstant Skarnet There lived in olden times a good and kindly man. He had his world's goods in abundance and many slaves to serve him and the slaves prided themselves on their master saying, There is no better Lord than ours under the sun. He feeds and clothes us well and gives us work suited to our strength. He bears no malice and never speaks a harsh word to anyone. He is not like other masters who treat their slaves worse than cattle punishing them whether they deserve it or not and never giving them a friendly word. He wishes us well, does good and speaks kindly to us. We do not wish for a better life. Thus the slaves praised their Lord and the devil seeing it was vexed that the slaves should live in such love and harmony with their master. So getting one of them, whose name was Aleb, into his power, the devil ordered him to tempt the other slaves. And one day when they were all sitting together resting and taking of their master's goodness, Aleb raised his voice and said, It is stupid to make so much of our master's goodness the devil himself would be kind to you if you did what he wanted. We serve our master well and humor him in all things. As soon as he thinks of anything, we do it. For seeing all he wishes, what can he do but be kind to us? Just try how it will be if instead of humoring him we do some harm instead. He will act like any other. He will repay evil for evil as the worst of masters do. The other slaves began denying what Aleb had said and at last bet with him. Aleb undertook to make their master angry. If he failed he was to lose his holiday garment but if he succeeded the other slaves were to give him theirs. Moreover they promised to defend him against the master and to set him free if he should be put in chains or imprisoned. Having arranged the bet, Aleb agreed to make his master angry next day. Aleb was a shepherd and had in his charge a number of valuable purebred sheep of which his master was very fond. Next morning when the master brought some visitors into the enclosure to show them the valuable sheep Aleb winked at his companions as if to say, See now how angry I will make him. All the other slaves assembled looking in at the gates or over the fence and the devil climbed a tree nearby to see how his servants would do his work. The master walked about the enclosure showing his guests the ewes and lambs and presently he wished to show them his finest lamb. All the rams are valuable, he said, but I have one with closed twisted horns which is priceless. I prize him as the apple of my eye. Startled by the strangers the sheep rushed about the enclosure so that the visitors could not get a good look at the ram. As soon as it stood still Aleb startled the sheep as if by accident and they all got mixed up again. The visitors could not make out which was the priceless ram. At last the master got tired of it. Aleb, my friend, he said, Pray catch our best ram for me the one with the tightly twisted horns. Catch him very carefully and hold him still for a moment. Scaously had the masters said this when Aleb rushed in among the sheep like a lion and clutched the priceless ram. Holding him fast by the wool he seized the left hind leg with one hand and before his master's eyes he lifted it and jerked it so that it snapped like a dry branch. He had broken the ram's leg and it fell bleeding on its knees. Then Aleb squeezed the right hind leg while the left twisted round and hung quite limp. The visitors and slaves exclaimed in dismay and the devil sitting up in the tree rejoiced and did not say a word. The visitors and slaves were silent too to see what would follow. After remaining silent for a while the master shook himself as if to throw off some burden and then he lifted his head and raised his eyes heavenward remained for a short time. Presently the wrinkles passed from his face and he looked down at Aleb with a smile saying, Oh Aleb Aleb your master bade you anger me but my master is stronger than yours. I am not angry with you but I will make your master angry. You are afraid that I shall punish you and you have been wishing for your freedom. Know then Aleb that I shall not punish you but as you wish to be free here before my guests I set you free. Go where you like and take your holiday garment with you. And the kind master returned with his guests to the house but the devil grinding his teeth fell down from the tree and sank through the ground. End of Evil Allures But Good Endures This recording is in the public domain. A Grain as Big as a Hen's Egg by Leo Tolstoy Read for LibriVox.org by Alan Davis Drake This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information and to learn how to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org One day some children found in a ravine a thing shaped like a grain of corn with a groove down the middle but as large as a hen's egg. A traveler passing by saw the thing, brought it from the children for a penny and taking it to town sold it to the king as a curiosity. The king called together his wise men and told them to find out what the thing was. The wise men pondered and pondered and could not make head or tail of it till one day when the thing was lying on a window sill a hen flew in and pecked at it till she made a hole in it and every one saw that it was a grain of corn. The wise men went to the king and said it is a grain of corn. At this the king was much surprised and he ordered the learned men to find out when and where such a corn had grown. The learned men pondered again and searched in their books but could find nothing about it so they returned to the king and said we can give you no answer there is nothing about it in our books you all have to ask the peasants perhaps some of them have heard from their fathers when and where grain grew to such a size. So the king gave orders that some very old peasants should be brought before him and his servants found such a man and brought him to the king. Old and bent, ashy pale and toothless he just managed with the help of two crutches to totter into the king's presence. The king showed him the grain but the old man could hardly see it. He took it however and felt it with his hands. He questioned him saying can you tell us old man where such grain as this grew have you ever bought such corn or sown such in your fields? The old man was so deaf that he could hardly hear what the king said and only understood with great difficulty. No, he answered at last I never sowed nor reaped any like it in my fields or did I ever buy such? When we bought corn the grains were always as small as they are now but you might ask my father he may have heard where such grain grew so the king sent for the old man's father and he was found and brought before the king. He came walking with one crutch the king showed him the grain and the old peasant who was still able to see took a look at it and the king asked him can you tell us old man where corn like this used to grow have you ever bought any like it or sown any in your fields? Though the old man was rather hard of hearing he still heard better than the son had done. No, he said I never sowed nor reaped any grain like this in my field as to buying I never bought any for in my time money was not yet in use every one grew his own corn and when there was any need we would share with one another I do not know where corn like this grew ours was larger and yielded more flour than present-day grain but I never saw any like this I have however heard my father say that in his time the grain grew larger and yielded more flour than ours you had better ask him so the king sent for this old man's father and they found him too and brought him before the king he entered walking easily and without crutches his eye was clear, his hearing good and he spoke distinctly the king showed him the grain and the old grandfather looked at it and turned it about in his hand it's long since I have seen such a fine grain he said and he bit a piece off and tasted it it is the very same kind he added tell me grandfather said the king when and where was such corn grown have you ever bought any like it or sown any in your fields the old man replied corn like this used to grow everywhere in my time I lived on corn like this in my young days and fed others on it it was grain like this that we used to sow and reap and thrash and the king asked tell me grandfather did you buy it anywhere or did you grow it yourself the old man smiled in my time he answered no one ever thought of such a sin as buying or selling bread and we knew nothing of money each man had corn enough of his own tell me grandfather asked the king where was your field where did you grow corn like this and the grandfather answered my field was God's earth whenever I plowed there was my field land was free it was a thing no man called his own labor was the only thing men called their own answer me two more questions said the king the first is why did the earth bear such grain then and has ceased to do now and the second is why your grandson walks with two crutches your son with one and you yourself with none your eyes are bright your teeth sound and your speech clear and pleasant to the ear how have these things come about and the old man answered these things are so because men have ceased to live by their own labor and have taken to depending on the labor of others in the old time men lived according to God's law they had what was their own and coveted not what others produced end of a grain as big as a hen's egg read for LibriVox.org by Alan Davis Drake The Great Bear by Leo Tolstoy Translated by RS Townsend This is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information and to learn how to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org a long long time ago there was a big drought on the earth all the rivers dried up and the streams and the wells and the trees withered and the bushes and the grass and men and beasts died of thirst one night a little girl went out with a pitcher to find some water for her sick mother she wandered and wandered everywhere but could find no water and she grew so tired that she lay down on the grass and fell asleep when she awoke and took up the pitcher she nearly upset the water it contained the pitcher was full of clear fresh water the little girl was glad and was about to put it to her lips but she remembered her mother and ran home with the pitcher as fast as she could she hurried so much that she did not notice a little dog on her path she stumbled over it and dropped the pitcher the dog wind pitifully the little girl seized the pitcher she thought the water would have been upset but the pitcher stood upright and the water was there as before she poured a little into the palm of her hand and the dog lapped it and was comforted when the little girl again touched the pitcher it turned from common wood to silver she took the pitcher home and gave it to her mother the mother said I shall die just the same you had better drink it and she handed the pitcher to the child at that moment the pitcher turned from silver to gold the little girl could no longer contain herself and was about to put the pitcher to her lips when the door opened and a stranger entered who begged for drink the little girl swallowed her saliva and gave the pitcher to him and suddenly seven large diamonds sprang out of the pitcher and a stream of clear fresh water flowed from it and the seven diamonds began to rise and they rose higher and higher till they reached the sky and became the Great Bear End of The Great Bear by Leo Tolstoy Read for LibriVox.org by Alan Davis Drake Little Girls Wiser Than Men by Leo Tolstoy Read by Alan Davis Drake All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information and to learn how to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org It was an early Easter Sledging was just over Snow still lay in the yards and water ran in streams down the village street Two little girls from different houses happened to meet in a lane between two homesteads where the dirty water after running through the farmlands had formed large puddles One little girl was very small the other a little bigger Their mothers had dressed them both in new frocks The little one wore a blue frock the other a yellow print and both had red kerchiefs on their heads They had just come from church when they met and first they showed each other their finery and then they began to play Soon the fancy took them to splash about in the water and the smaller one was going to step into the puddle Shoes and all when the elder checked her Don't go in so, Malasha She said Your mother will scold you I will take off my shoes and stockings and you take off yours They did so and then picking up their skirts began walking towards each other through the puddle The water came up to Malasha's ankles and she said It is deep Akulia I'm afraid Come on replied the other Don't be afraid It won't get any deeper When they got near one another Akulia said Mind Malasha Don't splash Walk carefully She had hardly said this when Malasha pumped down her foot so that the water splashed right onto Akulia's frock The frock was splashed and so were Akulia's eyes and nose When she saw the stains on her frock she was angry and ran after Malasha to strike her Malasha was frightened and seeing that she had got herself into trouble she scrambled out of the puddle and prepared to run home Just then Akulia's mother happened to be passing and seeing that her daughter's skirt was splashed and her sleeves dirty She said You naughty dirty girl What have you been doing? Malasha did it on purpose replied the girl At this Akulia's mother seized Malasha and struck her on the back of her neck Malasha began to howl so that she could be heard all down the street Her mother came out What are you beating my girl for? She said and began scolding her neighbor One word led to another and they had an angry quarrel The men came out and a crowd collected on the street Everyone shouting and no one listening They all went on quarreling till one gave another a push and the affair had very nearly come to blows when Akulia's old grandmother stepping in among them tried to calm them They would not listen to the old woman and nearly knocked her off her feet and she would not have been able to quiet the crowd if it had not been for Akulia and Malasha themselves While the women were abusing each other Akulia had wiped the mud off her frock and gone back to the puddle She took a stone and began scraping away the earth in front of the puddle to make a channel through which the water could run out into the street Presently Malasha joined her and with a chip of wood helped her to dig the channel Just as the men were beginning to fight the water from the little girl's channel ran streaming into the street towards the very place where the old woman was trying to pacify the men The girls followed it one running each side of the stream Catch it Malasha, catch it shouted Akulia while Malasha could not speak for laughing Highly delighted and watching the chip float along on their stream the little girls ran straight into the group of men and the old woman seeing this said to the men Are you not ashamed of yourselves to go fighting on account of these lassies when they themselves have forgotten all about it and are playing happily together Dear souls, they are wiser than you The men looked at the little girls and were ashamed and laughing at themselves went back each to his own home Except ye turn and become like little children ye shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven end of little girls wiser than men Psychology by Catherine Mansfield This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in a public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Psychology by Catherine Mansfield When she opened the door and saw him standing there she was more pleased than ever before and he too, as he followed her into the studio seemed very, very happy to have come Not busy? No, just going to have tea And you are not expecting anybody? No, not at all Ah, that's good He laid aside his coat and hat gently, lingeringly as though he had time and to spare for everything or as though you were taking leave of them forever and came over to the fire and held out his hands to the quick leaping flame Just for a moment both of them stood silent in that leaping light Still, as it were they tasted on their smiling lips the sweet shock of their greeting their secret cells whispered Where should we speak? Is this enough? More than enough I never realised until this moment How good it is just to be with you Like this? It's more than enough But suddenly he turned and looked at her and she moved quickly away Have a cigarette I'll put a kettle on Are you longing for tea? No, not longing Well, I am Oh, you He thumbed the Armenian cushion and flung on to the sommier You're a perfectly Chinese Yes, I am, she laughed I long for tea, a strong man long for wine She lighted a lamp under its broad orange shade pulled the curtains and dropped the tea table Two birds sang in the kettle The fire fluttered He set up, clasping his knees It was delightful, this business of having tea and she always had delicious things to eat Little sharp sandwiches short sweet almond fingers and a dark, rich cake tasting of rum But it was an interruption He wanted it over The tale pushed away the two chairs drawn up to the light and the moment came when he took out his pipe filled it and said pressing the tobacco tight into the bowl I have been thinking over what you said last time and it seems to me Yes, that was what he waited for and so did she Yes, while she shook the teapot hot and dry over the spirit flame she saw those other two him leaning back taking his ease among the cushions and her honest cargo in the blue shell armchair The picture was so clear and so minute it might have been painted on a blue teapot lid and yet she couldn't hurry She could almost have cried Give me time She must have time in which to grow calm She wanted time in which to free herself from all these familiar things with which she lived, so vividly For all these gay things around her were part of her her offspring and they knew it and made the largest to most vehement claims But now they must go They must be swept away shoot away like children sent up the shadowy stairs packed into bed and commanded to go to sleep at once without a murmur For the special thrilling quality of the friendship was in their complete surrender Like two open cities in the midst of some vast plain the two minds lay open to each other And it wasn't as if you wrote into hers like a conqueror armed to the eyebrows and seeing nothing but a gay, silken flutter Nor did she enter his like a queen walking soft on petals No, they were eager, serious travelers absorbed in understanding what was to be seen and discovering what was hidden making the most of this extraordinary absolute chance which made it possible for him to be utterly truthful to her and for her to be utterly sincere with him And the best of it was they were both of them old enough to enjoy their adventure to the full without any stupid emotional complication Passion would have ruined everything They quite saw that Besides, all that sort of thing was over and done with for both of them He was 31 She was 30 They had had their experiences and very rich and very they had been But now was the time for harvest Harvest Weren't his novels to be very big novels indeed and her plays Who else had her exquisite sense of real English comedy? Carefully she cut the cake into thick little wats and he reached across for a piece Do you realise how good it is? She implored Eat it imaginatively Roll your eyes if you can and taste it on a breath It's not a sandwich on the hutters back It's the kind of cake that might have been mentioned in the book of Genesis And God said Let there be cake and there was cake and God saw that it was good You needn't treat me Really, you needn't It's a queer thing but I always do notice what I eat here and never anywhere else I suppose it comes of living alone so long and always reading while I feed My habit of looking upon food is just food Something that's there at certain times to be devoured to be not there He laughed It shocks you, doesn't it? To the bone, said she But look here He pushed away his cup and began to speak very fast I simply haven't got any external laugh at all I don't know the names of things, bit trees and so on and I never notice places or furniture or what people look like One room is just like another to me A place to sit and meet or talk in except And here he paused smiled in a strange naive way and said Accept this studio He looked round him and then at her He laughed in his astonishment and pleasure He was like a man who wakes up in a train to find that he has arrived already at the journey's end Here's another queer thing If I shut my eyes I can see this place down to every detail every detail Now I come to think of it I've never realized this consciously before Often when I'm away from here I revisit it in spirit Wonder about among your red chairs stare at a bowl of fruit on the black table and just touch very lightly that marvel of a sleeping boy's head He looked at it as he spoke It stood on the corner of the mantelpiece The head to one side down drooping The lips parted As Joe in his sleep The little boy listened to some sweet sound I love that little boy He murmured And then they both were silent The new silence came between them Nothing in the least Like the satisfactory pause that had followed the greetings The Well, here we are together again And there's no reason why we shouldn't go on Just where we left off last time That silence could be contained in a circle of warm, delightful fire and lamplight How many times hadn't they flung something into it just for the fun of watching the ripples break on the easy shores But into this unfamiliar pool the head of the little boy sleeping as timely sleep dropped and the ripples throwed away away boundlessly far into a deep, glittering darkness And then both of them broke it She said, I must make up the fire And he said I have been trying in you Both of them escaped She made up the fire and put a table back The blue chair was wheeled forward She curled up And he lay back among the cushions Quickly, quickly They must stop it from happening again Well, I read the book you left last time Oh, what do you think of it? They were off, and all was as usual But was it? Weren't they just a little too quick to prompt with their replies too ready to take each other up? Was this really anything more than a wonderfully good imitation of other occasions? His heartbeat, her cheek burned and the stupid thing was she could not discover where exactly they were or what exactly was happening She hadn't time to glance back And just as she had got so far it happened again They faltered, wavered, broke down were silent Again they were conscious of the boundless, questioning dark Again there they were two hunters bending over their fire but hearing suddenly from the jungle beyond a shake of wind and a loud, questioning cry She lifted her head It's raining, she murmured And her voice was like hiss when he had said I love that little boy Well, why didn't they just give way to it yield and see what will happen then But no, vague and troubled though they were they knew enough to realize their precious friendship was in danger She was the one who would be destroyed not they and they'd be no party to that He got up, knocked out his pipe ran his hand through his hair and said I have been wondering very much lately whether the novel of the future will be a psychological novel or not How sure are you that psychology equal Psychology has got anything to do with literature at all Do you mean you feel there's quite a chance at a mysterious, non-existent creatures the young writers of today are trying simply to jump the psychoanalyst's claim Yes, I do and I think it's because this generation is just wise enough to know that it is sick and to realize that it's only chance of recovery is by going into its symptoms making an exhaustive study of them tracking them down trying to get rid of the trouble Oh, she wailed What a dreadfully dismal outlook Not at all, said he Look here All the talk went and now it seemed to really had succeeded She turned in a chair to look at him while she answered Her smile said, we have won and he smiled back, confident Absolutely But the smile undid them It lasted too long It became a grin They saw themselves as two little grinning puppets digging away in nothingness What have we been talking about? Thought he He was so utterly bored he almost groaned What a spectacle we have made of ourselves thought she and she saw him laboriously Oh, laboriously laying out the grounds and herself running after putting here a tree and there a flowery shrub and here a handful of glittering fish in a pool They were silent this time from sheared his may The clock struck six merry little pings and the fire made a soft flutter What fools there were Heavy, stodgy, elderly with positively upholstered minds and now the silence put a spell upon them like solemn music It was anguish Anguish for her to bear it He would die He'd die if it were broken and yet he longed to break it not by speech but anyway not by their ordinary maddening chatter There was another way for them to speak to each other and in a new way he wanted to murmur Do you feel this too? Do you understand it at all? Instead to his horror he heard himself say I must be off I'm meeting round at six What devil made him say that instead of the other? She jumped simply jumped out of a chair and he heard her crying You must rush then He's so punctual Why didn't you say so before? You've hurt me You've hurt me We failed said his secret self while she handed him his hat and stick smiling gaily She wouldn't give him a moment for another word but ran along the passage and opened the big outer door Could they leave each other like this? How could they? He stood on the step and she just inside holding the door It was not raining now You've hurt me Hurt me said her heart Why don't you go? No don't go Stay No Go and she looked out upon the night She saw the beautiful fall of the steps The dark garden ringed with glittering ivy On the other side of the road the huge bare willows and above them the sky big and bright with stars But of course he would see nothing of all this He was superior to it all He with his wonderful spiritual vision She was right He did see nothing at all Misery He'd missed it It was too late to do anything now Was it too late? Yes it was The coat snatch of hateful wind blew into the garden Curse life He heard her cry Au revoir and her door slammed Running back into the studio she behaved so strangely She ran up and down lifting her arms and crying Oh oh how stupid How imbecile How stupid And then she flung herself down in a sommier thinking of nothing just lying there in her rage All was over What was over? Oh something was And she'd never see him again Never After a long long time or perhaps ten minutes passed in the black gulf her bell rang a sharp quick jingle It was he of course and equally of course she ordered to have paid a slightest attention to it but just let it go on ringing and ringing She flew to answer On the doorstep there stood an elderly virgin a pathetic creature who simply idolized her heaven knows why and had this habit of turning up and ringing the bell and then saying when she opened the door my dear sent me away she never did as a rule she asked her in and let her admire everything and accepted the bunch of slightly soiled looking flowers more than graciously but today oh I'm so sorry she cried but I've got someone with me we are working on some woodcuts I'm hopelessly busy all evening it doesn't matter it doesn't matter at all darling said a good friend I was just passing and I thought I'd leave you some violets she fumbled down among the ribs of a large old umbrella I put them down here such a good place to keep flowers out of the wind here they are she said shaking out a little dead bunch for a moment she did not take the violets but while she stood just inside holding the door a strange thing happened again she saw the beautiful fall of the steps the dark garden ringed with glittering ivy the willows to beak bright sky again she felt the silence it was like a question but this time she did not hesitate she moved forward very softly and gently as though fearful of making a ripple in a bountless pool of quiet she put her arms around a friend my dear murmur to happy friend quite overcome by this gratitude dear really nothing just a simplest little thrip in a bunch but as she spoke she was enfolded more tenderly more beautifully embraced held by such a sweet pressure and for so long that the poor dear's mind positively reeled as he just had a strength the quaver then you really don't mind me too much good night my friend whispered the other come again soon oh I will I will this time she walked back to the studio slowly and standing in the middle of the room with half shut eyes she felt so light so rested as if she had woken up out of a childish sleep even the act of breathing was a joy the sommier was very untidy all the cushions like furious mountains as she said she put them in order before going over to the writing table I have been thinking over our talk about a psychological novel she dashed off it really is intensely interesting and so on at the end she wrote good night my friend come again soon end of psychology by Catherine Mansfield this recording is in the public domain The Purple Dress by Oh Henry this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Purple Dress by Oh Henry we are to consider the shade known as purple it is a color justly in repute among the sons and daughters of man emperors claim it for their special dye good fellows everywhere seek to bring their noses to the genial hue that follows the commingling of the red and blue we say of princes that they are born to the purple and no doubt they are for the colic tinges their faces with the royal tint equally with the snub-nose countenance of a wood chopper's brat all women love it when it is the fashion and now purple is being worn you notice it on the streets of course other colors are quite stylish as well in fact I saw a lovely thing the other day an olive green albatross with a triple-lapped font skirt trimmed with insert squares of silk and a draped fissue of lace opening over a shirt vest and double puff sleeves and a lace band holding two gathered frills but you see lots of purple too oh yes you do just take a walk down 23rd street any afternoon therefore Maida the girl with the big brown eyes and cinnamon colored hair in the beehive store said to Grace the girl with the rhinestone brooch and peppermint pepsin flavor to her speech I am going to have a purple dress a tailor made purple dress for Thanksgiving oh are you said Grace putting away some seven and a half gloves into the six and three fourths box well it's me for red you see more red on fifth avenue and the men all seem to like it I like purple best said Maida and old Schlegel has promised to make it for eight dollars it's going to be lovely I'm going to have a plated skirt and a blouse coat trimmed with a band of galoon under a white cloth collar with two rows of sly boots said Grace with an educated wink suitosh braid over a surplus white vest and a plated mask and sly boots sly boots repeated Grace plated jigget sleeves with a drawn velvet ribbon over an inside cuff what do you mean by saying that you think Mr. Ramsey likes purple I heard him say yesterday he thought some of the dark shades of red were stunning I don't care said Maida I prefer purple and then the don't like it can just take the other side of the street which suggests the thought that after all the followers of purple may be subject to slight delusions dangers near when a maiden thinks she can wear purple regardless of complexions and opinions and when emperors think their purple robes will wear forever Maida had saved eighteen dollars after eight months of economy and this had bought the goods for the purple dress and paid Schlegel four dollars on the making of it on the day before Thanksgiving she would have just enough to pay the remaining four dollars and then for a holiday in a new dress can earth offer anything more enchanting old Bachman the proprietor of the beehive store always gave a Thanksgiving dinner to his employees on every one of the subsequent 364 days excusing Sundays he would remind them of the joys of the past banquet and the hopes of the coming ones thus inciting them to increased enthusiasm and work the dinner was given in the store on one of the long tables in the middle of the room they tacked wrapping paper over the front windows and the turkeys and other good things were brought in the back way from the restaurant on the corner you will perceive that the beehive was not a fashionable department store with escalators and pompadours it was almost small enough to be called an emporium and you could actually go in there and get waited on and walk out again always at the Thanksgiving dinners Mr. Ramsey oh bother, I should have mentioned Mr. Ramsey first of all he is more important than purple or green or even the red cranberry sauce Mr. Ramsey was the head clerk and as far as I am concerned I am for him he never pinched the girls arms when he passed them in dark corners of the store and when he told them stories when business was dull and the girls giggled and said oh sha, it wasn't G. Bernard at all besides being a gentleman Mr. Ramsey was queer and original in other ways he was a health crank and believed that people should never eat anything that was good for them he was violently opposed to anything being comfortable and coming in out of snowstorms or wearing overshoes or taking medicine or coddling themselves in any way every one of the ten girls in the store had little pork chop and fried onion dreams every night of becoming Mrs. Ramsey for next year old Bachman was going to take him in for a partner and each one of them knew that if she could catch him she would knock those cranky health notions of his sky high before the wedding cake indigestion was over Mr. Ramsey was master of ceremonies at the dinners always they had two Italians into play a violin and harp and had a little dance in the store and here were two dresses being conceived to charm Ramsey of course the other eight girls were going to have dresses too but they didn't count very likely they'd wear some shirt waist and black skirt affairs nothing as resplendent as purple or red Grace had saved her money too she was going to buy her dress ready made oh what's the use of bothering with a tailor when you've got a figure it's easy to get a fit the ready made are intended for a perfect figure except I have to have them all taken in at the waist the average figure is so large wasted the night before Thanksgiving came made a hurried home keen and bright with the thoughts of the blessed morrow her thoughts were of purple but they were white themselves the joyous enthusiasm of the young for the pleasures that youth must have or wither she knew purple would become her and for the thousandth time she tried to assure herself as purple Mr. Ramsey said he liked and not red she was going home first to get the four dollars wrapped in a piece of tissue paper and the bottom drawer of her dresser and then she was going to pay Schlegel and take the dress home herself Grace lived in the same house she occupied the hall room above Mata's at home Mata found clamor and confusion the landlady's tongue clattering sourly in the halls like a churned asher dabbing in buttermilk down to her room crying with eyes as red as any dress she says I've got to get out said Grace the old beast because I owe her four dollars she's put my trunk in the hall and locked the door I can't go anywhere else I haven't got a cent of money you had some yesterday said Mata I paid it on my dress said Grace I thought she'd wait till next week for the rent sniffle sniffle sob sniffle out came Mata's four dollars you blessed darling cried Grace now a rainbow instead of sunset I'll pay the mean old thing and then I'm going to try on my dress I think it's heavenly come up and look at it I'll pay the money back a dollar a week honest I will Thanksgiving the dinner was to be at noon at a quarter to twelve Grace switched into Mata's room yes she looked charming red was her color the yacht skirt and blue a starting oh doing fancy work why goodness me ain't you dressed yet shrill the red one how does it fit in the back don't you think these velvet tabs look awful swell why ain't you dressed Mata my dress didn't get finished in time said Mata I'm not going to the dinner that's too bad why I'm awfully sorry Mata why don't you put on anything and come along it's just the store folks you know and they won't mind I was said on my purple said Mata if I can't have it I won't go at all don't bother about me run along or you'll be late you look awful nice and red at her window Mata sat through the long morning and past the time of the dinner at the store in her mind she could hear the girl shrieking over a pool bone could hear old Bachman's roar over his own deeply concealed jokes could see the diamonds of fat Mrs. Bachman who came to the store only on Thanksgiving days could see Mr. Ramsey moving about alert kindly looking to the comfort of all at four in the afternoon with an expressionless face and a lifeless air she slowly made her way to Schlegel shop and told him she could not pay the four dollars due on the dress got cried Schlegel angrily for what do you look so glum take him away he's ready pay me some time have I not seen you pass my shop every day in two years if I may close is it that I do not know how to read peoples because you will pay me some time when you can take him away he's made good and if you look pretty in him alright so pay me when you can Mata breathed a millionth part of the things in her heart and hurried away with her dress as she left the shop a smart dash of rain struck upon her face she smiled and did not feel it ladies who shop in carriages you do not understand girls whose wardrobes are charged to the old man's account you cannot begin to comprehend you could not understand why Mata did not feel the cold dash of a Thanksgiving rain at five o'clock she went out upon the street wearing her purple dress the rain had increased and it beat down upon her in a steady wind blown poor people were scurrying home into cars with close held umbrellas and tight buttoned raincoats many of them turned their heads to marvel at this beautiful serene happy eyed girl in the purple dress walking through the storm as though she was strolling in a garden under summer skies I say you do not understand ladies of the full purse and varied wardrobe you do not know what it is to live with the perpetual longing for pretty things to starve eight months in order to bring a purple dress and a holiday together what difference if it rained hailed blue snowed cycloned Mata had no umbrella nor over shoes she had her purple dress and she walked abroad let the elements do their worst a starved heart must have one crumb during a year the rain ran down and dripped from her fingers someone turned a corner and blocked her way she looked up into Mr. Ramsey's eyes sparkling with admiration and interest why Miss Mata said he you look simply magnificent in your new dress I was greatly disappointed not to see you at our dinner and of all the girls I ever knew you showed the greatest sense and intelligence there is nothing more helpful and invigorating than braving the weather as you are doing may I walk with you and Mata blushed and sneezed end of the purple dress rural life in England by Washington Irving this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Matt Bonhoff rural life in England by Washington Irving O friendly to the best pursuits of man friendly to thought to virtue and to peace domestic life in rural pleasures past Cowper the stranger who would form a correct opinion of the English character must not confine his observations the metropolis he must go forth into the country he must sojourn in villages and hamlets he must visit castles villas farmhouses cottages he must wander through parks and gardens along hedges and green lanes he must loiter about country churches attend wakes and fairs and other rural festivals and cope with the people in all their conditions and all their habits and humours in some countries the large cities absorb the wealth and fashion of the nation they are the only fixed abodes of elegant and intelligent society and the country is inhabited almost entirely by bourgeois peasantry in England on the contrary the metropolis is a mere gathering place or general rendezvous of the polite classes where they devote a small portion of the year to a hurry of gaiety and having indulged this kind of carnival return again to the apparently more congenial habits of rural life the various orders of society are therefore diffused over the whole surface of the kingdom and the more retired neighborhoods afford specimens of the different ranks the English in fact are strongly gifted with the rural feeling they possess a quick sensibility to the beauties of nature and a keen relish for the pleasures and employments of the country this passion seems inherent in them even the inhabitants of cities born and brought up among brick walls and bustling streets enter with facility into rural habits and events attack for rural occupation the merchant has his snug retreat in the vicinity of the metropolis where he often displays as much pride and zeal the cultivation of his flower garden and the maturing of his fruits as he does in the conduct of his business and the success of a commercial enterprise even those less fortunate individuals who are doomed to pass their lives in the midst of din and traffic contrive to have something that shall remind them of the green aspect of nature in the most dark and dingy quarters of the city the drawing room window resembles frequently a bank of flowers every spot capable of vegetation has its grass plot and flower bed and every square its mimic park laid out with picturesque taste and gleaming with refreshing verdure those who see the Englishman only in town are apt to form an unfavorable opinion of his social character he is either absorbed in business or distracted by the thousand engagements that dissipate time, thought and feeling in this huge metropolis he has therefore too commonly a look of hurry and abstraction wherever he happens to be he is on the point of going somewhere else at the moment he is talking on one subject his mind is wandering to another and while paying a friendly visit he is calculating how he shall economize time so as to pay the other visits allotted to the morning an immense metropolis like London is calculated to make men selfish and uninteresting in their casual and transient meetings they can but deal briefly in common places they present but the cold superfaces of character its rich and genial qualities have no time to be warmed into a flow it is in the country that the Englishman gives scope to his natural feelings he breaks loose gladly from the cold formalities and negative civilities of town throws off his habits of shy reserve and becomes joyous and free-hearted he manages to collect around him all the conveniences and elegances of polite life and to banish its restraints his country seat abounds with every requisite either for studious retirement tasteful gratification or rural exercise books, paintings, music, horses dogs and sporting implements of all kinds are at hand he puts no constraint either upon his guests or himself his spirit of hospitality provides the means of enjoyment and leaves everyone to partake according to his inclination the taste of the English in the cultivation of land and in what is called landscape gardening is unrivaled they have studied nature intently and discovered an exquisite sense of her beautiful forms and harmonious combinations those charms which in other countries she lavishes in wild solitudes are here assembled round the haunts of domestic life they seem to have caught her coy and furtive graces spread them like witchery round their rural abodes nothing can be more imposing than the magnificence of English park scenery vast lawns that extend like streets of vivid green where here and there clumps of gigantic trees heaping up rich piles of foliage the solemn pomp of groves and woodland glades with the deer trooping in silent herds across them the hare bounding away to the covert or the pheasant suddenly bursting upon the wing the brook taut to wind in natural meanderings or expanded into a glassy lake the subquested pool reflecting the quivering trees with the yellow leaf sleeping on its bosom and the trout roaming fearlessly about its limpid waters while some rustic temple or sylvan statue grown green and dank with age gives an air of classic sanctity to the seclusion these are but a few features of park scenery but what most delights me is the creative talent with which the English decorate the unostacious abodes of middle life the rudest habitation the most unpromising and scanty portion of land in the hands of an Englishman of taste becomes a little paradise with a nicely discriminating eye he seizes at once upon its capabilities and pictures in his mind of the future landscape the sterile spot grows in loveliness under his hand and yet the operations of art which produce the effect are scarcely to be perceived the cherishing and training of some trees the cautious pruning of others the nice distribution of flowers and plants of tender and graceful knowledge the introduction of a green slope of velvet turf the partial opening of a peep of blue distance or silver gleam of water all these are managed with a delicate tact a pervading yet quiet a seduity like the magic touchings with which a painter finishes up a favorite picture the residents of people of fortune and refinement in the country has diffused a degree of taste and elegance in rural economy that descends to the lowest class the very laborer with his thatched cottage and narrow slip of ground attends to their embellishment the trim hedge the grass plot before the door the little flowerbed bordered with snug box the woodbine trained up against the wall and hanging its blossoms about the lattice the pot of flowers in the window the holly providently planted about the house to cheat winter dreariness and to throw in semblance of green summer to cheer the fireside all these bespeak the influence of taste flowing down from high sources and pervading the lowest levels of the public mind if ever love as poets sing the lights to visit a cottage it must be the cottage of an English peasant the fondness for rural life among the higher classes of the English has had a great and salutary impact upon the national character I do not know of a finer race of men than the English gentlemen instead of the softness in effeminacy which characterised the men of rank in most countries they exhibit a union of elegance and strength a robustness of frame and freshness of complexion which I am inclined to attribute to their living so much in the open air and pursuing so eagerly the invigorating recreations of the country and their sizes produce also a healthful tone of mind and spirits and the manliness and simplicity of manners which even the follies and dissipations of the town cannot easily pervert and can never entirely destroy in the country too the different orders of society seem to approach more freely to be more disposed to blend and operate favourably upon each other the distinctions between them do not appear to be so marked and impassable as in the cities the manner in which property has been distributed into small estates and farms has established a regular gradation from the noblemen through the classes of gentry small landed proprietors and substantial farmers down to the laboring peasantry and while it has thus banded the extremes of society together it has infused into each intermediate rank a spirit of independence this it must confess is not so universally the case at present as it was formerly the larger estates having in late years of distress absorbed the smaller and in some parts of the country almost annihilated the sturdy race of small farmers these however I believe are but casual breaks in the general system I have mentioned in rural occupation there is nothing mean in debasing it leads a man forth among scenes of natural grandeur and beauty it leaves him to the workings of his own mind operated upon by the purest and most elevating of external influences such a man may be simple and rough but he cannot be vulgar the man of refinement therefore finds nothing revolting in an intercourse with the lower orders in rural life as he does when he casually mingles with the lower orders of cities he lays aside his distance and reserve and is glad to wave the distinctions of rank and to enter into the honest heartfelt enjoyments of common life indeed the very amusements of the country bring more and more together and the sound hound and horn blend all feelings into harmony I believe this is one great reason why the nobility and gentry are more popular among the inferior orders in England than they are in any other country and why the latter have endured so many excessive pressures and extremities without repining more generally at the unequal distribution of fortune and privilege to this mingling of cultivated and rustic society may also be attributed the rural feeling that runs through British literature the frequent use of illustrations from rural life those incomparable descriptions of nature that abound in the British poets that have continued down from the flower and the leaf of Chaucer and have brought into our closets all the freshness and fragrance of the Dewey landscape the pastoral writers of other countries appear as if they have paid nature an occasional visit and become acquainted with her general charms but the British poets have lived and reveled with her they have wooed her in her most secret haunts they have watched the nudist caprices a spray could not tremble in the breeze a leaf could not rustle to the ground a diamond drop could not patter in the stream a fragrance could not exhale from the humble violet nor a daisy unfold its crimson tints to the morning but it has been noticed by these impassioned and delicate observers and brought up into some beautiful morality the effect of this devotion of elegant minds to rural occupations has been wonderful on the face of the country a great part of the island is rather level and would be monotonous were it not for the charms of culture but it is studded and gemmed as it were with castles and palaces and embroidered with parks and gardens it is not abound in grand and sublime prospects but rather in little home scenes of rural repose and sheltered quiet every antique farmhouse and moss grown cottage is a picture and as the roads are continually winding and the view is shut in by groves and hedges the eye is delighted by a continual succession of small landscapes of captivating loveliness the great charm however of English scenery is the moral feeling that seems to pervade it it is associated in the mind with ideas of order of quiet sober well established principles of hoary usage and reverend custom everything seems to be the growth of ages of regular and peaceful existence the old church of remote architecture with its low massive portal its gothic tower its windows rich with tracery and painted glass in scrupulous preservation its stately monuments of warriors and worthy's of the olden time ancestors the present lords of the soil its tombstones recording successive generations of sturdy yeomanry whose progeny still plough the same fields and kneel at the same altar the parsonage a quaint to regular pile partially antiquated but repaired and altered in the tastes of various ages and occupants the style and footpath leading from the church yard across pleasant fields and the long shady hedgerows leading to an immemorial right of way the neighboring village with its venerable cottages its public green sheltered by trees under which the forefathers of the present race have sported the antique family mansion standing apart in some little rural domain but looking down with the protecting air on the surrounding scene all these common features of English landscape events a calm and sheltered security a hereditary transmission of homebred virtues and local attachments that speak deeply and touchingly for the moral character of the nation it is a pleasing sight of a Sunday morning when the bell is sending its sober melody across the quiet fields to behold the peasantry in their best finery with ruddy faces and modest cheerfulness pronging tranquilly along the green lanes to church to see them in the evenings gathering about their cottage doors and appearing to exult in the humble comforts and embellishments which their own hands have spread around them it is this sweet home feeling this settled repose of affection in the domestic scene that is after all the parent of the steadiest virtues and purest enjoyments I cannot close these disultory remarks better than by quoting the words of a modern English poet who has depicted it with remarkable felicity through each gradation from the castled hall the city domed the villa crowned with shade but chief from modest mansions numberless in town or hamlet sheltering middle life down to the cottage Val the straw roofed shed this western isle has long been famed for scenes where bliss domestic dwelling place domestic bliss that like a harmless dove honor and sweet endearment keeping guard can center in a little quiet nest all that desire would fly for through the earth that can the world eluding be itself a world enjoyed that wants no witness but its own sharers and approving heaven that like a flower deep hidden rock cleft smiles though it is only looking at the sky begin footnote from a poem on the death of the princess charlotte by the reverend ran kennedy a.m. end footnote end of rural life in england read by matt bonehoff the madman his parables and poems by kalil gobran this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information and to learn how to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org how i became a madman you asked me how i became a madman it happened thus one day long before many gods were born i woke from a very deep sleep and found all my masks was stolen the seven masks i had fashioned and worn in seven lives i ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting thieves the cursed thieves men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me and when i reached the marketplace a youth standing on a housetop cried he's a madman i looked up to behold him the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time for the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with a love for the sun and i wanted my masks no more and as if in a trance i cried blessed are the thieves who stole my masks thus i became a madman and i have found both freedom of loneliness and safety from being understood for those who understand us enslave something in us but let me not be too proud of my safety even a thief in a jail is safe from another thief the seven selves in the stillest hour of the night as i lay half asleep my seven selves sat together and thus conversed in whisper first self here in this madman i have dwelt all these years with not to do but renew his pain by day and create his sorrow by night i can bear my fate no longer and now i rebel second self yours is a better lot than mine brother for it is given to me to be this madman's joyous self i laughed his laughter and sing his happy hours and with thrice-winged feet i dance his brighter thoughts it is i that would rebel against my weary existence third self and what of me the love-ridden self the flaming brand of wild passion and fantastic desires it is i the lovesick self that would rebel against this madman fourth self i amongst you all am the most miserable for not was given me but odious hatred and destructive loathing it is i the tempest like self the one born in the black caves of hell who would protest against serving this madman fifth self nay it is i the thinking self the fanciful self the self of hunger and thirst the one doomed to wander without rest in search of unknown things and things not yet created it is i not you who would rebel sixth self and i the working self the pitiful laborer who with patient hands and longing eyes fashion the day into images and give the formless elements new and external forms it is i the solitary one who would rebel against this restless madman seventh self how strange that you all would rebel against this man because each and every one of you has a preordained fate to fulfill ah could i be but like one of you a self with a determined lot but i have none i am the do nothing self the one who sits in the dumb empty know where and know when while you are busy recreating life is it you or i neighbors who should rebel when the seventh self thus spake the other six selves looked with pity upon him but said nothing more and as the night grew deeper one after the other went to sleep enfolded with a new and happy submission but the seventh self remained watching and gazing at nothingness which is behind all things the wise king once there ruled in the distant city of warani a king who was both mighty and wise and he was feared for his might and loved for his wisdom now in the heart of that city was a well whose water was cool and crystalline from which all the inhabitants drank even the king and his courtiers for there was no other well one night when all were asleep a witch entered the city and poured seven drops of strange liquid into the well and said from this hour he who drinks this well shall become mad next morning all the inhabitants saved the king and his lord chamberlain drank from the well and became mad even as the witch had foretold and during that day the people in the narrow streets and in the marketplaces did not but whisper to one another the king is mad our king and his lord chamberlains have lost their reason surely we cannot be ruled by a mad king we must dethrone him that evening the king ordered a golden goblet to be filled from the well and when it was brought to him went deeply and gave it to his lord chamberlain to drink and there was great rejoicing in the distant city of urani because its king and its lord chamberlain had regained their reason ambition three men met at a tavern table one was a weaver another a carpenter and the third a plowman said the weaver I sold a fine linen shroud today two pieces of gold let us all have the wine we want and I said the carpenter I sold my best coffin we will have a great roast with the wine I only dug a grave said the plowman but my patron paid me double let us have honey cakes too and all that evening the tavern was busy for they called often for wine and meat and cakes and they were merry and the host rubbed his hands and smiled at his wife for his guests were spending freely when they left the moon was high and they walked along the road singing and shouting together the host and his wife stood in the tavern door and looked after them ah said the wife these gentlemen so free-handed and so gay if only they could bring us such luck every day then our son need not be a tavern keeper and work so hard we could educate him and he could become a priest the three aunts three aunts met at the nose of a man who was sleeping in the sun and after they had saluted one another each according to the custom of his tribe they were conversing the first aunt said these hills and plains are the most barren I have known I have searched all day for a grain of some sort and there is none to be found said the second aunt I too have found nothing though I have visited every nook and glade this is I believe what my people call the soft moving land nothing grows then the third aunt raised his head and said my friends we are standing now on the nose of the supreme aunt the mighty and infinite aunt whose body is so great that we cannot see it whose shadow is so vast that we cannot trace it whose voice is so loud that we cannot hear it and he is omnipresent he spoke thus the other aunts looked at each other and laughed at that moment the man moved and in his sleep raised his hand and scratched his nose and the three aunts were crushed knight and the madman I am like the old knight dark and naked I walk on the flaming path which is above my daydreams and whenever my foot touches earth the oak tree comes forth nay thou art not like me oh madman for thou still lookest backward to see how large a footprint thou leaveest in the sand I am like the old knight silent and deep and in the heart of my loneliness lies a goddess in child bed and in him who is being born heaven touches hell nay thou art not like me oh madman for thou shudderest yet before pain and the song of the abyss terrifies thee I am like the old knight wild and terrible for my ears are crowded with cries of conquered nations and sighs for forgotten lands nay thou art not like me oh madman for thou still takeest yourself for a comrade and with thy monster self thou canst not be friend I am like the old knight cruel and awful for my bosom is lit by burning ships at sea and my lips are wet with blood of slain warriors nay thou art not like me oh madman for the desire for a sister spirit is yet upon thee and thou has not become a low unto thyself I am like the old knight joyous and glad for he who dwells in my shadow is now drunk with virgin wine and she who follows me is sinning mirthfully nay thou art not like me oh madman for thy soul is wrapped in the veil of seven folds and thou holdest not thy heart in thy hand I am like the old knight patient and passionate for in my breast a thousand dead lovers are buried in shrouds of withered kisses yay madman art thou like me and canst thou ride the tempest as a steed and grasp the lightning as a sword like the old knight like thee mighty and high and my throne is built upon heaps of fallen gods and before me too pass the days to kiss the hem of my garment but never to gaze at my face art thou like me child of my darkest heart and dust thou think my untamed thoughts and speak my vast language yay we are twin brothers oh knight for thou revealest space and I reveal my soul the great longing here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea we three are one in loneliness and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange nay my sister's depth and stronger than my brother's strength and stranger than the strangeness of my madness eons and eons have passed since the first grey dawn made us visible to one another and though we have seen the birth and the fullness and the death of many worlds we are still eager and young we are young and eager and yet we are mate-less and un-visited and though we lie in unbroken half embrace we are uncomforted and what comfort is there for controlled desire and unspent passion whence shall come the flaming god to warm my sister's bed and what she torrents shall quench my brother's fire and who is the woman that shall command my heart in the stillness of the night my sister murmurs in her sleep the fire god's unknown name and my brother calls afar upon the cool and distant goddess but upon whom I call in my sleep I know not here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea we three are one in loneliness and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange and my sorrow was born when my sorrow was born I nursed it with care and watched over it with loving tenderness and my sorrow grew like all living things strong and beautiful and full of wondrous delights and we loved one another my sorrow and I and we loved the world about us for sorrow had a kindly heart and mind was kindly with sorrow and when we conversed my sorrow and I our days were winged and our nights were girded with dreams for sorrow had an eloquent tongue and mind was eloquent with sorrow and when we sang together my sorrow and I our neighbors sat at their windows and listened for our songs were deep as the sea and our melodies were full of strange memories and when we walked together my sorrow and I people gazed at us with gentle eyes and whispered in words of exceeding sweetness and there were those who looked with envy upon us for sorrow was a noble thing and I was proud with sorrow but my sorrow died like all living things and alone I am left to muse and ponder and now I speak my words fall heavy upon my ears and when I sing my songs my neighbors come not to listen and when I walk the streets no one looks at me only in my sleep I hear voices saying in pity see there lies the man whose sorrow is dead and when my joy was born and when my joy was born and when my arms and stood on the house top shouting come ye my neighbors come and see for joy this day is born unto me come and behold this gladsome thing that laughed at the sun but none of my neighbors came to look upon my joy and great was my astonishment and every day for seven moons I proclaimed my joy from the house top and yet no one heeded me and my joy and I were alone unsought and unvisited then my joy grew pale and weary because no other heart but mine held its loveliness and no other lips kissed its lips then my joy died of isolation and now I only remember my dead joy and remembering my dead sorrow but memory is an autumn leaf that murmurs a while in the wind and then is heard no more End of The Madman by Khalil Gabran this recording is in the public domain The Tabby Terror by PG Woodhouse this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org by Hattie Lennox The Tabby Terror by PG Woodhouse the struggle between Prater's Cat and Prater's Cat's conscience was short and ended in the hollowest of victories for the former the conscience really had no sort of chance from the beginning it was weak by nature and flabby from long want of exercise while the cat was an excellent training and was, moreover, backed up by a strong temptation which consisted of most of the contents of a tin of sardines when Smith came in after football and found the remains, he was surprised and even pained when Montgomery entered soon afterwards he questioned him on a subject I say, have you been having a sort of preliminary canter with the banquet? No, said Montgomery, why? Somebody has, said Smith exhibiting the empty tin doesn't seem to have had such a bad appetite either this reminds me of the story of the great bear, the medium bear and the little ditto, observed Montgomery who was after the analogy you may remember that when the great bear found his porridge tampered with, he, at this point shoyer entered, he had been bid into the feast and was feeling ready for it Hello, tea ready? he asked Smith displayed the sardine tin in much the same manner as the conjurer shows a pack of cards when he entreats you to choose one and remember the number You haven't finished already? Surely, why? It's only just five We haven't even begun, said Smith That's just the difficulty The question is, who has been on the raid in here? No human being has done this horrid thing, said Montgomery He always liked to introduce the Holmes-Watsonian touch into the conversation In the first place, the door was locked wasn't it, Smith? By Joe, so it was, then how on earth? Through the window, of course The cat, equally, of course I should like a private word with that cat I suppose it must have been Of course it was Apart from the merely circumstantial evidence which is strong enough to hang it off its own back we have absolute proof of the guilt Just cast your eye over that butter, you follow me, Watson? The butter was submitted to inspection In the very centre of it there was a footprint I traced his little footprints in the butter said Montgomery, now is that the mark of a human foot? The jury brought in a unanimous verdict of guilty against the missing animal and over a sorrowful cup of tea eeked out with bread and jam butter appeared to be unpopular discussed the matter in all its bearings The cat had not been an inmate of Prater's house for a very long time and up till now, what depredation admitted had been confined to the official larder Now, however, it had evidently got its hand in and was about to commence operations upon a more extensive scale The tabby terror had begun The general opinion was that something would have to be done about it No one seemed to know exactly what to do Montgomery spoke darkly of bricks bits of string and horse ponds Smith rolled the word rat poison luxuriously round his tongue Shoyer, who was something of an expert on the range Babble of air guns A tea on the following evening the first really serious engagement of the campaign took place The cat strolled into the tea room in a patronizing way characteristic of its kind Its heavily shelled with lumped sugar and beat to rapid retreat That was the signal for the outbreak of serious hostilities From that moment its paw was against every man and the tale of the things it stole is too terrible to relate in detail It scored all along the line Like death in the poem it knocked at the doors of the highest and the lowest alike Or rather, it did not exactly knock It came in without knocking The palace of the prefect and the hovel of the fag equally The head of the house lost sausages to an incredible amount one evening and the next day, ripped in of the lower third was robbed of his one new lamb in the shape of half a tin of anchovy paste Panic rained It was after this matter of the sausages that a luminous idea occurred to Trenton He had been laid up with a slight football accident and his family, reading between the lines of his written statement that he had gotten crocked at footer which only rather a nuisance might do him out of the house matches and a notification of mortal injuries and soon to hear a death rattle through the words felt rather chippy yesterday had come down en masse to investigate en masse, that is to say, with the exception of his father, who said he was too busy but felt sure it was nothing serious Why, when I was a boy my dear I used to think nothing of an occasional tumble there's nothing the matter with Dick Why, etc, etc Trenton's sister was his first visitor I say, said he when he had satisfied her on the subject of his health Would you like to do me a good turn She intimated that she would be delighted and asked for details By the beaks cat, his Trenton in a horse whisper Dick, it was your leg that you hurt wasn't it Not, not your head she replied I mean, no I really mean it Why can't you, it's a perfectly simple thing to do But what is a beak and why should I buy it's cat A beak's a master Surely you know that You see, praetors got a cat lately and the beast strolls in and raids the studies Got round over half a pound of prime sausages in here the other night and he's always bagging things everywhere You'd be doing everyone a kindness if you would take him on We'll get lynched someday if you don't Besides, you want a cat for your new house, surely Keep down the mice and that sort of thing, you know This animal's a demon from mice This was a telling argument Trenton's sister had lately been married and she certainly had had some idea of investing in a cat to adorn her home As for beetles, continued the invalid pushing home his advantage they simply daren't come out of their lairs for fear of him If he eats beetles, objected the sister he can't have a very good coat He doesn't eat them, just squashes them you know, like a policeman He's a decent enough beast as far as looks go But if he steals things No, don't you see, he only does that here because the praetors don't interfere with him and don't let us do anything to him He won't try that sort of thing with you If he does, get somebody hit him over the head with a bootjack or something He'll soon drop it then You might as well, you know, the house will simply black your boots if you do But would Mr. Praetor let me have the cat? Try him anyhow Pitch it fairly warm, you know Only cat you ever loved and that sort of thing Very well, I'll try Thanks, awfully And I say, you might just look in here on your way out and report Mrs. James Williamson Mrs. James Williamson, named Miss Trentham made her way dutifully to the Maravales part of the house Mrs. Praetor had expressed a hope that she would have some tea before catching her train With tea, it is usual to have milk And with milk, it is usual if there's a cat in the house to have feline society Captain Kettle, which was the name thought suitable to this cat by his godfathers and godmothers, was on hand early As he stood there pawing the mat impatiently and ewing in a minor key Mrs. Williamson felt that here was the cat for her He certainly was good to look upon His black heart was hidden by a sleek coat of tabby fur which rendered stroking a luxury His scheming brain was out of sight in a shapely head Oh, what a lovely cat, said Mrs. Williamson Yes, isn't he agreed, Mrs. Praetor We are very proud of him Such a beautiful coat and such a sweet purr He looks so intelligent, has he any tricks? Had he any tricks Why, Mrs. Williamson, he could do anything except speak Captain Kettle, you bad boy, come here and die for your country Captain Kettle came at last reluctantly died for his country in record time and flashed back again to the saucer He had an important appointment Sorry to appear rude and all that sort of thing Don't you know, but he had to see a cat about a mouse Well, said Trenton when his sister looked in upon him an hour later Oh, dick, it's the nicest cat I ever saw I don't get it Have you bought it? asked the practical Trenton My dear dick, I couldn't We couldn't bargain about a cat during tea Why, I never met Mrs. Praetor before this afternoon No, I suppose not Admitted Trenton gloomily Anyhow, look here If anything turns up to make the beak want to get rid of it I'll tell him your dead nuts on it See? For a fortnight after this episode matters went on as before Mrs. Williamson departed and left behind her Captain Kettle died for his country with moderate regularity and on one occasion when he attempted to extract some milk from the very centre of a fag's tea party almost died for another reason then the end came suddenly Trenton had been invited to suffer one Sunday by Mr. Praetor When he arrived it became apparent to him that the atmosphere was one of subdued gloom At first he could not understand this but soon the reason was made clear Captain Kettle had the language of a man on the street been and gone and done it He had been left alone that evening in the drawing room while the house was at church and his eye roaming restlessly about in search of evil to perform had lighted upon a cage In that cage was a special sort of canary and its own line has accomplished an artiste as Captain Kettle himself It sang with taste and feeling and made itself generally agreeable in a number of little ways But to Captain Kettle it was merely a bird One of the poets sings of an acquaintance of his who was so constituted that a primrose by the river's brim a simple primrose was to him and it was nothing more Just so with Captain Kettle he was not the cat to make nice distinctions between birds Like the cat in another poem he only knew they made him light and salutary meals So with the exercise of considerable ingenuity he extracted the canary from its cage and ate it He was now in disgrace We shall have to get rid of him said Mr. Prater I'm afraid so said Mrs. Prater If you weren't thinking of giving him to anyone in particular sir said Trenton my sister would be awfully glad to take him I know she was very keen on him when she came to see me That's excellent said Prater I was afraid we should have to send him to a home somewhere I suppose we can't keep him after all suggested Mrs. Prater was treated in suspense No said Prater decidedly I think not So Captain Kettle went and the house knew him no more and the tabby terror was at an end End of The Tabby Terror Recorded by Hattie Lennox