Books with author Mary. Johnston

THE work of the day being over, I sat down upon my doorstep, pipe in hand, to rest awhile in the cool of the evening. Death is not more still than is this Virginian land in the hour when the sun has sunk away, and it is black beneath the trees, and the stars brighten slowly and softly, one by one. The birds that sing all day have hushed, and the horned owls, the monster frogs, and that strange and ominous fowl (if fowl it be, and not, as some assert, a spirit damned) which we English call the whippoorwill, are yet silent. Later the wolf will howl and the panther scream, but now there is no sound. The winds are laid, and the restless leaves droop and are quiet. The low lap of the water among the reeds is like the breathing of one who sleeps in his watch beside the dead.

THE morning was gray and I sat by the sea near Palos in a gray mood. I was Jayme de Marchena, and that was a good, old Christian name. But my grandmother was Jewess, and in corners they said that she never truly recanted, and I had been much with her as a child. She was dead, but still they talked of her. Jayme de Marchena, looking back from the hillside of forty-six, saw some service done for the Queen and the folk. This thing and that thing. Not demanding trumpets, but serviceable. It would be neither counted nor weighed beside and against that which Don Pedro and the Dominican found to say. What they found to say they made, not found. They took clay of misrepresentation, and in the field of falsehood sat them down, and consulting the parchment of malice, proceeded to create. But false as was all they set up, the time would cry it true. It was reasonable that I should find the day gray. Study and study and study, year on year, and at last image a great thing, just under the rim of the mind's ocean, sending up for those who will look streamers above horizon, streamers of colored and wonderful light! Study and reason and with awe and delight take light from above. Dream of good news for one and all, of life given depth and brought into music, dream of giving the given, never holding it back, which would be avarice and betraying! Write, and give men and women to read what you have written, and believe—poor Deluded!—that they also feel inner warmth and light and rejoice. Oh, gray the sea and gray the shore! But some did feel it.

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1914 edition. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XXXII A JOURNEY They lay for a month in prison in London. Then, all procedures having been met, the law would return them to the county where they had offended and the gaol from which they had broken and the gallows field which had waited six years. They rode from London in company of a sheriff and a dozen horsemen, and they went by the road which Aderhold had travelled years before. He recognised this place and that. Where the ways were bad -- and they were often bad -- they dismounted and went afoot. So many were with them and so no danger at all was there of escape, that they were left unshackled, were even let to draw a little to themselves. At first the guard was rough of tongue, ready with frequent, unneeded commands, ready with coarse gibes. But the two answered quietly, or were silent without sullenness, and there was something in them that gave check. ... At last the men conveyed them without insult, without much further speech to them direct. At night, when they came to town or village, they were lodged in the gaol. When they passed where there were people, and if it became known what manner of felons were here, they met with savage jeers and execrations. Sometimes mud was thrown, sometimes flints. But it was not the guard's cue to tell names and offence -- and England was not as populous then as now -- and there were long miles of lonely peace. To Joan and Aderhold they seemed at times miles of a beautiful, a sunny peace. They knew how to talk together with few words, with a glance of the eye. And there were many times when, some space allowed them and the guards talking among themselves, the road became as it were their own. Then they spoke freely, though with low voices. It was late summer, with autumn well in view...

This is a pre-1923 historical reproduction that was curated for quality. Quality assurance was conducted on each of these books in an attempt to remove books with imperfections introduced by the digitization process. Though we have made best efforts - the books may have occasional errors that do not impede the reading experience. We believe this work is culturally important and have elected to bring the book back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide. This text refers to the Bibliobazaar edition.

This is a reproduction of the original artefact. Generally these books are created from careful scans of the original. This allows us to preserve the book accurately and present it in the way the author intended. Since the original versions are generally quite old, there may occasionally be certain imperfections within these reproductions. We're happy to make these classics available again for future generations to enjoy!

This is a pre-1923 historical reproduction that was curated for quality. Quality assurance was conducted on each of these books in an attempt to remove books with imperfections introduced by the digitization process. Though we have made best efforts - the books may have occasional errors that do not impede the reading experience. We believe this work is culturally important and have elected to bring the book back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide. This text refers to the Bibliobazaar edition.