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The Blind Brother - A Story of the Pennsylvania Coal Mines by Homer GreeneThe Dryden Mine, in the Susquehanna coal-fields of Pennsylvania, was worked out and abandoned long ago. To-day its headings and airways and chambers echo only to the occasional fall of loosened slate, or to the drip of water from the roof. Its pillars, robbed by retreating workmen, are crumbling and rusty, and those of its props which are still standing have become mouldy and rotten. The rats that once scampered through its galleries deserted it along with human kind, and its very name, from long disuse, has acquired an unaccustomed sound.But twenty years ago there was no busier mine than the Dryden from Carbondale to Nanticoke. Two hundred and thirty men and boys went by the slope into it every morning, and came out from it every night. They were simple and unlearned, these men and boys, rugged and rude, rough and reckless at times, but manly, heroic, and kindhearted.Up in the Lackawanna region a strike had been in progress for nearly two weeks. Efforts had been made by the strikers to persuade the miners down the valley to join them, but at first without success.Then a committee of one hundred came down to appeal and to intimidate. In squads of ten or more they visited the mines in the region, and, in the course of their journeyings, had come to the Dryden Slope. They had induced the miners to go out at all the workings they had thus far entered, and were no less successful here. It required persuasion, sometimes threats, sometimes, indeed, even blows, for the miners in Dryden Slope had no cause of complaint against their employers; they earned good wages, and were content.But, twenty years ago, miners who kept at work against the wishes of their fellows while a strike was in progress, were called “black-legs,” were treated with contempt, waylaid and beaten, and sometimes killed.So the men in the Dryden Mine yielded; and soon, down the chambers and along the headings, toward the foot of the slope, came little groups, with dinner-pails and tools, discussing earnestly, often bitterly, the situation and the prospect.The members of a party of fifteen or twenty, that came down the airway from the tier of chambers on the new north heading, were holding an especially animated conversation. Fully one-half of the men were visiting strikers. They were all walking, in single file, along the route by which the mine-cars went.

From the Cape to Cairo - The First Traverse of Africa from South to North by Ewart S. Grogan & Arthur H. SharpSince bringing out the first edition of this book, I have revisited the United States, Australasia, and Argentina in order that I might again compare the difficulties before us in Africa with the difficulties which these new countries have already overcome. I am now more than ever satisfied that its possibilities are infinitely great. Of the fertility and natural resources of the country I had no doubt. But two great stumbling-blocks loomed ahead: they were the prevalence of malaria and the difficulty of initial development owing to the dearth of navigable waterways. The epoch-making studies by Major Ross and other scientists of the influence of the mosquito on the distribution of malaria have shewn that we are within measurable distance of largely minimising its ravages, if not of completely removing it from the necessary risks of African life. A comparison of the death-rates in Calcutta, Hong-Kong, and other malarious regions with the present rates has also proved how immense is the influence of settlement on climate. As to the other obstacle, the question of access, I was amazed to find that in the United States the railways practically have absorbed all the carrying trade of the magnificent waterways, which intersect the whole country east of the Rockies. Naturally, these waterways were of immense assistance in the original opening up of the country, but now that the railways are constructed, they are of little importance.I would also point out to those who still profess mistrust of the practical objects of railway construction in Africa, the object-lesson which the trans-American lines afford. They were pushed ahead of all settlement into the great unknown exactly as the Cape to Cairo line is being pushed ahead to-day. But there is this difference: in America they penetrated silent wastes tenanted by naught else than the irreconcilable Redskin, the prairie marmot, and the bison; while in Africa they pass through lands rich in Nature's products and teeming with peoples who do not recede before the white man's march.Another point: when the main railway system of Africa, as sketched out by Mr. Rhodes, is complete, there will be no single point as remote from a port as are some of the districts in America which are to-day pouring out their food-stuffs along hundreds of miles of rail.In the words of the old Greek, "History is Philosophy teaching by examples." The world writhes with the quickening life of change. The tide of our supreme ascendancy is on the ebb. Nations, like men, are subject to disease. Let us beware of fatty degeneration of the heart. Luxury is sweeping away the influences which formed our character. It is as though our climate has been changed from the bleak northern winds to the tropic's indolent ease. Yet we have still a chance. While we sleep, broad tracks have been cut for us by those whom we revile. Far and wide our outposts are awake, beckoning to the great army to sweep along the tracks. Let each man with means and muscles for the fray go forth at least to see what empire is. Clive, Hastings, Rhodes, a thousand lesser men whose tombs are known only to the forest breeze, have left us legacies of which we barely dream. Millions of miles of timber, metals, coal, lie waiting for the breath of life, "pegged out" for Britain's sons. In these our destiny lies. We live but once: let us be able, when the last summons comes, to say with the greatest of us all, "Tread me down. Pass on. I have done my work."

Speeches of Benjamin Harrison - Twenty-third President of the United States by Benjamin HarrisonIt is not the purpose of this book to present a few selections of oratory, laboriously prepared and polished, or occasional flashes of brilliant thought. From such efforts, prepared, perhaps, after days of study and repeated revision, one can form but an imperfect idea of their author. Such a compilation might show the highest conceptions of the man, and evidence a wide range of thought and a surpassing grandeur of expression; but it would be but a poor mirror of the man himself in his daily life.It is due to the people that the largest opportunity be given them to observe the character of their public servants, to come into closest touch with their daily thoughts, and to know them as they are—not when prepared for special occasions, but day after day and all the time. It is with this view that this collection of the speeches of President Harrison is offered to the public. It is a series of instantaneous photographs that have caught him unawares. The studied pose is wanting, but the pictures are true to life.There are included the letter of acceptance, the inaugural address, the letter to the commercial congress, extracts from his last annual message to Congress, his patriotic message on the Chilian affair, and a few carefully prepared speeches, among them his notable addresses at the banquet of the Michigan Club, February 22, 1888, and before the Marquette Club at Chicago, March 20, the same year; also his celebrated speech at Galveston, in April last. All these are among the best models of statesmanlike thought and concise, forcible, and elegant expression. With these exceptions, the speeches presented were delivered during the presidential campaign of 1888, often four or five in a day, to visiting delegations of citizens, representing every occupation and interest, and during his tours of 1890 and 1891, when he often spoke eight or ten times a day from the platform of his car.If these speeches contained no other merit, they would be remarkable in the fact that, while delivered during the excitement of a political campaign and in the hurry of wayside pauses in a journey by railroad, they contain not one carelessly spoken word that can detract from their dignity, or, by any possible distortion of language, be turned against their author by his political opponents. With no opportunity for elaborately studied phrases, he did not utter a word that could be sneered at as weak or commonplace. This fact is all the more noteworthy when we recall the dismal failures that have been made by others under like circumstances.A spirit of exalted patriotism and broad statesmanship is apparent in every line; and notwithstanding the malignity of the partisan assaults that were made upon him, no words of bitterness—only terms of generous tolerance—characterize his allusions to his political opponents.With a single notable exception, no thought of sameness or repetition is ever suggested. That exception was the central thought and vital principle that was at stake in the campaign. One marvels at his versatility in adapting himself to every occasion, whether he was addressing a delegation of miners, of comrades in war, or of children from the public schools; we admire the lofty thoughts and the delicious humor; but while he might soften in tender, playful greeting of children, or live again with his comrades the old life of tent and field, he never for one moment forgot the great principle whose banner he had been chosen to uphold. Protection of American industry was always his foremost thought—and how well he presented it! What an example to the politician who seeks by evasion or silence to avoid the questions at issue!The book is therefore presented with the gratifying belief that a valuable service has been rendered in collecting these speeches and putting them in an enduring form, not only because they give the American

With the Swamp Fox - A Story of General Marion's Young Spies by James OtisHe who sets himself down to write of his own deeds in order that future generations may know exactly what part he bore in freeing the colonies from the burdens put upon them by a wicked king, must have some other excuse, or reason, than that of self-glorification.Some such idea as set down above has been in my mind from the moment Percy Sumter—meaning my brother—urged that I make a record of what we did while serving under General Francis Marion, that ardent patriot and true soldier, who was willing to make of himself a cripple rather than indulge in strong drink.I question if there be in the Carolinas any one who does not know full well the story of that night in Charleston, when, the door being locked upon him in order that he might be forced to drink, General Marion—then only a colonel—leaped from the window, thereby dislocating his ankle, rather than indulge in a carousal which to him was unseemly and ungentlemanly.This is but a lame beginning to what it is intended I shall tell regarding those days when we two lads, Percy and myself, did, as it has pleased many to say, the work of men in the struggle against foreign rule; yet however crude it may appear to those better versed in the use of the pen, it is the best I can do. My brother and myself went into General Marion's camp before our fourteenth birthday, and since that time have studied the art of warfare instead of letters, which fact is due to the troublous times rather than our own inclination, for my desire ever was to improve my mind until I should be at least on equal terms with those lads who were more favored as to country.First let me set down that of which we two—meaning Percy and myself—can honestly claim without fear of being called boastful.Our mother was sister to those noble gentlemen, John, William, Gavin, James and Robert James, who one and all devoted their fortunes and their lives to the cause of the independence of the Carolinas. She married a Sumter, who died while yet we twins were in the cradle, and, therefore, we were come to look upon ourselves as true members of the James family, rather than Sumters, priding ourselves upon that which every true Carolinian is ready to declare, that "he who rightfully bears the name of James is always ready for the foe, the first in attack and the last in retreat."I am coming to the beginning of my story in a halting, and what may seem a boastful, fashion, yet to my mind there is no other way of telling plainly what Percy and I were so fortunate as to accomplish under General Marion, than that of explaining why it was we two lads, less than fourteen years of age, should have been given such opportunities.Now I will write particularly of my uncle, the major, in order that it may be further understood how we lads came to be known as scouts in the service of the "Swamp Fox," and while so doing much which is already well-known must be repeated.

The Thick of the Fray at Zeebrugge - April 1918 by Percy F. Westerman"Wonder if she'll do it in time," thought Sub-lieutenant Alec Seton, R.N., as he stolidly paced the stone-paved platform. For the twentieth time in the last two hours he had consulted his wristlet watch and compared it with the smoke-begrimed station clock. "A proper lash-up if she doesn't."It was 1.40 a.m. on a certain Monday in March of the year of grace 1918. Seton, warned by telegram to rejoin his ship, H.M. Torpedo-boat Destroyer Bolero, had been handicapped by reason of the Sunday train service. Due to report at Rosyth at 10 a.m. he found himself at midnight held up at Leeds with the unpleasant prospect of having to wait until 1.50 a.m. before the mail train took him on to Edinburgh.Seton had been spending part of a well-earned spell of leave at his parents' house in the Peak District. An urgent message demanded his recall before half the period of leave had expired, which was no unusual occurrence in war-time. What was exasperating was the fact that the wire had been delivered at 6 p.m. on Sunday, and even by rushing off and catching the first available train Alec found, on perusing the time-table and consulting various railway officials, that it would be impossible to arrive at Edinburgh before twenty minutes minutes to eight on Monday morning. That left, only a little more than two hours to continue his journey to Inverkeithing and then on to Rosyth. Even then he had no idea where the Bolero was lying, whether she was alongside the jetty or on moorings out on the Forth. To say the least it was "cutting things a bit fine", but it was a point of honour that, if humanly possible, Seton should report himself on board at the hour specified."An' we were going into dock for eighteen days for refit," mused the Sub. "Wonder what's butted in to upset things? Some stunt over the other side, or only another sea-trip out and home again, without catching sight of a measly Hun. By Jove, I'm hungry. I'm experiencing an unpleasant feeling in a certain sector of the front."Vainly he regretted that on his hasty departure he had omitted to provide himself with refreshment. Counting on finding a restaurant-car he had been disappointed; while, on arriving at Leeds, he found it impossible at that hour to get a meal at an hotel. The sight of half a dozen Tommies in full field-kit emerging from a Y.M.C.A. refreshment-room, and dilating upon the excellence of the hot coffee and cakes, filled him with envious desires, which, however, did little to satisfy the cravings of the inner man."Ah, I've no belt to tighten," he soliloquized grimly. "Six or seven more hours to go, and not a chance of a snack. Hallo, what's this? Out of tobacco, too, by Jove." Very ruefully Alec surveyed his worn and trusted pouch. Only a pinch of dried dust remained."The last straw," he muttered. "Must grin and bear it, I suppose. I'd rather be keeping middle watch somewhere in the North Sea."

A Voice from Jerusalem - A Sketch of the Travels and Ministry of Elder Orson Hyde by Orson HydeThe circumstances which gave rise to this mission of Elder Hyde are quite peculiar and extraordinary; and in an American publication are thus described by himself: "Something near eight years ago, Joseph Smith, a prophet and servant of the Most High God, did predict upon my head, that I should yet go to the city of Jerusalem, and be a watchman unto the house of Israel, and perform a work there which would greatly facilitate the gathering together of that people: the particulars of which it is not necessary to mention here."Year after year has passed away since that period, and my labours in the ministry have been confined to the Gentiles on both sides of the Atlantic."In the early part of March last (1840), I retired to my bed one evening as usual, and while contemplating and enquiring out, in my own mind, the field of my ministerial labours for the then coming season, the vision of the Lord, like clouds of light, burst upon my view. The cities of London, Amsterdam, Constantinople, and Jerusalem all appeared in succession before me, and the Spirit said unto me, 'Here are many of the children of Abraham whom I will gather to the land that I gave to their fathers, and here also is the field of your labours.'"A strict observance of the movements of the Jews, and a careful examination of their faith relative to their expected Messiah—the setting up of his kingdom among them, and the overthrow of the present kingdoms and governments of the Gentiles, will serve to open the eyes of many of the uncircumcised, when faithfully laid before them, that the great day of the Lord comes not upon them unawares as a thief."Take, therefore, proper credentials from my people, your brethren, and also from the governor of your state, with the seal of authority thereon, and go ye forth to the cities which have been shown unto you, and declare these words unto Judah, and say: 'Blow ye the trumpet in the land: cry, gather together; and say, assemble yourselves, and let us go into the defenced cities. Let the standard be reared towards Zion. Retire! stay not; for I will bring evil from the north and a great destruction. The lion is come up from his thicket, and the destroyer of the Gentiles is on his way, he is gone forth from his place to make thy land desolate, and thy cities shall be laid waste without inhabitant. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, and cry unto her that her warfare is accomplished—that her iniquity is pardoned, for she hath received at the Lord's hand double for all her sins. Let your warning voice be heard among the Gentiles as you pass, and call ye upon them in my name for aid and for assistance. With you it mattereth not whether it be little or much; but to me it belongeth to shew favour unto them who show favour unto you. Murmur not, therefore, neither be ye sorrowful that the people are slow to hear your petition; but do as has been told you. All things shall work together for your good if you are humble and keep my commandments; for it must needs be that all men be left without excuse, that a righteous retribution may be awarded to all.'

Jack Among the Indians: A Boy's Summer on the Buffalo Plains by George Bird GrinnellA long time ago, before any of you were born, great herds of buffalo fed on the western plains, and wild Indians lived by hunting them. They ate the flesh, wore the skins as clothing, slept in lodges made from the hides, and fashioned tools from different parts of the buffalo's body.There were few settlements, and as the buffalo roamed far and wide over the treeless land, the Indians followed them; for then both were free. Often a tribe was obliged to defend itself against the attacks of enemies; and its young men often made war journeys into hostile country. Though the daily life of the village was quiet and simple, yet sometimes it was interrupted by most exciting incidents and adventures both of hunting and fighting.You listened attentively to the story of "Jack, the Young Ranchman," and I hope that you will like to learn what Jack did the next season, when he spent the summer with the buffalo eaters of the Northern Plains, hunted their game, fought their enemies and lived their life.

On the Yukon Trail - Radio-Phone Boys Series, #2 by Roy J. SnellCurlie Carson sat before an alcohol stove. Above and on all sides of him were the white walls of a tent. The constant bulging and sagging of these walls, the creak and snap of ropes, told that outside a gale was blowing. Beneath Curlie was a roll of deerskin and beneath that was ice; a glacier, the Valdez Glacier. They were a half day’s journey from the city of Valdez. Straight up the frowning blue-black wall of ice they had made their way until darkness had closed in upon them and a steep cliff of ice had appeared before them.In a corner of the tent, sprawled upon a deerskin sleeping-bag, lay Joe Marion, Curlie’s pal in other adventures.“Lucky we’ve got these sleeping-bags,” Joe drawled. “Even then I don’t see how a fellow’s going to keep warm, sleeping right out here on the ice with the wind singing around under the tent.” He shivered as he drew his mackinaw more closely about him.Curlie said nothing. If you have read the other book telling of Curlie’s adventures, “Curlie Carson Listens In,” you scarcely need be told that Curlie Carson is a boy employed by the United States Bureau of Secret Service of the Air, a boy who has the most perfect pair of radio ears of any person known to the service.In that other adventure which had taken him on a wild chase over the ocean in a pleasure yacht, he had had many narrow escapes, but this new bit of service which had been entrusted to him promised to be even more exciting and hazardous.

The Camp Fire Girls Amid the Snows by Margaret VandercookThe snow was falling in heavy slashing sheets, and a December snowstorm in the New Hampshire hills means something more serious than a storm in city streets or even an equal downfall upon more level meadows and plains.Yet on this winter afternoon, about an hour before twilight and along the base of a hill where a rough road wandered between tall cedar and pine trees and low bushes and shrubs, there sounded continually above the snow’s silencing two voices, sometimes laughing, occasionally singing a brief line or so, but more often talking. Accompanying them always was a steady jingling of bells.“We simply can’t get there to-night, Princess,” one of the voices protested, still with a questioning note as though hardly believing in its own assertion.“We simply can’t do anything else, my child” the other answered teasingly. “Have you ever thought how much harder it is to travel backward in this world than forward, otherwise I suppose we should have had eyes placed in the back of our heads and our feet would have turned around the other way? Don’t be frightened, there really isn’t the least danger.”Then there was a sudden swish of a whip cutting the cold air and with a fresh tinkling of bells the shaggy pony plunged ahead. Five minutes afterwards with an instinctive stiffening of his forelegs he started sliding slowly down a steep embankment, where the road apparently ended, dragging his load behind him and only stopping on finally reaching the low ground and finding his sleigh had overturned.