Books with title Democracy

Excerpt from DemocracyThe words came in florid periods, which rolled fluently from the loose-lipped mouth of the speaker. The good-humoured face, with the jaw of an East End coster; short, pugnacious nose; the shrewd, ln minous-grey eyes, which flickered athwart the packed rows like summer lightning; the burly frankness of the giant of a man in his loosely-caught frock coat all went to make up the genial Buster Bull, financier, newspaper proprietor, sportsman, and People's Cham pron.Denis Destin had seen him a score of times in the same Magog hall, dominating crowds of frightened, angry shareholders even as now he dominated the mass of city men, clerks, little tradesmen, and strug gling professional men, ranged before him, hanging on each period. From where he sat near the plat form, he caught the whitey-pallor and staring eye balls of the faces that resurrected themselves at the trumpet blast of the chairman, feeling that the Judg ment had come, their minds tense with battle.It was after the General Election. Democracy, insistent, blatant, had asserted itself at the polls. Labour sat in force in sacred Westminster. It was the beginning of the end.About the PublisherForgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.comThis book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

Excerpt from DemocracyThe words came in florid periods, which rolled fluently from the loose-lipped mouth of the speaker. The good-humoured face, with the jaw of an East End coster; short, pugnacious nose; the shrewd, ln minous-grey eyes, which flickered athwart the packed rows like summer lightning; the burly frankness of the giant of a man in his loosely-caught frock coat all went to make up the genial Buster Bull, financier, newspaper proprietor, sportsman, and People's Cham pron.Denis Destin had seen him a score of times in the same Magog hall, dominating crowds of frightened, angry shareholders even as now he dominated the mass of city men, clerks, little tradesmen, and strug gling professional men, ranged before him, hanging on each period. From where he sat near the plat form, he caught the whitey-pallor and staring eye balls of the faces that resurrected themselves at the trumpet blast of the chairman, feeling that the Judg ment had come, their minds tense with battle.It was after the General Election. Democracy, insistent, blatant, had asserted itself at the polls. Labour sat in force in sacred Westminster. It was the beginning of the end.About the PublisherForgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.comThis book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

That, ladies and gentlemen, I take to be our replyto Socialist insolence. They have thrown down the red gauntlet to organised society .. .we, have taken it up The words came in florid periods, which rolled fluently from the loose-lipped mouth of the speaker. The good-humoured face, with the jaw of anE astE nd coster; short, pugnacious nose; the shrewd, luminous-grey eyes, which flickered athwart the packed rows like summer lightning; the burly frankness of the giant of a man in his loosely-caught frock coat all went to make up the genial Buster Bull, financier, newspaper proprietor, sportsman, and People sC hampion. Denis Destin had seen him a score of times in the same Magog hall, dominating crowds of frightened, angry shareholders even as now he dominated the mass of city men, clerks, little tradesmen, and struggling professional men, ranged before him, hanging on each period. From where he sat near the platform, he caught the whitey-pallor and staring eyeballs of the faces that resurrected themselves at the trumpet blast of the chairman, feeling that the Judgment had come, their minds tense with battle.(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)About the Publisher Forgotten Books is a publisher of historical writings, such as: Philosophy, Classics, Science, Religion, History, Folklore and Mythology.Forgotten Books' Classic Reprint Series utilizes the latest technology to regenerate facsimiles of historically important writings. Careful attention has been made to accurately preserve the original format of each page whilst digitally enhancing the aged text. Read books online for free at

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work.This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work.As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

We are delighted to publish this classic book as part of our extensive classic literature collection. This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts, We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. Also in books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy. We use state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works. OR reasons which many persons thought ridiculous, Mrs. Lightfoot Lee decided to pass the winter in Washington. She was in excellent health, but she said that the climate would do her good. In New York she had troops of friends, but she suddenly became eager to see again the very small number of those who lived on the Potomac. It was only to her closest intimates that she honestly acknowledged herself to be tortured by ennui. Since her husband's death, five years before, she had lost her taste for New York society; she had felt no interest in the price of stocks, and very little in the men who dealt in them; she had become serious. What was it all worth, this wilderness of men and women as monotonous as the brown stone houses they lived in? In her despair she had resorted to desperate measures. She had read philosophy in the original German, and the more she read, the more she was disheartened that so much culture should lead to nothing—nothing.

First published anonymously, March 1880, and soon in various unauthorized editions. It wasn't until the 1925 edition that Adams was listed as author. Henry Adams remarked (ironically as usual), "The wholesale piracy of Democracy was the single real triumph of my life."—it was very popular, as readers tried to guess who the author was and who the characters really were.

FOR reasons which many persons thought ridiculous, Mrs. Lightfoot Lee decided to pass the winter in Washington. She was in excellent health, but she said that the climate would do her good. In New York she had troops of friends, but she suddenly became eager to see again the very small number of those who lived on the Potomac. It was only to her closest intimates that she honestly acknowledged herself to be tortured by ennui. Since her husband's death, five years before, she had lost her taste for New York society; she had felt no interest in the price of stocks, and very little in the men who dealt in them; she had become serious. What was it all worth, this wilderness of men and women as monotonous as the brown stone houses they lived in? In her despair she had resorted to desperate measures. She had read philosophy in the original German, and the more she read, the more she was disheartened that so much culture should lead to nothing—nothing.After talking of Herbert Spencer for an entire evening with a very literary transcendental commission-merchant, she could not see that her time had been better employed than when in former days she had passed it in flirting with a very agreeable young stock-broker; indeed, there was an evident proof to the contrary, for the flirtation might lead to something—had, in fact, led to marriage; while the philosophy could lead to nothing, unless it were perhaps to another evening of the same kind, because transcendental philosophers are mostly elderly men, usually married, and, when engaged in business, somewhat apt to be sleepy towards evening. Nevertheless Mrs. Lee did her best to turn her study to practical use. She plunged into philanthropy, visited prisons, inspected hospitals, read the literature of pauperism and crime, saturated herself with the statistics of vice, until her mind had nearly lost sight of virtue. At last it rose in rebellion against her, and she came to the limit of her strength. This path, too, seemed to lead nowhere. She declared that she had lost the sense of duty, and that, so far as concerned her, all the paupers and criminals in New York might henceforward rise in their majesty and manage every railway on the continent. Why should she care? What was the city to her? She could find nothing in it that seemed to demand salvation. What gave peculiar sanctity to numbers? Why were a million people, who all resembled each other, any way more interesting than one person? What aspiration could she help to put into the mind of this great million-armed monster that would make it worth her love or respect? Religion? A thousand powerful churches were doing their best, and she could see no chance for a new faith of which she was to be the inspired prophet. Ambition? High popular ideals? Passion for whatever is lofty and pure? The very words irritated her. Was she not herself devoured by ambition, and was she not now eating her heart out because she could find no one object worth a sacrifice?Was it ambition—real ambition—or was it mere restlessness that made Mrs. Lightfoot Lee so bitter against New York and Philadelphia, Baltimore and Boston, American life in general and all life in particular? What did she want? Not social position, for she herself was an eminently respectable Philadelphian by birth; her father a famous clergyman; and her husband had been equally irreproachable, a descendant of one branch of the Virginia Lees, which had drifted to New York in search of fortune, and had found it, or enough of it to keep the young man there. His widow had her own place in society which no one disputed.

For reasons which many persons thought ridiculous, Mrs. Lightfoot Lee decided to pass the winter in Washington. She was in excellent health, but she said that the climate would do her good. In New York she had troops of friends, but she suddenly became eager to see again the very small number of those who lived on the Potomac. It was only to her closest intimates that she honestly acknowledged herself to be tortured by ennui. Since her husband's death, five years before, she had lost her taste for New York society; she had felt no interest in the price of stocks, and very little in the men who dealt in them; she had become serious. What was it all worth, this wilderness of men and women as monotonous as the brown stone houses they lived in? In her despair she had resorted to desperate measures. She had read philosophy in the original German, and the more she read, the more she was disheartened that so much culture should lead to nothing—nothing.

Henry Adams’ Democracy is a great novel that discusses the conflict between political and personal interest. Though written in the 1880’s and first published in 1918, the novel is as relevant today is it was a hundred years ago and a very deep and thought-provoking narrative, indeed. The protagonist of the story is Madeleine Lee, a 30-year-old widow from New York who becomes bored with her social life and decides to go to Washington with her sister to become involved in politics. She opens a salon in the capital and soon her guests include the most influential people in the city. She is soon courted by not one, but two men: Silas Ratcliffe, a politician who wants to marry Madeleine in order to promote his political career and John Carrington, who truly loves Madeleine. Ratcliffe uses his influence to eliminate his competitor by offering him a remote, but well-paying job, thus trying to get closer to Madeleine.

FOR reasons which many persons thought ridiculous, Mrs. Lightfoot Lee decided to pass the winter in Washington. She was in excellent health, but she said that the climate would do her good. In New York she had troops of friends, but she suddenly became eager to see again the very small number of those who lived on the Potomac. It was only to her closest intimates that she honestly acknowledged herself to be tortured by ennui. Since her husband's death, five years before, she had lost her taste for New York society; she had felt no interest in the price of stocks, and very little in the men who dealt in them; she had become serious. What was it all worth, this wilderness of men and women as monotonous as the brown stone houses they lived in? In her despair she had resorted to desperate measures. She had read philosophy in the original German, and the more she read, the more she was disheartened that so much culture should lead to nothing-nothing.