Books with title The Moon Maid: Original Text

IT rose for them—their honey-moon—over the waters of a lake so famed as the scene of romantic raptures that they were rather proud of not having been afraid to choose it as the setting of their own. “It required a total lack of humour, or as great a gift for it as ours, to risk the experiment,” Susy Lansing opined, as they hung over the inevitable marble balustrade and watched their tutelary orb roll its magic carpet across the waters to their feet. “Yes—or the loan of Strefford’s villa,” her husband emended, glancing upward through the branches at a long low patch of paleness to which the moonlight was beginning to give the form of a white house-front. “Oh, come when we’d five to choose from. At least if you count the Chicago flat.” “So we had—you wonder!” He laid his hand on hers, and his touch renewed the sense of marvelling exultation which the deliberate survey of their adventure always roused in her.... It was characteristic that she merely added, in her steady laughing tone: “Or, not counting the flat—for I hate to brag—just consider the others: Violet Melrose’s place at Versailles, your aunt’s villa at Monte Carlo—and a moor!” She was conscious of throwing in the moor tentatively, and yet with a somewhat exaggerated emphasis, as if to make sure that he shouldn’t accuse her of slurring it over. But he seemed to have no desire to do so. “Poor old Fred!” he merely remarked; and she breathed out carelessly: “Oh, well—” His hand still lay on hers, and for a long interval, while they stood silent in the enveloping loveliness of the night, she was aware only of the warm current running from palm to palm, as the moonlight below them drew its line of magic from shore to shore. Nick Lansing spoke at last. “Versailles in May would have been impossible: all our Paris crowd would have run us down within twenty-four hours. And Monte Carlo is ruled out because it’s exactly the kind of place everybody expected us to go. So—with all respect to you—it wasn’t much of a mental strain to decide on Como.” His wife instantly challenged this belittling of her capacity. “It took a good deal of argument to convince you that we could face the ridicule of Como!” “Well, I should have preferred something in a lower key; at least I thought I should till we got here. Now I see that this place is idiotic unless one is perfectly happy; and that then it’s—as good as any other.”

All Ludstadt was in an uproar. The mad king had escaped. For ten years no man of them all had set eyes upon the face of the boy-king who had been hastened to the grim castle of Blentz upon the death of the old king, his father. Into this troubled country came Barney Custer of Beatrice, Nebraska, a virtual twin of the mad king. Burroughs wrote this tale of confused identity and royal intrigue in 1914-15, just as World War I was about to begin, and the events that led to the war inform the book as Burroughs wrote. It means to be an homage to Anthony Hope’s Prisoner of Zenda but the war’s influcence makes it a very different story from Hope’s almost-whimsical novel.There had been murmurings then when the lad’s uncle, Peter of Blentz, had announced to the people of Lutha the sudden mental affliction which had fallen upon his nephew, and more murmurings for a time after the announcement that Peter of Blentz had been appointed Regent during the lifetime of the young King Leopold, “or until God, in His infinite mercy, shall see fit to restore to us in full mental vigor our beloved monarch.”But ten years is a long time. The boy-king had become but a vague memory to the subjects who could recall him at all.There were many, of course, in the capital city, Lustadt, who still retained a mental picture of the handsome boy who had ridden out nearly every morning from the palace gates beside the tall, martial figure of the old king, his father, for a canter across the broad plain which lies at the foot of the mountain town of Lustadt; but even these had long since given up hope that their young king would ever ascend his throne, or even that they should see him alive again.Peter of Blentz had not proved a good or kind ruler. Taxes had doubled during his regency. Executives and judiciary, following the example of their chief, had become tyrannical and corrupt. For ten years there had been small joy in Lutha.

I WAS BORN in the Teivos of Chicago on January 1st, 2100, to Julian 8th and Elizabeth James. My father and mother were not married as marriages had long since become illegal. I was called Julian 9th. My parents were of the rapidly diminishing intellectual class and could both read and write. This learning they imparted to me, although it was very useless learning-it was their religion. Printing was a lost art and the last of the public libraries had been destroyed almost a hundred years before I reached maturity, so there was little or nothing to read, while to have a book in one's possession was to brand one as of the hated intellectuals, arousing the scorn and derision of the Kalkar rabble and the suspicion and persecution of the lunar authorities who ruled.The first twenty years of my life were uneventful. As a boy I played among the crumbling ruins of what must once have been a magnificent city. Pillaged, looted and burned half a hundred times Chicago still reared the skeletons of some mighty edifices above the ashes of her former greatness. As a youth I regretted the departed romance of the long gone days of my fore-fathers when the earth men still retained sufficient strength to battle for existence. I deplored the quiet stagnation of my own time with only an occasional murder to break the monotony of our bleak existence, Even the Kalkar Guard stationed on the shore of the great lake seldom harassed us, unless there came an urgent call from higher authorities for an additional tax collection, for we fed them well and they had the pick of our women and young girls-almost, but not quite as you shall see.

All Ludstadt was in an uproar. The mad king had escaped. For ten years no man of them all had set eyes upon the face of the boy-king who had been hastened to the grim castle of Blentz upon the death of the old king, his father. Into this troubled country came Barney Custer of Beatrice, Nebraska, a virtual twin of the mad king. Burroughs wrote this tale of confused identity and royal intrigue in 1914-15, just as World War I was about to begin, and the events that led to the war inform the book as Burroughs wrote. It means to be an homage to Anthony Hope’s Prisoner of Zenda but the war’s influcence makes it a very different story from Hope’s almost-whimsical novel.All Lustadt was in an uproar. The mad king had escaped. Little knots of excited men stood upon the street corners listening to each latest rumor concerning this most absorbing occurrence. Before the palace a great crowd surged to and fro, awaiting they knew not what.

All Lustadt was in an uproar. The mad king had escaped. Little knots of excited men stoodupon the street corners listening to each latest rumor concerning this most absorbingoccurrence. Before the palace a great crowd surged to and fro, awaiting they knew notwhat.For ten years no man of them had set eyes upon the face of the boy-king who had beenhastened to the grim castle of Blentz upon the death of the old king, his father.There had been murmurings then when the lad's uncle, Peter of Blentz, had announced tothe people of Lutha the sudden mental affliction which had fallen upon his nephew, andmore murmurings for a time after the announcement that Peter of Blentz had beenappointed Regent during the lifetime of the young King Leopold, "or until God, in Hisinfinite mercy, shall see fit to restore to us in full mental vigor our beloved monarch."But ten years is a long time. The boy-king had become but a vague memory to the subjectswho could recall him at all.There were many, of course, in the capital city, Lustadt, who still retained a mental pictureof the handsome boy who had ridden out nearly every morning from the palace gatesbeside the tall, martial figure of the old king, his father, for a canter across the broad plainwhich lies at the foot of the mountain town of Lustadt; but even these had long since givenup hope that their young king would ever ascend his throne, or even that they should seehim alive again.

Nellie March and Jill Banford manage an ailing Berkshire farm at the time of the First World War, a task which is made all the more complicated by the frequent rampages of a local fox through their chicken coop. When a young soldier turns up and begins to wrest control of the farm by asserting his own ideas for its management, the two women must find ways to react to this new fox in their midst. A compelling study of the question of power, gender and sexuality, as well as a realistic portrayal of wartime rural England, The Fox showcases Lawrence’s inimitable gift for psychological observation and dramatic description.

I PACED alone on the road across the field while the sunset was hiding its last gold like a miser.The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the widowed land, whose harvesthad been reaped, lay silent.Suddenly a boy's shrill voice rose into the sky. He traversed the dark unseen, leaving the trackof his song across the hush of the evening.His village home lay there at the end of the waste land, beyond the sugar-cane field, hiddenamong the shadows of the banana and the slender areca palm, the cocoa-nut and the dark greenjack-fruit trees.I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight, and saw spread before me thedarkened earth surrounding with her arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds, mothers' hearts and evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that knows nothing ofits value for the world

In the late twentieth century, Admiral Julian 3rd can get no rest, for he knows his future. He will be reborn as his grandson in the next century to journey through space and make an ominous discovery inside the moon; he will live again in the dark years of the twenty-second century as Julian 9th, who refuses to bow down to the victorious Moon Men; and as Julian 20th, the fierce Red Hawk, he will lead humanity’s final battle against the alien invaders in the twenty-fifth century.I MET HIM in the Blue Room of the Transoceanic Liner Harding the night of Mars Day–June 10, 1967. I had been wandering about the city for several hours prior to the sailing of the flier watching the celebration, dropping in at various places that I might see as much as possible of scenes that doubtless will never again be paralleled—a world gone mad with joy. There was only one vacant chair in the Blue Room and that at a small table at which he was already seated alone. I asked his permission and he graciously invited me to join him, rising as he did so, his face lighting with a smile that compelled my liking from the first.

In the late twentieth century, Admiral Julian 3rd can get no rest, for he knows his future. He will be reborn as his grandson in the next century to journey through space and make an ominous discovery inside the moon; he will live again in the dark years of the twenty-second century as Julian 9th, who refuses to bow down to the victorious Moon Men; and as Julian 20th, the fierce Red Hawk, he will lead humanity's final battle against the alien invaders in the twenty-fifth century. The Moon Maid is Edgar Rice Burroughs's stunning epic of a world conquered by alien invaders from the moon and of the hero Julian, who champions the earth's struggle for freedom, peace, and dignity.

In the late twentieth century, Admiral Julian 3rd can get no rest, for he knows his future. He will be reborn as his grandson in the next century to journey through space and make an ominous discovery inside the moon; he will live again in the dark years of the twenty-second century as Julian 9th, who refuses to bow down to the victorious Moon Men; and as Julian 20th, the fierce Red Hawk, he will lead humanity's final battle against the alien invaders in the twenty-fifth century. The Moon Maid is Edgar Rice Burroughs's stunning epic of a world conquered by alien invaders from the moon and of the hero Julian, who champions the earth's struggle for freedom, peace, and dignity.

The adventures of Billy Byrne, thug and gunman, in the underworld of Chicago and San Francisco, and on his mysterious cruise to the unexplored islands of the Pacific, make a yarn as strange and as vivid as even the famous Tarzan tales. A woman–“one o’ them high-brow skirts”–taught Billy the real meaning of the word “coward”. And the most astonishing thing in the book is the development of character of these two whom fate threw together in the strangest of circumstances.BILLY BYRNE was a product of the streets and alleys of Chicago’s great West Side. From Halsted to Robey, and from Grand Avenue to Lake Street there was scarce a bartender whom Billy knew not by his first name. And, in proportion to their number which was considerably less, he knew the patrolmen and plain clothes men equally as well, but not so pleasantly.His kindergarten education had commenced in an alley back of a feed–store. Here a gang of older boys and men were wont to congregate at such times as they had naught else to occupy their time, and as the bridewell was the only place in which they ever held a job for more than a day or two, they had considerable time to devote to congregating.They were pickpockets and second–story men, made and in the making, and all were muckers, ready to insult the first woman who passed, or pick a quarrel with any stranger who did not appear too burly. By night they plied their real vocations. By day they sat in the alley behind the feedstore and drank beer from a battered tin pail.