grin publishing jan 2009 (70 Ergebnisse)

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. Neuware - Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Romance Languages - French Literature, , language: English, abstract: BOOK FIFTH. THE DESCENT\*\*\*CHAPTER I. THE HISTORY OF A PORGRESS IN BLACK GLASS TRINKETS\*\*\*And in the meantime, what had become of that mother who according to the people at Montfermeil, seemed to have abandoned her child Where was she What was she doing After leaving her little Cosette with the Thenardiers, she had continued her journey, and had reached M. sur M.This, it will be remembered, was in 1818.Fantine had quitted her province ten years before. M. sur M. had changed its aspect. While Fantine had been slowly descending from wretchedness to wretchedness, her native town had prospered.About two years previously one of those industrial facts which are the grand events of small districts had taken place.This detail is important, and we regard it as useful to develop it at length; we should almost say, to underline it.[.]\*\*\*BOOK SIXTH. JAVERT\*\*\*CHAPTER I. THE BEGINNING OF REPOSE\*\*\*M. Madeleine had Fantine removed to that infirmary which he had established in his own house. He confided her to the sisters, who put her to bed. A burning fever had come on. She passed a part of the night in delirium and raving. At length, however, she fell asleep.On the morrow, towards midday, Fantine awoke. She heard some one breathing close to her bed; she drew aside the curtain and saw M. Madeleine standing there and looking at something over her head. His gaze was full of pity, anguish, and supplication. She followed its direction, and saw that it was fixed on a crucifix which was nailed to the wall.Thenceforth, M. Madeleine was transfigured in Fantine's eyes. He seemed to her to be clothed in light. He was absorbed in a sort of prayer. She gazed at him for a long time without daring to interrupt him. At last she said timidly:--'What are you doing 'M. Madeleine had been there for an hour. He had been waiting for Fantine to awake. He took her hand, felt of her pulse, and replied:'How do you feel ''Well, I have slept,' she replied; 'I think that I am better, It is nothing.'He answered, responding to the first question which she had put to him as though he had just heard it:'I was praying to the martyr there on high.'[.].

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. Neuware - Classic from the year 2008 in the subject English Language and Literature Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: AFTER having been twice driven back by heavy southwestern gales, Her Majesty's ship Beagle, a ten-gun brig, under the command of Captain Fitz Roy, R. N., sailed from Devonport on the 27th of December, 1831. The object of the expedition was to complete the survey of Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego, commenced under Captain King in 1826 to 1830, -- to survey the shores of Chile, Peru, and of some islands in the Pacific -- and to carry a chain of chronometrical measurements round the World. On the 6th of January we reached Teneriffe, but were prevented landing, by fears of our bringing the cholera: the next morning we saw the sun rise behind the rugged outline of the Grand Canary island, and suddenly illuminate the Peak of Teneriffe, whilst the lower parts were veiled in fleecy clouds. This was the first of many delightful days never to be forgotten. On the 16th of January, 1832, we anchored at Porto Praya, in St. Jago, the chief island of the Cape de Verd archipelago.The neighbourhood of Porto Praya, viewed from the sea, wears a desolate aspect. The volcanic fires of a past age, and the scorching heat of a tropical sun, have in most places rendered the soil unfit for vegetation. The country rises in successive steps of table-land, interspersed with some truncate conical hills, and the horizon is bounded by an irregular chain of more lofty mountains. The scene, as beheld through the hazy atmosphere of this climate, is one of great interest; if, indeed, a person, fresh from sea, and who has just walked, for the first time, in a grove of cocoa-nut trees, can be a judge of anything but his own happiness. The island would generally be considered as very uninteresting, but to anyone accustomed only to an English landscape, the novel aspect of an utterly sterile land possesses a grandeur which more vegetation might spoil. A single green leaf can scarcely be discovered over wide tracts of the lava plains; yet flocks of goats, together with a few cows, contrive to exist. It rains very seldom, but during a short portion of the year heavy torrents fall, and immediately afterwards a light vegetation springs out of every crevice. This soon withers; and upon such naturally formed hay the animals live. It had not now rained for an entire year.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject American Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: Chapter 1'TOM!' No answer. 'TOM!' No answer. 'What's gone with that boy, I wonder You TOM!' No answer. The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or never looked THROUGH them for so small a thing as a boy; they were her state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for 'style,' not service - she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well. She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but still loud enough for the furniture to hear: 'Well, I lay if I get hold of you I'll - ' She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat. 'I never did see the beat of that boy!' She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the tomato vines and 'jimpson' weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted: 'Y-o-u-u TOM!' There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight. 'There! I might 'a' thought of that closet. What you been doing in there ' 'Nothing.' 'Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What IS that truck ' 'I don't know, aunt.' 'Well, I know. It's jam - that's what it is. Forty times I've said if you didn't let that jam alone I'd skin you. Hand me that switch.' The switch hovered in the air - the peril was desperate - 'My! Look behind you, aunt!' The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger. The lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and disappeared over it. His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle laugh.[.] 192 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject English Language and Literature Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: To Be Read at DuskOne, two, three, four, five. There were five of them.Five couriers, sitting on a bench outside the convent on the summit of the Great St. Bernard in Switzerland, looking at the remote heights, stained by the setting sun as if a mighty quantity of red wine had been broached upon the mountain top, and had not yet had time to sink into the snow.[.]\*\*\*The Trial for MurderI have always noticed a prevalent want of courage, even among persons of superior intelligence and culture, as to imparting their own psychological experiences when those have been of a strange sort. [.]\*\*\*A Walk in a WorkhouseOn a certain Sunday, I formed one of the congregation assembled in the chapel of a large metropolitan Workhouse. With the exception of the clergyman and clerk, and a very few officials, there were none but paupers present. [.]\*\*\*What Christmas Is as We Grow OlderTime was, with most of us, when Christmas Day encircling all our limited world like a magic ring, left nothing out for us to miss or seek; bound together all our home enjoyments, affections, and hopes; grouped everything and every one around the Christmas fire; and made the little picture shining in our bright young eyes, complete.[.]\*\*\*The Wreck of the Golden MaryTHE WRECKI was apprenticed to the Sea when I was twelve years old, and I have encountered a great deal of rough weather, both literal and metaphorical. It has always been my opinion since I first possessed such a thing as an opinion, that the man who knows only one subject is next tiresome to the man who knows no subject.[.]\*\*\*A Message from the SeaCHAPTER I - THE VILLAGE'And a mighty sing'lar and pretty place it is, as ever I saw in all the days of my life!' said Captain Jorgan, looking up at it.Captain Jorgan had to look high to look at it, for the village was built sheer up the face of a steep and lofty cliff. There was no road in it, there was no wheeled vehicle in it, there was not a level yard in it. [.] 124 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Romance Languages - French Literature, , language: English, abstract: BOOK SIXTH - LE PETIT-PICPUS\*\*\*CHAPTER I. NUMBER 62 RUE PETIT-PICPUS\*\*\*Nothing, half a century ago, more resembled every other carriage gate than the carriage gate of Number 62 Rue Petit-Picpus. This entrance, which usually stood ajar in the most inviting fashion, permitted a view of two things, neither of which have anything very funereal about them,--a courtyard surrounded by walls hung with vines, and the face of a lounging porter. Above the wall, at the bottom of the court, tall trees were visible. When a ray of sunlight enlivened the courtyard, when a glass of wine cheered up the porter, it was difficult to pass Number 62 Little Picpus Street without carrying away a smiling impression of it. Nevertheless, it was a sombre place of which one had had a glimpse.[.]\*\*\*BOOK SEVENTH. PARENTHESIS\*\*\*CHAPTER I. THE CONVENT AS AN ABSTRACT IDEA\*\*\*\*This book is a drama, whose leading personage is the Infinite.Man is the second.Such being the case, and a convent having happened to be on our road, it has been our duty to enter it. Why Because the convent, which is common to the Orient as well as to the Occident, to antiquity as well as to modern times, to paganism, to Buddhism, to Mahometanism, as well as to Christianity, is one of the optical apparatuses applied by man to the Infinite.This is not the place for enlarging disproportionately on certain ideas; nevertheless, while absolutely maintaining our reserves, our restrictions, and even our indignations, we must say that every time we encounter man in the Infinite, either well or ill understood, we feel ourselves overpowered with respect. There is, in the synagogue, in the mosque, in the pagoda, in the wigwam, a hideous side which we execrate, and a sublime side, which we adore. What a contemplation for the mind, and what endless food for thought, is the reverberation of God upon the human wall![.] 48 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Romance Languages - French Literature, , language: English, abstract: BOOK F SECOND. THE FALL\*\*\*CHAPTER I. THE EVENING OF A DAY OF WALKING\*\*\*Early in the month of October, 1815, about an hour before sunset, a man who was travelling on foot entered the little town of D---- The few inhabitants who were at their windows or on their thresholds at the moment stared at this traveller with a sort of uneasiness. It was difficult to encounter a wayfarer of more wretched appearance. He was a man of medium stature, thickset and robust, in the prime of life. He might have been forty-six or forty-eight years old. A cap with a drooping leather visor partly concealed his face, burned and tanned by sun and wind, and dripping with perspiration. His shirt of coarse yellow linen, fastened at the neck by a small silver anchor, permitted a view of his hairy breast: he had a cravat twisted into a string; trousers of blue drilling, worn and threadbare, white on one knee and torn on the other; an old gray, tattered blouse, patched on one of the elbows with a bit of green cloth sewed on with twine; a tightly packed soldier knapsack, well buckled and perfectly new, on his back; an enormous, knotty stick in his hand; iron-shod shoes on his stockingless feet; a shaved head and a long beard.The sweat, the heat, the journey on foot, the dust, added I know not what sordid quality to this dilapidated whole. His hair was closely cut, yet bristling, for it had begun to grow a little, and did not seem to have been cut for some time.No one knew him. He was evidently only a chance passer-by. Whence came he From the south; from the seashore, perhaps, for he made his entrance into D---- by the same street which, seven months previously, had witnessed the passage of the Emperor Napoleon on his way from Cannes to Paris. This man must have been walking all day. He seemed very much fatigued. Some women of the ancient market town which is situated below the city had seen him pause beneath the trees of the boulevard Gassendi, and drink at the fountain which stands at the end of the promenade. He must have been very thirsty: for the children who followed him saw him stop again for a drink, two hundred paces further on, at the fountain in the market-place.[.] 64 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject American Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: Chapter 1YOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly -- Tom's Aunt Polly, she is -- and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before. Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six thousand dollars apiece -- all gold. It was an awful sight of money when it was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year round -- more than a body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand it no longer I lit out. I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead again, and was free and satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and said he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I would go back to the widow and be respectable. So I went back. The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by it. She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing but sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up. Well, then, the old thing commenced again. The widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come to time. When you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating, but you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little over the victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with them, -- that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. In a barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better. [.] 260 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Romance Languages - French Literature, , language: English, abstract: BOOK FIRST. WATERLOO\*\*\*CHAPTER I. WHAT IS MET WITH ON THE WAY FROM NIVELLES\*\*\*Last year (1861), on a beautiful May morning, a traveller, the person who is telling this story, was coming from Nivelles, and directing his course towards La Hulpe. He was on foot. He was pursuing a broad paved road, which undulated between two rows of trees, over the hills which succeed each other, raise the road and let it fall again, and produce something in the nature of enormous waves.He had passed Lillois and Bois-Seigneur-Isaac. In the west he perceived the slate-roofed tower of Braine-l'Alleud, which has the form of a reversed vase. He had just left behind a wood upon an eminence; and at the angle of the cross-road, by the side of a sort of mouldy gibbet bearing the inscription Ancient Barrier No. 4, a public house, bearing on its front this sign: At the Four Winds (Aux Quatre Vents). Echabeau, Private Cafe.A quarter of a league further on, he arrived at the bottom of a little valley, where there is water which passes beneath an arch made through the embankment of the road. The clump of sparsely planted but very green trees, which fills the valley on one side of the road, is dispersed over the meadows on the other, and disappears gracefully and as in order in the direction of Braine-l'Alleud.On the right, close to the road, was an inn, with a four-wheeled cart at the door, a large bundle of hop-poles, a plough, a heap of dried brushwood near a flourishing hedge, lime smoking in a square hole, and a ladder suspended along an old penthouse with straw partitions. A young girl was weeding in a field, where a huge yellow poster, probably of some outside spectacle, such as a parish festival, was fluttering in the wind. At one corner of the inn, beside a pool in which a flotilla of ducks was navigating, a badly paved path plunged into the bushes. The wayfarer struck into this.After traversing a hundred paces, skirting a wall of the fifteenth century, surmounted by a pointed gable, with bricks set in contrast, he found himself before a large door of arched stone, with a rectilinear impost, in the sombre style of Louis XIV., flanked by two flat medallions. A severe facade rose above this door; a wall, perpendicular to the facade, almost touched the door, and flanked it with an abrupt right angle. In the meadow before the door lay three harrows, through which, in disorder, grew all the flowers of May. The door was closed.[.] 60 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Romance Languages - French Literature, , language: English, abstract: BOOK EIGHTH. A COUNTER-BLOW\*\*\*CHAPTER I. IN WHAT MIRROR M. MADELEINE CONTEMPLATES HIS HAIR\*\*\*The day had begun to dawn. Fantine had passed a sleepless and feverish night, filled with happy visions; at daybreak she fell asleep. Sister Simplice, who had been watching with her, availed herself of this slumber to go and prepare a new potion of chinchona. The worthy sister had been in the laboratory of the infirmary but a few moments, bending over her drugs and phials, and scrutinizing things very closely, on account of the dimness which the half-light of dawn spreads over all objects. Suddenly she raised her head and uttered a faint shriek. M. Madeleine stood before her; he had just entered silently.'Is it you, Mr. Mayor ' she exclaimed.He replied in a low voice:'How is that poor woman ''Not so bad just now; but we have been very uneasy.'She explained to him what had passed: that Fantine had been very ill the day before, and that she was better now, because she thought that the mayor had gone to Montfermeil to get her child. The sister dared not question the mayor; but she perceived plainly from his air that he had not come from there.'All that is good,' said he; 'you were right not to undeceive her.''Yes,' responded the sister; 'but now, Mr. Mayor, she will see you and will not see her child. What shall we say to her 'He reflected for a moment.'God will inspire us,' said he.'But we cannot tell a lie,' murmured the sister, half aloud.It was broad daylight in the room. The light fell full on M. Madeleine's face. The sister chanced to raise her eyes to it.[.] 28 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Romance Languages - French Literature, , language: English, abstract: BOOK SECOND. THE SHIP ORION\*\*\*CHAPTER I. NUMBER 24,601 BECOMES NUMBER 9,430\*\*\*Jean Valjean had been recaptured.The reader will be grateful to us if we pass rapidly over the sad details. We will confine ourselves to transcribing two paragraphs published by the journals of that day, a few months after the surprising events which had taken place at M. sur M.These articles are rather summary. It must be remembered, that at that epoch the Gazette des Tribunaux was not yet in existence.We borrow the first from the Drapeau Blanc. It bears the date of July 25, 1823.An arrondissement of the Pas de Calais has just been the theatre of an event quite out of the ordinary course. A man, who was a stranger in the Department, and who bore the name of M. Madeleine, had, thanks to the new methods, resuscitated some years ago an ancient local industry, the manufacture of jet and of black glass trinkets. He had made his fortune in the business, and that of the arrondissement as well, we will admit. He had been appointed mayor, in recognition of his services. The police discovered that M. Madeleine was no other than an ex-convict who had broken his ban, condemned in 1796 for theft, and named Jean Valjean. Jean Valjean has been recommitted to prison.[.]\*\*\*BOOK THIRD. ACCOMPLISHMENT OF THE PROMISE MADE TO A DEAD WOMAN\*\*\*CHAPTER I. THE WATER QUESTION AT MONTFERMEIL\*\*\*Montfermeil is situated between Livry and Chelles, on the southern edge of that lofty table-land which separates the Ourcq from the Marne. At the present day it is a tolerably large town, ornamented all the year through with plaster villas, and on Sundays with beaming bourgeois. In 1823 there were at Montfermeil neither so many white houses nor so many well-satisfied citizens: it was only a village in the forest. Some pleasure-houses of the last century were to be met with there, to be sure, which were recognizable by their grand air, their balconies in twisted iron, and their long windows, whose tiny panes cast all sorts of varying shades of green on the white of the closed shutters; but Montfermeil was none the less a village. Retired cloth-merchants and rusticating attorneys had not discovered it as yet; it was a peaceful and charming place, which was not on the road to anywhere: there people lived, and cheaply, that peasant rustic life which is so bounteous and so easy; only, water was rare there, on account of the elevation of the plateau.[.] 76 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Romance Languages - French Literature, , language: English, abstract: BOOK THIRD. IN THE YEAR 1817\*\*\*CHAPTER I. IN THE YEAR 1817\*\*\*1817 is the year which Louis XVIII., with a certain royal assurance which was not wanting in pride, entitled the twenty-second of his reign. It is the year in which M. Bruguiere de Sorsum was celebrated. All the hairdressers' shops, hoping for powder and the return of the royal bird, were besmeared with azure and decked with fleurs-de-lys. It was the candid time at which Count Lynch sat every Sunday as church-warden in the church-warden's pew of Saint-Germain-des-Pres, in his costume of a peer of France, with his red ribbon and his long nose and the majesty of profile peculiar to a man who has performed a brilliant action. The brilliant action performed by M. Lynch was this: being mayor of Bordeaux, on the 12th of March, 1814, he had surrendered the city a little too promptly to M. the Duke d'Angouleme. Hence his peerage. In 1817 fashion swallowed up little boys of from four to six years of age in vast caps of morocco leather with ear-tabs resembling Esquimaux mitres. The French army was dressed in white, after the mode of the Austrian; the regiments were called legions; instead of numbers they bore the names of departments; Napoleon was at St. Helena; and since England refused him green cloth, he was having his old coats turned.[.]\*\*\*BOOK FOURTH. TO CONFIDE IS SOMETIMES TO DELIVER INTO A PERSON'S POWER\*\*\*CHAPTER I. ONE MOTHER MEETS ANOTHER MOTHER\*\*\*There was, at Montfermeil, near Paris, during the first quarter of this century, a sort of cook-shop which no longer exists. This cook-shop was kept by some people named Thenardier, husband and wife. It was situated in Boulanger Lane. Over the door there was a board nailed flat against the wall. Upon this board was painted something which resembled a man carrying another man on his back, the latter wearing the big gilt epaulettes of a general, with large silver stars; red spots represented blood; the rest of the picture consisted of smoke, and probably represented a battle. Below ran this inscription: AT THE SIGN OF SERGEANT OF WATERLOO (Au Sargent de Waterloo).[.] 48 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Romance Languages - French Literature, , language: English, abstract: BOOK FOURTH. THE GORBEAU HOVEL\*\*\*CHAPTER I. MASTER GORBEAU\*\*\*Forty years ago, a rambler who had ventured into that unknown country of the Salpetriere, and who had mounted to the Barriere d'Italie by way of the boulevard, reached a point where it might be said that Paris disappeared. It was no longer solitude, for there were passers-by; it was not the country, for there were houses and streets; it was not the city, for the streets had ruts like highways, and the grass grew in them; it was not a village, the houses were too lofty. What was it, then It was an inhabited spot where there was no one; it was a desert place where there was some one; it was a boulevard of the great city, a street of Paris; more wild at night than the forest, more gloomy by day than a cemetery.It was the old quarter of the Marche-aux-Chevaux.[.]\*\*\*BOOK FIFTH. FOR A BLACK HUNT, A MUTE PACK[.]CHAPTER I. THE ZIGZAGS OF STRATEGY[.]An observation here becomes necessary, in view of the pages which the reader is about to peruse, and of others which will be met with further on.The author of this book, who regrets the necessity of mentioning himself, has been absent from Paris for many years. Paris has been transformed since he quitted it. A new city has arisen, which is, after a fashion, unknown to him. There is no need for him to say that he loves Paris: Paris is his mind's natal city. In consequence of demolitions and reconstructions, the Paris of his youth, that Paris which he bore away religiously in his memory, is now a Paris of days gone by. He must be permitted to speak of that Paris as though it still existed. It is possible that when the author conducts his readers to a spot and says, 'In such a street there stands such and such a house,' neither street nor house will any longer exist in that locality. Readers may verify the facts if they care to take the trouble. For his own part, he is unacquainted with the new Paris, and he writes with the old Paris before his eyes in an illusion which is precious to him. It is a delight to him to dream that there still lingers behind him something of that which he beheld when he was in his own country, and that all has not vanished.[.] 56 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Romance Languages - French Literature, , language: English, abstract: BOOK EIGHTH. CEMETARIES TAKE THAT WHICH IS COMMITED THEM\*\*\*CHAPTER I. WHICH TREATS OF THE MANNER OF ENTERING A CONVENT\*\*\*It was into this house that Jean Valjean had, as Fauchelevent expressed it, 'fallen from the sky.'He had scaled the wall of the garden which formed the angle of the Rue Polonceau. That hymn of the angels which he had heard in the middle of the night, was the nuns chanting matins; that hall, of which he had caught a glimpse in the gloom, was the chapel. That phantom which he had seen stretched on the ground was the sister who was making reparation; that bell, the sound of which had so strangely surprised him, was the gardener's bell attached to the knee of Father Fauchelevent.Cosette once put to bed, Jean Valjean and Fauchelevent had, as we have already seen, supped on a glass of wine and a bit of cheese before a good, crackling fire; then, the only bed in the hut being occupied by Cosette, each threw himself on a truss of straw.Before he shut his eyes, Jean Valjean said: 'I must remain here henceforth.' This remark trotted through Fauchelevent's head all night long.To tell the truth, neither of them slept.Jean Valjean, feeling that he was discovered and that Javert was on his scent, understood that he and Cosette were lost if they returned to Paris. Then the new storm which had just burst upon him had stranded him in this cloister. Jean Valjean had, henceforth, but one thought,-- to remain there. Now, for an unfortunate man in his position, this convent was both the safest and the most dangerous of places; the most dangerous, because, as no men might enter there, if he were discovered, it was a flagrant offence, and Jean Valjean would find but one step intervening between the convent and prison; the safest, because, if he could manage to get himself accepted there and remain there, who would ever seek him in such a place To dwell in an impossible place was safety.[.] 60 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject English Language and Literature Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: Hunted DownMost of us see some romances in life. In my capacity as Chief Manager of a Life Assurance Office, I think I have within the last thirty years seen more romances than the generality of men, however unpromising the opportunity may, at first sight, seem.[.]\*\*\*The Lamplighter'If you talk of Murphy and Francis Moore, gentlemen,' said the lamplighter who was in the chair, 'I mean to say that neither of 'em ever had any more to do with the stars than Tom Grig had.''And what had HE to do with 'em ' asked the lamplighter who officiated as vice.[.]\*\*\*The Long VoyageWHEN the wind is blowing and the sleet or rain is driving against the dark windows, I love to sit by the fire, thinking of what I have read in books of voyage and travel. Such books have had a strong fascination for my mind from my earliest childhood; and I wonder it should have come to pass that I never have been round the world, never have been shipwrecked, ice-environed, tomahawked, or eaten.[.]\*\*\*Lying Awake'MY uncle lay with his eyes half closed, and his nightcap drawn almost down to his nose. His fancy was already wandering, and began to mingle up the present scene with the crater of Vesuvius, the French Opera, the Coliseum at Rome, Dolly's Chop-house in London, and all the farrago of noted places with which the brain of a traveller is crammed; in a word, he was just falling asleep.'[.]\*\*\*A Monument of French FollyIT was profoundly observed by a witty member of the Court of Common Council, in Council assembled in the City of London, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty, that the French are a frog-eating people, who wear wooden shoes.[.]\*\*\*Mr. Robert Bolton: The 'Gentleman Connected with the Press'In the parlour of the Green Dragon, a public-house in the immediate neighbourhood of Westminster Bridge, everybody talks politics, every evening, the great political authority being Mr. Robert Bolton, an individual who defines himself as 'a gentleman connected with the press,' which is a definition of peculiar indefiniteness. [.]\*\*\*The Noble SavageTo come to the point at once, I beg to say that I have not the least belief in the Noble Savage. I consider him a prodigious nuisance, and an enormous superstition. His calling rum fire- water, and me a pale face, wholly fail to reconcile me to him. I don't care what he calls me. [.]\*\*\*[.] 128 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject English Language and Literature Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: Plated ArticlePutting up for the night in one of the chiefest towns of Staffordshire, I find it to be by no means a lively town. In fact, it is as dull and dead a town as any one could desire not to see. It seems as if its whole population might be imprisoned in its Railway Station. The Refreshment Room at that Station is a vortex of dissipation compared with the extinct town-inn, the Dodo, in the dull High Street.[.]\*\*\*A Poor Man's Tale of a PatentI am not used to writing for print. What working-man, that never labours less (some Mondays, and Christmas Time and Easter Time excepted) than twelve or fourteen hours a day, is But I have been asked to put down, plain, what I have got to say; and so I take pen-and-ink, and do it to the best of my power, hoping defects will find excuse.[.]\*\*\*The Poor Relation's StoryHe was very reluctant to take precedence of so many respected members of the family, by beginning the round of stories they were to relate as they sat in a goodly circle by the Christmas fire; and he modestly suggested that it would be more correct if 'John our esteemed host' (whose health he begged to drink) would have the kindness to begin.[.]\*\*\*Prince BullOnce upon a time, and of course it was in the Golden Age, and I hope you may know when that was, for I am sure I don't, though I have tried hard to find out, there lived in a rich and fertile country, a powerful Prince whose name was BULL.[.]\*\*\*Public Life of Mr. Tulrumble - Once Mayor of MudfogMudfog is a pleasant town-a remarkably pleasant town-situated in a charming hollow by the side of a river, from which river, Mudfog derives an agreeable scent of pitch, tar, coals, and rope-yarn, a roving population in oilskin hats, a pretty steady influx of drunken bargemen, and a great many other maritime advantages.[.]\*\*\*The Schoolboy's StoryBeing rather young at present-I am getting on in years, but still I am rather young-I have no particular adventures of my own to fall back upon.[.]\*\*\*The Seven Poor TravellersStrictly speaking, there were only six Poor Travellers; but, being a Traveller myself, though an idle one, and being withal as poor as I hope to be, I brought the number up to seven.[.]\*\*\*The Signal Man'Halloa! Below there!'When he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was standing at the door of his box, with a flag in his hand, furled round its short pole.[.] 128 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject English Language and Literature Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: Our BoreIT is unnecessary to say that we keep a bore. Everybody does. But, the bore whom we have the pleasure and honour of enumerating among our particular friends, is such a generic bore, and has so many traits (as it appears to us) in common with the great bore family, that we are tempted to make him the subject of the present notes. May he be generally accepted![.]\*\*\*Our English Watering-PlaceIn the Autumn-time of the year, when the great metropolis is so much hotter, so much noisier, so much more dusty or so much more water-carted, so much more crowded, so much more disturbing and distracting in all respects, than it usually is, a quiet sea-beach becomes indeed a blessed spot.[.]\*\*\*Our French Watering-PlaceHaving earned, by many years of fidelity, the right to be sometimes inconstant to our English watering-place, we have dallied for two or three seasons with a French watering-place: once solely known to us as a town with a very long street, beginning with an abattoir and ending with a steam-boat, which it seemed our fate to behold only at daybreak on winter mornings, when (in the days before continental railroads), just sufficiently awake to know that we were most uncomfortably asleep, it was our destiny always to clatter through it, in the coupe of the diligence from Paris, with a sea of mud behind us, and a sea of tumbling waves before.[.]\*\*\*Our Honourable FriendWe are delighted to find that he has got in! Our honourable friend is triumphantly returned to serve in the next Parliament. He is the honourable member for Verbosity - the best represented place in England.[.]\*\*\*Our SchoolWe went to look at it, only this last Midsummer, and found that the Railway had cut it up root and branch. A great trunk-line had swallowed the playground, sliced away the schoolroom, and pared off the corner of the house: which, thus curtailed of its proportions, presented itself, in a green stage of stucco, profilewise towards the road, like a forlorn flat-iron without a handle, standing on end.[.]\*\*\*Our VestryWe have the glorious privilege of being always in hot water if we like. We are a shareholder in a Great Parochial British Joint Stock Bank of Balderdash. [.]\*\*\*Out of the SeasonIt fell to my lot, this last bleak Spring, to find myself in a watering-place out of the Season. A vicious north-east squall blew me into it from foreign parts, and I tarried in it alone for three days, resolved to be exceedingly busy.[.]\*\*\*[.] 152 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject English Language and Literature Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy\*\*\*CHAPTER I - MRS. LIRRIPER RELATES HOW SHE WENT ON, AND WENT OVER\*\*\*Ah! It's pleasant to drop into my own easy-chair my dear though a little palpitating what with trotting up-stairs and what with trotting down, and why kitchen stairs should all be corner stairs is for the builders to justify though I do not think they fully understand their trade and never did, else why the sameness and why not more conveniences and fewer draughts and likewise making a practice of laying the plaster on too thick I am well convinced which holds the damp, and as to chimney-pots putting them on by guess-work like hats at a party and no more knowing what their effect will be upon the smoke bless you than I do if so much, except that it will mostly be either to send it down your throat in a straight form or give it a twist before it goes there. [.]\*\*\*Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings\*\*\*CHAPTER I - HOW MRS. LIRRIPER CARRIED ON THE BUSINESS\*\*\*Whoever would begin to be worried with letting Lodgings that wasn't a lone woman with a living to get is a thing inconceivable to me, my dear; excuse the familiarity, but it comes natural to me in my own little room, when wishing to open my mind to those that I can trust, and I should be truly thankful if they were all mankind, but such is not so, for have but a Furnished bill in the window and your watch on the mantelpiece, and farewell to it if you turn your back for but a second, however gentlemanly the manners; nor is being of your own sex any safeguard, as I have reason, in the form of sugar-tongs to know, for that lady (and a fine woman she was) got me to run for a glass of water, on the plea of going to be confined, which certainly turned out true, but it was in the Station-house.[.]\*\*\*Mugby Junction\*\*\*Chapter I--Barbox Brothers\*\*\*'Guard! What place is this ''Mugby Junction, sir.''A windy place!''Yes, it mostly is, sir.''And looks comfortless indeed!''Yes, it generally does, sir.''Is it a rainy night still ''Pours, sir.''Open the door. I'll get out.''You'll have, sir,' said the guard, glistening with drops of wet, and looking at the tearful face of his watch by the light of his lantern as the traveller descended, 'three minutes here.''More, I think.--For I am not going on.''Thought you had a through ticket, sir ''So I have, but I shall sacrifice the rest of it. I want my luggage.'[.] 148 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject Philosophy - Philosophy of the 17th and 18th Centuries, , language: English, abstract: Sect. I. Of the different Species of Philosophy: Moral philosophy, or the science of human nature, may be treated after two different manners; each of which has its peculiar merit, and may contribute to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation of mankind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action; and as influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment; pursuing one object, and avoiding another, according to the value which these objects seem to possess, and according to the light in which they present themselves. As virtue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most valuable, this species of philosophers paint her in the most amiable colours; borrowing all helps from poetry and eloquence, and treating their subject in an easy and obvious manner, and such as is best fitted to please the imagination, and engage the affections. They select the most striking observations and instances from common life; place opposite characters in a proper contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue by the views of glory and happiness, direct our steps in these paths by the soundest precepts and most illustrious examples. They make us feel the difference between vice and virtue; they excite and regulate our sentiments; and so they can but bend our hearts to the love of probity and true honour, they think, that they have fully attained the end of all their labours.The other species of philosophers considers man in the light of a reasonable rather than an active being, and endeavours to form his understanding more than cultivate his manners. They regard human nature as a subject of speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in order to find those principles, which regulate our understanding, excite our sentiments, and make us approve or blame any particular object, action, or behaviour. They think it a reproach to all literature, that philosophy should not yet have fixed, beyond controversy, the foundation of morals, reasoning, and criticism; and should for ever talk of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and deformity, without being able to determine the source of these distinctions.[.] 140 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classique de l'année 2009 dans le domaine Etudes des langues romanes - Français - Littérature, , langue: Français, résumé: CHAPITRE PREMIERQui traite de la figure de la terre et sert d'introduction.La mer recouvre aujourd'hui le sol où fut le duché des Clarides. Nul vestige de la ville et du château. Mais on dit qu'à une lieue au large, on voit, par les temps calmes, d'énormes troncs d'arbres debout au fond de l'eau. Un endroit du rivage qui sert de poste aux douaniers se nomme encore en ce temps-ci l'Échoppe-du-Tailleur. Il est extrêmement probable que ce nom est un souvenir d'un certain maître Jean dont il est parlé dans notre récit. La mer, qui gagne tous les ans de ce côté, recouvrira bientôt ce lieu si singulièrement nommé.De tels changements sont dans la nature des choses. Les montagnes s'affaissent dans le cours des âges; le fond de la mer se soulève au contraire et porte jusqu'à la région des nuées et des glaces les coquillages et les madrépores.Rien ne dure. La figure des terres et des mers change sans cesse. Seul le souvenir des âmes et des formes traverse les âges et nous rend présent ce qui n'était plus depuis longtemps.En vous parlant des Clarides, c'est vers un passé très ancien que je veux vous ramener. Je commence:La comtesse de Blanchelande, ayant mis sur ses cheveux d'or un chaperon noir brodé de perles.Mais, avant d'aller plus avant, je supplie les personnes graves de ne point me lire. Ceci n'est pas écrit pour elles. Ceci n'est point écrit pour les âmes raisonnables qui méprisent les bagatelles et veulent qu'on les instruise toujours. Je n'ose offrir cette histoire qu'aux gens qui veulent bien qu'on les amuse et dont l'esprit est jeune et joue parfois. Ceux à qui suffisent des amusements pleins d'innocence me liront seuls jusqu'au bout. Je les prie, ceux-là, de faire connaître mon Abeille à leurs enfants, s'ils en ont de petits. Je souhaite que ce récit plaise aux jeunes garçons et aux jeunes filles; mais, à vrai dire, je n'ose l'espérer. Il est trop frivole pour eux et bon seulement pour les enfants du vieux temps. J'ai une jolie petite voisine de neuf ans dont j'ai examiné l'autre jour la bibliothèque particulière. J'y ai trouvé beaucoup de livres sur le microscope et les zoophytes, ainsi que plusieurs romans scientifiques. J'ouvris un de ces derniers et je tombai sur ces lignes: «La sèche, Sepia officinalis, est un mollusque céphalopode dont le corps contient un organe spongieux à trame de chiline associé à du carbonate de chaux.»[.] 88 pp. Französisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classique de l'année 2009 dans le domaine Etudes des langues romanes - Français - Littérature, , langue: Français, résumé: LIVRE PREMIER: UN JUSTE \*\*\*I. M. MYRIEL \*\*\*En 1815, M. Charles-François-Bienvenu Myriel était évêque de Digne. C'était un vieillard d'environ soixante-quinze ans; il occupait le siége de Digne depuis 1806.Quoique ce détail ne touche en aucune manière au fond même de ce que nous avons à raconter, il n'est peut-être pas inutile, ne fût-ce que pour être exact en tout, d'indiquer ici les bruits et les propos qui avaient couru sur son compte au moment où il était arrivé dans le diocèse. Vrai ou faux, ce qu'on dit des hommes tient souvent autant de place dans leur vie et souvent dans leur destinée que ce qu'ils font. M. Myriel était fils d'un conseiller au parlement d'Aix; noblesse de robe. On contait que son père, le réservant pour hériter de sa charge, l'avait marié de fort bonne heure, à dix-huit ou vingt ans, suivant un usage assez répandu dans les familles parlementaires. Charles Myriel, nonobstant ce mariage, avait, disait-on, beaucoup fait parler de lui. Il était bien fait de sa personne, quoique d'assez petite taille, élégant, gracieux, spirituel; toute la première partie de sa vie avait été donnée au monde et aux galanteries.La révolution survint, les événements se précipitèrent; les familles parlementaires, décimées, chassées, traquées, se dispersèrent. M. Charles Myriel, dès les premiers jours de la révolution, émigra en Italie. Sa femme y mourut d'une maladie de poitrine dont elle était atteinte depuis longtemps. Ils n'avaient point d'enfants. Que se passa-t-il ensuite dans la destinée de M. Myriel L'écroulement de l'ancienne société française, la chute de sa propre famille, les tragiques spectacles de 93, plus effrayants encore peut-être pour les émigrés qui les voyaient de loin avec le grossissement de l'épouvante, firent-ils germer en lui des idées de renoncement et de solitude 68 pp. Französisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classique de l'année 2009 dans le domaine Etudes des langues romanes - Français - Littérature, , langue: Français, résumé: LIVRE TROISIÈME: L'ANNÉE 1817 \*\*\*I. L'ANNÉE 1817\*\*\*1817 est l'année que Louis XVIII, avec un certain aplomb royal qui ne manquait pas de fierté, qualifiait la vingt-deuxième de son règne. C'est l'année où M. Bruguière de Sorsum était célèbre. Toutes les boutiques des perruquiers, espérant la poudre et le retour de l'oiseau royal, étaient badigeonnées d'azur et fleurdelysées. C'était le temps candide où le comte Lynch siégeait tous les dimanches comme marguillier au banc d'oeuvre de Saint-Germain-des-Prés en ]habit de pair de France, avec son cordon rouge et son long nez, et cette majesté de profil particulière à un homme qui a fait une action d'éclat. L'action d'éclat commise par M. Lynch était ceci: avoir, étant maire de Bordeaux, le 12 mars 1814, donné la ville un peu trop tôt à M. le duc d'Angoulême. De là sa pairie. En 1817, la mode engloutissait les petits garçons de quatre à six ans sous de vastes casquettes en cuir maroquiné à oreillons assez ressemblantes à des mitres d'esquimaux. L'armée française était vêtue de blanc, à l'autrichienne; les régiments s'appelaient légions; au lieu de chiffres ils portaient les noms des départements. Napoléon était à Sainte-Hélène, et, comme l'Angleterre lui refusait du drap vert, il faisait retourner ses vieux habits. En 1817, Pellegrini chantait, mademoiselle Bigottini dansait; Potier régnait; Odry n'existait pas encore. Madame Saqui succédait à Forioso. Il y avait encore des Prussiens en France.[.]\*\*\*LIVRE QUATRIÈME: CONFIER, C'EST QUELQUEFOIS LIVRER\*\*\*I. UNE MÈRE QUI EN RENCONTRE UNE AUTRE\*\*\*Il y avait, dans le premier quart de ce siècle, à Montfermeil près de Paris, une façon de gargote qui n'existe plus aujourd'hui. Cette gargote était tenue par des gens appelés Thénardier, mari et femme. Elle était située dans la ruelle du Boulanger. On voyait au-dessus de la porte une planche clouée à plat sur le mur. Sur cette planche était peint quelque chose qui ressemblait à un homme portant sur son dos un autre homme, lequel avait de grosses épaulettes de général dorées avec de larges étoiles argentées; des taches rouges figuraient du sang; le reste du tableau était de la fumée et représentait probablement une bataille. Au bas on lisait cette inscription: Au sergent de Waterloo.[.] 52 pp. Französisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classique de l'année 2009 dans le domaine Etudes des langues romanes - Français - Littérature, , langue: Français, résumé: LIVRE DEUXIÈME: LA CHUTE\*\*\*I. LE SOIR D'UN JOUR DE MARCHE\*\*\*Dans les premiers jours du mois d'octobre 1815, une heure environ avant le coucher du soleil, un homme qui voyageait à pied entrait dans la petite ville de Digne. Les rares habitants qui se trouvaient en ce moment à leurs fenêtres ou sur le seuil de leurs maisons regardaient ce voyageur avec une sorte d'inquiétude. Il était difficile de rencontrer un passant d'un aspect plus misérable. C'était un homme de moyenne taille, trapu et robuste, dans la force de l'âge. Il pouvait avoir quarante-six ou quarante-huit ans. Une casquette à visière de cuir rabattue cachait en partie son visage brûlé par le soleil et le hâle et ruisselant de sueur. Sa chemise de grosse toile jaune, rattachée au col par une petite ancre d'argent, laissait voir sa poitrine velue; il avait une cravate tordue en corde, un pantalon de coutil bleu usé et râpé, blanc à un genou, troué à l'autre, une vieille blouse grise en haillons, rapiécée à l'un des coudes d'un morceau de drap vert cousu avec de la ficelle, sur le dos un sac de soldat fort plein, bien bouclé et tout neuf, à la main un énorme bâton noueux, les pieds sans bas dans des souliers ferrés, la tête tondue et la barbe longue.La sueur, la chaleur, le voyage à pied, la poussière, ajoutaient je ne sais quoi de sordide à cet ensemble délabré.Les cheveux étaient ras, et pourtant hérissés; car ils commençaient à pousser un peu, et semblaient n'avoir pas été coupés depuis quelque temps.Personne ne le connaissait. Ce n'était évidemment qu'un passant. D'où venait-il Du midi. Des bords de la mer peut-être. Car il faisait son entrée dans Digne par la même rue qui sept mois auparavant avait vu passer l'empereur Napoléon allant de Cannes à Paris. Cet homme avait dû marcher tout le jour. Il paraissait très fatigué. Des femmes de l'ancien bourg qui est au bas de la ville l'avaient vu s'arrêter sous les arbres du boulevard Gassendi et boire à la fontaine qui est à l'extrémité de la promenade. Il fallait qu'il eût bien soif, car des enfants qui le suivaient le virent encore s'arrêter et boire, deux cents pas plus loin, à la fontaine de la place du Marché. [.] 64 pp. Französisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject American Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: PrefaceTHE ungentle laws and customs touched upon in this tale are historical, and the episodes which are used to illustrate them are also historical. It is not pretended that these laws and customs existed in England in the sixth century; no, it is only pretended that inasmuch as they existed in the English and other civilizations of far later times, it is safe to consider that it is no libel upon the sixth century to suppose them to have been in practice in that day also. One is quite justified in inferring that whatever one of these laws or customs was lacking in that remote time, its place was competently filled by a worse one. The question as to whether there is such a thing as divine right of kings is not settled in this book. It was found too difficult. That the executive head of a nation should be a person of lofty character and extraordinary ability, was manifest and indisputable; that none but the Deity could select that head unerringly, was also manifest and indisputable; that the Deity ought to make that selection, then, was likewise manifest and indisputable; consequently, that He does make it, as claimed, was an unavoidable deduction. I mean, until the author of this book encountered the Pompadour, and Lady Castlemaine, and some other executive heads of that kind; these were found so difficult to work into the scheme, that it was judged better to take the other tack in this book (which must be issued this fall), and then go into training and settle the question in another book. It is, of course, a thing which ought to be settled, and I am not going to have anything particular to do next winter anyway. MARK TWAIN. A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR'S COURT [.] 280 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject English Language and Literature Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: Chapter I: The One Thing Needful'NOW, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, sir!'The scene was a plain, bare, monotonous vault of a school-room, and the speaker's square forefinger emphasized his observations by underscoring every sentence with a line on the schoolmaster's sleeve. The emphasis was helped by the speaker's square wall of a forehead, which had his eyebrows for its base, while his eyes found commodious cellarage in two dark caves, overshadowed by the wall. The emphasis was helped by the speaker's mouth, which was wide, thin, and hard set. The emphasis was helped by the speaker's voice, which was inflexible, dry, and dictatorial. The emphasis was helped by the speaker's hair, which bristled on the skirts of his bald head, a plantation of firs to keep the wind from its shining surface, all covered with knobs, like the crust of a plum pie, as if the head had scarcely warehouse-room for the hard facts stored inside. The speaker's obstinate carriage, square coat, square legs, square shoulders, - nay, his very neckcloth, trained to take him by the throat with an unaccommodating grasp, like a stubborn fact, as it was, - all helped the emphasis.'In this life, we want nothing but Facts, sir; nothing but Facts!'The speaker, and the schoolmaster, and the third grown person present, all backed a little, and swept with their eyes the inclined plane of little vessels then and there arranged in order, ready to have imperial gallons of facts poured into them until they were full to the brim.[.] 320 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject English Language and Literature Studies - Literature, , language: English, abstract: I AM BORNWhether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve o'clock at night. It was remarked that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry, simultaneously.In consideration of the day and hour of my birth, it was declared by the nurse, and by some sage women in the neighbourhood who had taken a lively interest in me several months before there was any possibility of our becoming personally acquainted, first, that I was destined to be unlucky in life; and secondly, that I was privileged to see ghosts and spirits; both these gifts inevitably attaching, as they believed, to all unlucky infants of either gender, born towards the small hours on a Friday night.I need say nothing here, on the first head, because nothing can show better than my history whether that prediction was verified or falsified by the result. On the second branch of the question, I will only remark, that unless I ran through that part of my inheritance while I was still a baby, I have not come into it yet. But I do not at all complain of having been kept out of this property; and if anybody else should be in the present enjoyment of it, he is heartily welcome to keep it.I was born with a caul, which was advertised for sale, in the newspapers, at the low price of fifteen guineas. Whether sea-going people were short of money about that time, or were short of faith and preferred cork jackets, I don't know; all I know is, that there was but one solitary bidding, and that was from an attorney connected with the bill-broking business, who offered two pounds in cash, and the balance in sherry, but declined to be guaranteed from drowning on any higher bargain. Consequently the advertisement was withdrawn at a dead loss - for as to sherry, my poor dear mother's own sherry was in the market then - and ten years afterwards, the caul was put up in a raffle down in our part of the country, to fifty members at half-a-crown a head, the winner to spend five shillings. I was present myself, and I remember to have felt quite uncomfortable and confused, at a part of myself being disposed of in that way. 584 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Klassiker aus dem Jahr 2009 im Fachbereich Germanistik - Neuere Deutsche Literatur, , Sprache: Deutsch, Abstract: Erstes Kapitel\*\*\*In der Invalidenstraße sah es aus wie gewöhnlich: die Pferdebahnwagen klingelten, und die Maschinenarbeiter gingen zu Mittag, und wer durchaus was Merkwürdiges hätte finden wollen, hätte nichts anderes auskundschaften können, als daß in Nummer 98e die Fenster der ersten Etage - trotzdem nicht Ostern und nicht Pfingsten und nicht einmal Sonnabend war - mit einer Art Bravour geputzt wurden.Und nicht zu glauben, diese Merkwürdigkeit ward auch wirklich bemerkt, und die schräg gegenüber an der Scharnhorststraßen-Ecke wohnende alte Lierschen brummelte vor sich hin: »Ich weiß nich, was der Pittelkown wieder einfällt. Aber sie kehrt sich an nichts. Un was ihre Schwester is, die Stine, mit ihrem Stübeken oben bei Polzins un ihren Sep'ratschlüssel, daß keiner was merkt, na, die wird grad ebenso. Schlimm genug. Aber die Pittelkown is schuld dran. Wie sie man bloß wieder da steht und rackscht und rabatscht! Und wenn es noch Abend wär, aber am hellen, lichten Mittag, wo Borsig und Schwarzkoppen seine grade die Straße runterkommen. Is doch wahrhaftig, als ob alles Mannsvolk nach ihr raufkucken soll; 'ne Sünd und 'ne Schand.«So brummelte die Lierschen vor sich hin, und so wenig freundlich ihre Betrachtungen waren, so waren sie doch nicht ganz ohne Grund; denn oben auf dem Fensterbrett und kniehoch aufgeschürzt stand eine schöne, schwarze Frauensperson mit einem koketten und wohlgepflegten Wellenscheitel und wusch und rieb, einen Lederlappen in der Hand, die Scheiben der einen Fensterseite, während sie den linken Arm, um sich besser zu stützen, über das andere Querholz gelegt hatte. Mitunter gönnte sie sich einen Stillstand in der Arbeit und sah dann auf die Straße hinunter, wo jenseits des Pferdebahngeleises ein dreirädriger, beinahe eleganter Kinderwagen in greller Mittagssonne hielt.[.] 100 pp. Deutsch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Klassiker aus dem Jahr 2009 im Fachbereich Germanistik - Neuere Deutsche Literatur, , Sprache: Deutsch, Abstract: Vorwort\*\*\* Das nachstehende Gedicht schrieb ich im diesjährigen Monat Januar zu Paris, und die freie Luft des Ortes wehete in manche Strophe weit schärfer hinein, als mir eigentlich lieb war. Ich unterließ nicht, schon gleich zu mildern und auszuscheiden, was mit dem deutschen Klima unverträglich schien. Nichtsdestoweniger, als ich das Manuskript im Monat März an meinen Verleger nach Hamburg schickte, wurden mir noch mannigfache Bedenklichkeiten in Erwägung gestellt. Ich mußte mich dem fatalen Geschäfte des Umarbeitens nochmals unterziehen, und da mag es wohl geschehen sein, daß die ernsten Töne mehr als nötig abgedämpft oder von den Schellen des Humors gar zu heiter überklingelt wurden. Einigen nackten Gedanken habe ich im hastigen Unmut ihre Feigenblätter wieder abgerissen, und zimperlich spröde Ohren habe ich vielleicht verletzt. Es ist mir leid, aber ich tröste mich mit dem Bewußtsein, daß größere Autoren sich ähnliche Vergehen zuschulden kommen ließen. Des Aristophanes will ich zu solcher Beschönigung gar nicht erwähnen, denn der war ein blinder Heide, und sein Publikum zu Athen hatte zwar eine klassische Erziehung genossen, wußte aber wenig von Sittlichkeit. Auf Cervantes und Molière könnte ich mich schon viel besser berufen; und ersterer schrieb für den hohen Adel beider Kastilien, letzterer für den großen König und den großen Hof von Versailles! [.]\*\*\*Caput I\*\*\*Im traurigen Monat November war's,Die Tage wurden trüber,Der Wind riß von den Bäumen das Laub,Da reist ich nach Deutschland hinüber.Und als ich an die Grenze kam,Da fühlt ich ein stärkeres KlopfenIn meiner Brust, ich glaube sogarDie Augen begunnen zu tropfen.[.] 104 pp. Deutsch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Klassiker aus dem Jahr 2009 im Fachbereich Germanistik - Neuere Deutsche Literatur, , Sprache: Deutsch, Abstract: Erstes Kapitel\*\*\*Das Hänflingnest\*\*\*»Weißt du, Grete, wir haben ein Nest in unserm Garten, und ganz niedrig, und zwei Junge drin.«»Das wäre! Wo denn Ist es ein Fink oder eine Nachtigall « »Ich sag es nicht. Du mußt es raten.«Diese Worte waren an einem überwachsenen Zaun, der zwei Nachbargärten voneinander trennte, gesprochen worden. Die Sprechenden, ein Mädchen und ein Knabe, ließen sich nur halb erkennen, denn so hoch sie standen, so waren die Himbeerbüsche hüben und drüben doch noch höher und wuchsen ihnen bis über die Brust.»Bitte, Valtin«, fuhr das Mädchen fort, »sag es mir.«»Rate.«»Ich kann nicht. Und ich will auch nicht.«»Du könntest schon, wenn du wolltest. Sieh nur«, und dabei wies er mit dem Zeigefinger auf einen kleinen Vogel, der eben über ihre Köpfe hinflog und sich auf eine hohe Hanfstaude niedersetzte.»Sieh«, wiederholte Valtin.»Ein Hänfling «»Geraten.«Der Vogel wiegte sich eine Weile, zwitscherte und flog dann wieder in den Garten zurück, in dem er sein Nest hatte. Die beiden Kinder folgten ihm neugierig mit ihren Augen.»Denke dir«, sagte Grete, »ich habe noch kein Vogelnest gesehen: bloß die zwei Schwalbennester auf unsrem Flur. Und ein Schwalbennest ist eigentlich gar kein Nest.«»Höre, Grete, ich glaube, da hast du recht.«»Ein richtiges Nest, ich meine von einem Vogel, nicht ein Krähen- oder Storchennest, das muß so weich sein wie der Flachs von Reginens Wocken.«[.] 92 pp. Deutsch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Classic from the year 2009 in the subject English - Literature, Works, , language: English, abstract: Chap. I: Of SympathyHow selfish soever man may be supposed, there are evidently some principles in his nature, which interest him in the fortune of others, and render their happiness necessary to him, though he derives nothing from it except the pleasure of seeing it. Of this kind is pity or compassion, the emotion which we feel for the misery of others, when we either see it, or are made to conceive it in a very lively manner. That we often derive sorrow from the sorrow of others, is a matter of fact too obvious to require any instances to prove it; for this sentiment, like all the other original passions of human nature, is by no means confined to the virtuous and humane, though they perhaps may feel it with the most exquisite sensibility. The greatest ruffian, the most hardened violator of the laws of society, is not altogether without it.As we have no immediate experience of what other men feel, we can form no idea of the manner in which they are affected, but by conceiving what we ourselves should feel in the like situation. Though our brother is upon the rack, as long as we ourselves are at our ease, our senses will never inform us of what he suffers. They never did, and never can, carry us beyond our own person, and it is by the imagination only that we can form any conception of what are his sensations. Neither can that faculty help us to this any other way, than by representing to us what would be our own, if we were in his case. It is the impressions of our own senses only, not those of his, which our imaginations copy. By the imagination we place ourselves in his situation, we conceive ourselves enduring all the same torments, we enter as it were into his body, and become in some measure the same person with him, and thence form some idea of his sensations, and even feel something which, though weaker in degree, is not altogether unlike them. His agonies, when they are thus brought home to ourselves, when we have thus adopted and made them our own, begin at last to affect us, and we then tremble and shudder at the thought of what he feels. For as to be in pain or distress of any kind excites the most excessive sorrow, so to conceive or to imagine that we are in it, excites some degree of the same emotion, in proportion to the vivacity or dulness of the conception.[.] 272 pp. Englisch.

Taschenbuch. Zustand: Neu. This item is printed on demand - it takes 3-4 days longer - Neuware -Klassiker aus dem Jahr 2009 im Fachbereich Germanistik - Neuere Deutsche Literatur, , Sprache: Deutsch, Abstract: Erstes Kapitel\*\*\*Hilde kommt in des Heidereiters Haus\*\*\*In einem der nördlichen Harztäler, in Nähe der Stelle, wo das Emmetal in das flache Vorland ausmündet, lagen in den sechziger Jahren des vorigen Jahrhunderts Dorf und Schloß Emmerode; jenseits des Dorfes aber, einige hundert Schritte weiter talaufwärts, wurd ein einzelnstehendes, hart in die Bergwand eingebautes Haus sichtbar, das in seiner Front ein paar Steinstufen und eine Vorlaube von wildem Wein und über der Tür ein Hirschgeweih zeigte. Hier wohnte Baltzer Bocholt, ein Westfälinger, der in jungen Jahren in Kur-Trier als Soldat gedient hatte, späterhin aber nach Emmerode gekommen und um seiner guten Führung willen erst ein gräflicher Heidereiter und einige Jahre später, durch Heirat mit des alten Erbschulzen Aleswant einziger Tochter, ein über seinen Stand hinaus vermöglicher Mann geworden war. Er hatte nun Haus und Hof und Amt und Frau, dazu den Respekt in Dorf und Schloß, und ging stolz und aufrecht einher und freute sich seines Glückes, bis er nach einer elfjährigen friedfertigen Ehe zum ersten Male den Unbestand alles Irdischen an sich selbst erfahren mußte. Die Frau starb ihm plötzlich und ruhte jetzt - seit zwei Monaten erst - an der Berglehne drüben, die, dreifach abgestuft, auf ihrer untersten Stufe den von Mauer und Stechpalmen umfaßten Kirchhof, auf ihrer mittleren die kleine Kapellenkirche zum Heiligen Geist und auf ihrer höchsten das zacken- und giebelreiche Schloß der alten Grafen von Emmerode trug.Es war im September und der Heidereiter eben von Ilseburg zurück, wohin er sich, um ein eisernes Gitter für das Grab seiner Frau zu bestellen, in aller Frühe schon begeben hatte, als er Pastor Sörgels alte Doris über die Straße kommen und gleich darauf in den Flur seines Hauses eintreten sah.»Nun, Doris, was gibt's «»'nen Brief vom Herrn Pastor.«[.] 100 pp. Deutsch.