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# Pollyanna Grows Up

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Known as the "The Second Glad Book:" it is the first of many sequels to Porter's best-selling Pollyanna (1913), but is the only one written by Porter herself.
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[Front matter]
POLLYANNA GROWS UP
FICTION BY
ELEANOR H. PORTER
Pollyanna. The Glad Book net $1.25
carriage paid $1.40
Pollyanna Grows Up. The Second Glad Book
net $ 1.25; carriage paid $1.40
net $1.00; carriage paid $1.10
Miss Billy $1.50
Miss Billy's Decision net $1.25
carriage paid $ 1.40
Miss Billy—Married net $1.25
carriage paid $1.40
Cross Currents $1.00
Turn of the Tide $1.25
The Sunbridge Girls at Six Star Ranch $1.50 By "Eleanor Stuart"
THE PAGE COMPANY
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.
"JIMMY LOOKED DOWN AT THE WISTFUL, EAGER FACE."
(See page 184.)
POLLYANNA GROWS UP
By ELEANOR H. PORTER
Author of "Pollyanna: The $_{Trade}$Glad$_{Mark}$ Book." "Miss Billy," "Miss Billy's Decision," "Miss Billy Married," "Cross Currents," "The Turn of the Tide," etc.
Illustrated by
H. WESTON TAYLOR
BOSTON ♣ THE PAGE COMPANY ♣ MDCCCCXV
Copyright, 1914, 1915 By Eleanor H. Porter
Copyright, 1915 By the Page Company
All rights reserved
First Impression, March, 1915
Press of J. J. Little & Ives Co.
New York
to
My Cousin Walter
CONTENTS
* chapterpage
* I.Della Speaks Her Mind1
* II.Some Old Friends12
* III.A Dose of Pollyanna27
* IV.The Game and Mrs. Carew38
* V.Pollyanna Takes a Walk47
* VI.Jerry to the Rescue66
* VII.A New Acquaintance76
* VIII.Jamie85
* IX.Plans and Plottings96
* X.In Murphy's Alley105
* XI.A Surprise for Mrs. Carew117
* XII.From Behind a Counter126
* XIII.A Waiting And A Winning135
* XIV.Jimmy and the Green-Eyed Monster148
* XV.Aunt Polly Takes Alarm155
* XVI.When Pollyanna Was Expected161
* XVII.When Pollyanna Came172
* XVIII.A Matter of Adjustment183
* XIX.Two Letters191
* XX.The Paying Guests201
* XXI.Summer Days210
* XXII.Comrades219
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
* page
* "Jimmy looked down at the wistful, eager face" (See page 184)Frontispiece
* "Oh, my! what a perfectly lovely automobile!"30
* "Twice again, after short intervals, she trod the fascinating way"67
* "It was a wonderful hour"84
* "I don't know her name yet, but I know her, so it's all right132
* "The instrument that you play on, Pollyanna, will be the great heart of the world225
* "Involuntarily she turned as if to flee"284
* "I'm glad, glad, glad for—everything now!"307
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in A Collection of Peninsular Melodies 1830/Mother! Oh, sing me to rest

From The Poems of Felicia Hemans, 1872 edition
MOTHER! OH, SING ME TO REST.
A CANCION.
Mother! oh, sing me to rest
 As in my bright days departed:
 Sing to thy child, the sick-hearted,
Songs for a spirit oppress'd.
Lay this tired head on thy breast!
 Flowers from the night-dew are closing,
 Pilgrims and mourners reposing:
Mother! oh, sing me to rest!
Take back thy bird to its nest!
 Weary is young life when blighted,
 Heavy this love unrequited;
—Mother, oh! sing me to rest!
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in A Collection of Peninsular Melodies 1830/The Lost One

From The New Monthly Magazine, 1834, Volume 40, Page 27
The Lost One.
Seek by the silvery Darro,
 Where jasmine flowers have blown;
There hath she left no foot-print?—
 Weep, weep, the maid is gone!
Seek where our Lady's image
 Smiles o'er the pine-hung steep;
Hear ye not there her vespers?—
 Weep for the parted, weep!
Seek in the porch where vine-leaves
 O'ershade her father's head;
Are his grey hairs left lonely?—
 Weep! her bright soul is fled!
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in A Collection of Peninsular Melodies 1830/Old Spanish Battle Song

From The New Monthly Magazine, 1834, Volume 40, Page 28
Old Spanish Battle Song.
Fling forth the proud banners of Leon again;
Let the high word—Castile—go resounding through Spain!
And thou, free Asturias, encamp'd on the height,
Pour down thy dark sons to the vintage of fight.
Wake! wake! the old soil where our warriors repose
Rings hollow and deep to the trampling of foes.
The voices are mighty that swell from the past,
With Aragon's cry on the shrill mountain-blast;
The ancient Sierras give strength to our tread,
Their pines murmur song where bright blood hath been shed.
Fling forth the proud banner of Leon again,
And shout ye, "Castile! to the rescue for Spain!"
# Poems of Experience/Woman

Strange are the ways that her feet have trod  Since first she was set in the path of duty, Finished and fair by the hand of God,  To carry her message of love and beauty. Delicate creature of light and shade,  She gleamed like an opal, on wide worlds under: And earth looked up to her half afraid,  While heaven looked down at her, full of wonder.
Flame of the comet and mist of the moon,  And ray of the sun all mingled in her. And the heart of her asked but a single boon -  That love should seek her, and find her, and win her. She grasped the scope of the First Intent  That made her kingdom for her, no other, And joyfully into her place she went -  The primal mate, and the primal mother.
Large was that kingdom and vast her sphere,  And lightly she lifted and bore each burden. Lightly she laughed in the eyes of fear,  For love was her recompense, love her guerdon. And never in camp, or in cave, or in home,  Rose voice of mother or mate complaining. And never the foot of her sought to roam,  Till love in the heart of the man seemed waning.
In the broad rich furrows by woman turned  Man, unwitting, set plough and harrow. For worlds to conquer she had not yearned,  Till he spoke of her feminine sphere as ‘narrow.’ The lullaby changed to a martial strain -  When he took her travail, and song for granted - And forth she forged in his own domain -  Till the strange ‘new woman,’ the old supplanted.
‘Strange’ with the glow of a wakened soul,  And ‘new’ with the purpose of large endeavour, She turned her face to the higher goal -  To the higher goal it is turned for ever. Trade and science and craft and art,  Have opened their doors to the call of woman; And greater she grows in her greater part,  More tenderly wise, and more sweetly human.
Brave foremothers of freedom’s birth  Smile through space on your splendid daughters. At one with liberty lighting the earth,  Their torches flame o’er the darkest waters. They lend a lustre to sea and land:  They sweeten the world with their wholesome graces: As out in the harbour of life they stand  To cheer and welcome the coming races.
Brave forefathers and heroes who fought  Under the flag of the Revolution, War was the price of the freedom you bought,  But peace is the watchword of Evolution. The progress of woman means progress of peace,  She wars on war, and its hosts alarming; And her great love battle will never cease,  Till the glory is seen of a world disarming.
The woman wonder with heart of flame,  The coming man of the race will find her. For petty purpose and narrow aim,  And fault and flaw she will leave behind her. He grown tender, and she grown wise,  They shall enter the Eden by both created; The broadened kingdom of Paradise,  And love, and mate, as the first pair mated.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in A Collection of Peninsular Melodies 1830/Song of Mina's Soldiers

From The United Service Magazine, Jan.-June 1830, page 415
SONG OF MINA’S SOLDIERS.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
(From the First Number of the Peninsular Melodies.)
We heard thy name, O Mina!
 Far through our hills it rang;
A sound more strong than tempests,
 More deep than armour's clang:
The peasant left his vineyard,
 The shepherd grasp'd the spear;
We heard thy name, O Mina!  The mountain bands are here.
As eagles to the day-spring,
 As torrents to the sea,
From every dark Sierra,
 So rushed our hearts to thee.
Thy spirit is our banner,
 Thine eye our beacon-sign,
Thy name our trumpet, Mina!—
 The mountain bands are thine.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in A Collection of Peninsular Melodies 1830/The Bird of Ebro

From New The Monthly Magazine, 1834, Volume 40, Page 28
The Bird of Ebro.
Bird, that art singing on Ebro's side,
Where myrtle-shadows make dim the tide,
Doth Sorrow dwell 'midst the leaves with thee?
Doth song avail thy full heart to free?
Bird of the midnight's purple sky!
Teach me the spell of thy melody.
Bird! is it wrong'd affection's pain,
Whence the sad sweetness flows through thy strain?
And is the wound of that arrow still'd,
When thy lone music the boughs hath fill'd?
Bird of the midnight's purple sky!
Teach me the spell of thy melody.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in A Collection of Peninsular Melodies 1830/The Moorish Gathering Song

From a review in The Edinburgh Literary Journal, Jan.-June, 1830, page 185
THE MOORISH GATHERING-SONG.
By Mrs Hemans.
"Chains in the cities! gloom in the air!
Come to the hills! fresh breezes are there:
Silence and fear in the rich orange bowers—
Come to the rocks, where Freedom hath towers!
"Come from the Darro!—changed is its tone;
Come where the streams no bondage have known!
Wildly and proudly, foaming, they leap,
Singing of Freedom from steep to steep!
"Come from Alhambra!— garden and grove
Now may not shelter beauty or love;
Blood on the waters! death 'midst the flowers!
Only the rock and the spear are ours."
# Poems of Experience/Two Men

So much one thought about the life beyond He did not drain the waters of his pond; And when death laid his children ’neath the sod He called it - ‘the mysterious will of God.’ He would not strive for worldly gain, not he. His wealth, he said, was stored in God’s To Be. He kept his mortal body poorly drest, And talked about the garments of the blest. And when to his last sleep he laid him down, His only mourner begged her widow’s gown.
One was not sure there was a life to come, So made an Eden of his earthly home. He strove for wealth, and with an open hand He comforted the needy in his land. He wore new garments often, and the old Helped many a brother to keep out the cold. He said this life was such a little span Man ought to make the most of it, - for man. And when he died the fortune that he left Gave succour to the needy and bereft.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in A Collection of Peninsular Melodies 1830

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
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Poems of Felicia Hemans in A Collection of Peninsular Melodies 1830
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
From contemporary sources:
* The Moorish Gathering Song
* The Zegri Maid
* Song of Mina's Soldiers
* The Rio Verde Song
Included here for completeness—from The Poems of Felicia Hemans, 1872:
* Mother! Oh, sing me to rest
* There are sounds in the dark Roncesvalles
From Spanish Songs in The New Monthly Magazine, 1834, Volume 40
* The Lost One (Seek by the silvery Darro)
* The Bird of Ebro (Bird, that art singing on Ebro's side)
* Spanish Evening Hymn
* Old Spanish Battle Song
These songs are set to airs collected by Colonel Hodges in Spain, the whole set being published by Messrs. Goulding and d'Almaine. All the words were reprinted in National Lyrics, and Songs for Music, 1834
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in A Collection of Peninsular Melodies 1830/Spanish Evening Hymn

From The New Monthly Magazine, 1834, Volume 40, Page 28
Spanish Evening Hymn.
Ave! now let prayer and music
 Meet in love on shore and sea!
Now, sweet Mother! may the weary
 Turn from this cold world to thee.
From the dark and restless waters
 Hear the sailor's hymn arise!
From his watch-fire, 'midst the mountains,
 Lo! to thee the shepherd cries.
Yet, where thus full hearts find voices,
 If o'erburden'd souls there be,
Dark and silent in their anguish,—
 Aid those captives—set them free!
Touch them, every fount unsealing,
 Where the frozen tears lie deep;
Thou, the Mother of all sorrows,
 Aid, oh! aid to pray and weep!
# Poirot Investigates

POIROT INVESTIGATES
BY
AGATHA CHRISTIE
POIROT INVESTIGATES
POIROT INVESTIGATES
BY AGATHA CHRISTIE
LONDON
JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LIMITED
HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF. www.harpercollins.co.uk
This facsimile edition published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2007 3
First published in Great Britain by John Lane Company, The Bodley Head Limited, 1924
Copyright © 1924 Agatha Christie Limited, a Chorion company. All rights reserved. www.agathachristie.com
ISBN-13 978-0-00-726520-6
Printed and bound in China by RR Donnelley APS
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Find out more about HarperCollins and the environment at www.harpercollins.co.uk/green
CONTENTS
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1976, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 47 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems (Moore)/Lines to the Memory of Miss Susan Moore

LINES
TO THE MEMORY OF MISS SUSAN MOORE, WRITTEN BY MY LATE WIFE.
Forgive the humble Muse that strives to raise To thee, bless'd saint, her feeble voice of praise; That dares attempt thy worth to sing, Who now, with sister Cherubims And Angels, to the Almighty King Dost ceaseless chant forth heavenly hymns.
Oh! that my strains were as my subject high! Then would they equal those which swell'd the sky When joyful angels quiring bore Thy spirit to the realms of light, Glad that the mournful hour was o'er While yet it struggled for its flight.
For, as thy friends the bed of death stood nigh, Attending seraphs heav'd the pitying sigh, To think what tears, what griefs, must flow From loss of such sweet innocence, To think what pangs their breasts must know Who mourn'd such matchless excellence.
For thou wast pure as is the transient snow That falls as if its whiteness but to show; And fearful lest a longer stay Its virgin purity should stain, Dissolves beneath the fervid ray That draws it up to Heaven again.
And yet, that last, that melancholy hour Rais'd thee from earth to life, immortal flower!
Oh! how does even grief rejoice, The tear dry in affliction's eye, When memory gives thy parting voice Exclaiming, "Oh! how sweet to die!"
# Poems (Moore)/On seeing my Name written in the sand of the sea-shore

LINES
ON SEEING MY NAME WRITTEN BY A YOUNG LADY IN THE SAND OF THE SEA-SHORE.
This name here drawn by Flora's hand Portrays, alas! her mind: The beating surf and yielding sand Soon leave no trace behind.
But Flora's name shall still abide In many a bosom trac'd, Not e'en by time's destroying tide Nor fortune's storms effac'd.
# Poems (Moore)/A visit from St. Nicholas

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Dunder and Blitzen— To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And Mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap;
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name; "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky; So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, The prancing and pawing of each little hoof— As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back, And he look'd like a pedlar just opening his pack. His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly, That shook when he laughed, like a bowlfull of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself, A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread; He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill'd all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 48

Scans
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# Poor man's looking glass/Robert and Nell

ROBERT AND NELL.
I Am a bold batchelor juſt in my prime, Who has a good mind to be married, It happened once on a Saturday's night, when late in the ale houſe I tarried. And as coming home I heard a great noiſe, I ſtood to liſten to hear what it was, A woman cries out, О is there no laws? O that I cannot be unmarried!
You rogue I brought you a portion you know, and for thus to be ſerved by a villain, You work all the week, and on Saturday's night, brings me nothing home but one ſhilling, A ſhilling I have three children to feed, which is not enough for to find then in bread, She up with the piſs pot and threw't at his head, ſaying, o that I ne'er had been married.
She ſat herſelf down for to reſt her a while, and thus the began for to prattle, A lecture ſhe gave him again I declare, which made his poor head for to rattle.
​Begone to your whores I ſolemnly ſwear, if you ſtay any longer, I'll cut off your ears, And I'll certainly ſpoil the reſt of your wares, ſaying, O that I ne'er had been married.
You impudent jade to rail againſt whores, pray where is your gallant the taylor? By him you had a baſtard you know, the mean time that I was a ſailor. You rifled my riches, you plunderd my ſtore, I father'd your baſtar'd when I come on ſhore, You audacious jade to rail againſt whores, ſaying, O that I ne'er had been married.
The reaſon of this the woman did ſay, all reaſon that I had this failing, He only ſupplied your place when away, the mean time when you was a ſailing For ſeven long years that you was from home, why ſhould I ly ſighing and tumbling alone? While you got a moll, at each port you did come, ſaying, O that I ne'er had been married.
Before that you rogue, you diſgraced me ſo, I paſs'd for an honeſt woman! But now you have let the neighbours to know, that I to the taylor was common: For diſgracing me ſo, you're the ſon of a whore, ſhe off with her cap, and at him once more, Then preſently, they did roll on the floor, ſaying, O that I ne'er had been married.
The children did ſqual, the diſhes did fly, the pipkins did rattle like thunder; By this time the neighbours broke open the door, and ſtrove for to part them aſunder. But ſhe, like a fcold, did make this reply, go hang you, you rogue, I'll fight till I die, She up with her hand double 'gave him a black eye, ſaying, blaſt you, you rogue, I'll be maſter.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poorman v. Woodward

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
62 U.S. 266
Poorman v. Woodward

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poor man's looking glass/The Bottle and Friend

The BOTTLE and FRIEND.
BRight glory is a trifle and ſo is ambition, I deſpiſe the heart and a lofty condition, For pride is a folly for it I'll not contend, But I will enjoy my bottle and friend, In a little cloſe room ſo neat and ſo trim, O there I'll enjoy my bottle and friend.
While thus I'm ſingle, I'm utterly a ſtranger, I'm free from all care, and I'm quite out of danger, I've no wife to controul me, when my money I ſpend,
So freely to purchaſe my bottle and friend. &c.
In the bands of wedlock l'll never be confin'd, To that thing that's called the falſe woman kind, They laugh at men's folly, our money they'll ſpend, I'd rather enjoy my bottle and friend &c.
There's George and Lewis for kingdoms jangling, And miſers for gold are always a wrangling, Let them fight on their kingdoms to extend, But give me, O give me my bottle and friend. &c.
We are all jovial fellows, we're all jovial rangers, We never will part while the ſun ſhines upon us, So let us be merry for we never will mend, But always enjoy cut bottle and friend. &c.
The night being gone and morning came upon us, Our money being ſpent, & the landlord won't lend us, Let us go home and ſleep, this day for to ſpend, And at night we'll enjoy our bottle and friend, &c.
FINIS
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse