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# The Ship of Shadows

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Were this to be the tale, simply, of how Eric Venable fell and rose again from the depths, much might be said of his voyage to Tientsin River. It would bear much dwelling upon; it would in itself make, from the Horatio-Algerian view point, an excellent moral tale. But it would delete all about Shinski and Marie, and the Shirvan diamond, and the burlap-wrapped parcel; it would have to touch upon Mrs. Ivanoff’s pistol with discretion; and of course it could say little about the poet Gerin’s company of shadows, or the devil Boris Kryalpin, or the ending of the Kum Chao. …
[Extract of cover page illustration of The Blue Book magazine, Feb. 1920]
The Ship of Shadows
by H. Bedford-Jones
A story of international intrigue and high adventure, by the author of “After the Manner of Asia.”
* 1. Dr. Venable Has a Caller
* 2. Garrity the Magnificent
* 3. At Sea
* 4. How Boris Drew Chips
* 5. Eric Venable, Second Officer
* 6. Li John, Mentor
* 7. The Kum Chao Puts to Sea
* 8. Masks Off
* 9. Wheels Within Wheels
* 10. Gerin Strikes
* 11. The Storm Breaks
* 12. The Yellow Schooner
* 13. The Tiger Wins
* 14. Mrs. Ivanoff Commands
* 15. Garrity Asks a Favor
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 1949, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 74 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
# The Veil and other poems/The Wanderers

THE WANDERERS
WITHIN my mind two spirits strayed
From out their still and purer air,
And there a moment's sojourn made;
As lovers will in woodlands bare.
Nought heeded they where now they stood,
Since theirs its alien solitude
Beyond imagination fair.
The light an earthly candle gives
When it is quenched leaves only dark;
Theirs yet in clear remembrance lives
And, still within, I whispered, 'Hark;'
As one who faintly on high has heard
The call note of a hidden bird
Even sweeter than the lark.
Yet 'twas their silence breathed only this—
'I love you.' As if flowers might say,
'Such is our natural fragrantness;'
Or dewdrop at the break of day
Cry 'Thus I beam.' Each turned a head,
And each its own clear radiance shed
With joy and peace at play.
So in a gloomy London street
Princes from Eastern realms might pause
In secret converse, then retreat.
Yet without haste passed these from sight;
As if a human mind were not
Wholly a dark and dismal spot—
At least in their own light.
# The Veil and other poems/Tidings

TIDINGS
LISTEN, I who love thee well
Have travelled far, and secrets tell;
Cold the moon that gleams thine eyes,
Yet beneath her further skies
Rests for thee, a paradise.
I have plucked a flower in proof,
Frail, in earthly light forsooth;
See, invisible it lies
In this palm: now veil thine eyes:
Quaff its fragrancies.
Would indeed my throat had skill
To breathe thee music, faint and still-
Music learned in dreaming deep
In those lands, from Echo's lip . . .
'Twould lull thy soul to sleep.
# The Veil and other poems/Who?

WHO?
1st stranger. Who walks with us on the hills?
2nd stranger. I cannot see for the mist.
3rd stranger. Running water I hear,
Keeping lugubrious tryst
With its cresses and grasses and weeds,
In the white obscure light from the sky.
2nd stranger. Who walks with us on the hills?
wild bird. Ay! . . . Aye! . . . Ay! . . .
# The Veil and other poems/The Veil

THE VEIL
I THINK and think; yet still I fail— Why does this lady wear a veil?
Why thus elect to mask her face
Beneath that dainty web of lace?
The tip of a small nose I see,
And two red lips, set curiously
Like twin-born cherries on one stem,
And yet she has netted even them.
Her eyes, it's plain, survey with ease
Whatever to glance upon they please.
Yet, whether hazel, grey, or blue,
Or that even lovelier lilac hue,
I cannot guess: why—why deny
Such beauty to the passer-by?
Out of a bush a nightingale
May expound his song; beneath that veil
A happy mouth no doubt can make
English sound sweeter for its sake.
But then, why muffle in, like this,
What every blossomy wind would kiss?
Why in that little night disguise
A daybreak face, those starry eyes?
# The Veil and other poems/The Willow

Third poem of The Veil and other poems
THE WILLOW
LEANS now the fair willow, dreaming
Amid her locks of green.
In the driving snow she was parched and cold,
And in midnight hath been
Swept by blasts of the void night,
Lashed by the rains.
Now of that wintry dark and bleak
No memory remains.
In mute desire she sways softly;
Thrilling sap up-flows;
She praises God in her beauty and grace,
Whispers delight. And there flows
A delicate wind from the Southern seas,
Kissing her leaves. She sighs.
While the birds in her tresses make merry;
Burns the Sun in the skies.
# The Veil and other poems/Titmouse

TITMOUSE
IF you would happy company win,
Dangle a palm-nut from a tree,
Idly in green to sway and spin,
Its snow-pulped kernel for bait; and see,
A nimble titmouse enter in.
Out of earth's vast unknown of air,
Out of all summer, from wave to wave,
He'll perch, and prank his feathers fair,
Jangle a glass-clear wildering stave,
And take his commons there—
This tiny son of life; this spright.
By momentary Human sought,
Plume will his wing in the dappling light,
Clash timbrel shrill and gay—
And into time's enormous nought,
Sweet-fed, will flit away.
# The Veil and other poems/The Voice

THE VOICE
'WE are not often alone, we two,'
Mused a secret voice in my ear,
As the dying hues of afternoon
Lapsed into evening drear.   A withered leaf, wafted on in the street,
Like a wayless spectre, sighed;
Aslant on the roof-tops a sickly moon
Did mutely abide.
Yet waste though the shallowing day might seem,
And fainter than hope its rose,
Strangely that speech in my thoughts welled on;
As water in-flows:
Like remembered words once heard in a room
Wherein death kept far-away tryst;
'Not often alone, we two; but thou,
How sorely missed!'
# The Veil and other poems/The Wreck

THE WRECK
STORM and unconscionable winds once cast
On grinding shingle, masking gap-toothed rock,
This ancient hulk. Rent hull, and broken mast,
She sprawls sand-mounded, of sea birds the mock.
Her sailors, drowned, forgotten, rot in mould,
Or hang in stagnant quiet of the deep;
The brave, the afraid into one silence sold;
Their end a memory fainter than of sleep.
She held good merchandise. She paced in pride
The uncharted paths men trace in ocean's foam.
Now laps the ripple in her broken side,
And zephyr in tamarisk softly whispers, Home.
The dreamer scans her in the sea-blue air.
And, sipping of contrast, finds the day more fair.
# The Veil and other poems/Who's That?

WHO'S THAT?
WHO'S that? Who's that? . . .
Oh, only a leaf on the stone;
And the sigh of the air in the fire.
Yet it seemed, as I sat,
Came company — not my own;
Stood there, with ardent gaze over dark, bowed
shoulder thrown
Till the dwindling flames leaped higher,
And showed fantasy flown.
Yet though the cheat is clear—
From transient illusion grown;
In the vague of my mind those eyes
Still haunt me. One stands so near
I could take his hand, and be gone: —
No more in this house of dreams to sojourn aloof,
alone:
Could sigh, with full heart, and arise.
And choke, 'Lead on.'
# The Way of a Virgin/front matter

Cloe! Like a fawn she flees, Trembling, timid mother-seeking, Far among the trackless hills; Starting back from bush and breeze, When the new-born spring is speaking To green leaves in little trills. Oh, how shake her heart, her knees! Run! A lizard sets a-creaking That big bush! I bring no ills; I don't follow you to seize, Like some cruel tigress, reeking Rage; no lion I that kills In Gætulia, hot to tease Out your life! So quit your meeking By your mother! Trust your thrills! Come and learn my mysteries!
HORACE, I., xxiii.
Two Hundred and fifty Copies of this Work have been Printed on Antique Paper for Private Circulation Only among Members of the Brovan Society, and Twenty-five for the Editors. None of these Copies is for Sale. The Society Pledges itself Never to Reprint nor to Re-issue in any form. Of the Brovan Society's Issue, this Copy is Number: 177
# The Way of a Virgin/The Penitent Nun

THE PENITENT NUN.
Dame Jane a sprightly Nun, and gay,
And formed of very yielding Clay,
Had long with resolution strove
To guard against the Shafts of Love.
Fond Cupid smiling, spies the Fair,
And soon he baffles all her Care,
In vain she tries her Pain to smother,
The Nymph too frail, the Nymph too frail,
becomes a Mother.
But now these little Follies o'er.
She firmly vows she'll sin no more;
No more to Vice will fall a Prey,
But spend in Prayer each fleeting Day.
Close in her Cell immur'd she lies,
Nor from the Cross removes her Eyes;
Whilst Sisters crouding at the Crate,
Spend all their Times, spend all their Time
in Wordly Prate.
The Abbess, overjoy'd to find
This happy Change in Jenny's Mind,
The rest, with Air compos'd, addressing,
"Daughters, if you expect a Blessing,
"From pious Jane, Example take,
"The World and all its Joys forsake."
"We will (they all replied as One)
"But first let's do as Jane has done."
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Her Unbelief

HER UNBELIEF.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Impossibilities

IMPOSSIBILITIES.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Looking on, and discoursing with, his Mistress

LOOKING ON, AND DISCOURSING WITH, HIS MISTRESS.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/For Hope

FOR HOPE.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Her Name

HER NAME.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Inconstancy

INCONSTANCY.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Love's Ingratitude

LOVE'S INGRATITUDE.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Love's Visibility

LOVE'S VISIBILITY.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Honour

HONOUR.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 2/Leaving me, and then loving many

LEAVING ME, AND THEN LOVING MANY.
# The White Stone

THE WHITE STONE
BY ANATOLE FRANCE
A TRANSLATION BY CHARLES E. ROCHE
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY: MCMX
Printed by Ballantyne & Co. Limited Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London
CONTENTS :
| CHAP. | | PAGE. |
| I. | | 9 |
| II. | Gallio | 29 |
| III. | | 107 |
| IV. | | 147 |
| V. | Through the Horn or the Ivory Gate | 183 |
| VI. | | 237 |
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The White Stone/Chapter 6

VI
HIPPOLYTE Dufresne was warmly congratulated by his friends on his finishing the reading of his story.
Nicole Langelier, applying to him the words of Critias to Triephon, said:
"You seem to have dreamt on the white stone, in the midst of the people of dreams, since you dreamt so long a dream in the course of so short a night."
"It is not likely," remarked Joséphin Leclerc, "that the future will be such as you have seen it. I do not wish for the coming of socialism, but I dread it not. Collectivism at the helm would be quite another thing than is imagined. Who was it who said, carrying back his thoughts to the time of Constantine and of the Church's early triumphs: 'Christianity is triumphant, but its triumph is subject to the conditions imposed by life on all political and religious parties. All of them, whatever they may be, undergo so complete a ​transformation in the struggle that after victory there remains of themselves but the name and a few symbols of the last idea'?"
"Must we then give up the idea of knowing the future?" asked M. Goubin.
But Giacomo Boni, who when delving down into a few feet of soil had descended from the present period to the stone age, remarked:
"Upon the whole, humanity changes little. What has been shall be."
"No doubt," replied Jean Boilly, "man, or that which we call man, changes little. We belong to a definite species. The evolution of the species is of necessity included in the definition of the species. It is impossible to conceive humanity subsequent to its transformation. A transformed species is a lost species. But what reason is there for us to believe that man is the end of the evolution of life upon the earth? Why suppose that his birth has exhausted the creative forces of nature, and that the universal mother of the flora and fauna should, after having shaped him, become for ever barren. A natural philosopher, who does not stand in fear of his own ideas, H. G. Wells, has said: 'Man is not final.' No indeed, man is neither the beginning nor the end of terrestrial life. Long before him, all over the globe, animated forces were multiplying in the depths of the sea, in the mud of the strand, in ​the forests, lakes, prairies, and tree-topped mountains. After him, new forms will go on taking shape. A future race, born perhaps of our own, but having perchance no bond of origin with us, will succeed us in the empire of the planet. These new spirits of the earth will ignore or despise us. The monuments of our arts, should they discover vestiges of them, will have no meaning for them. Rulers of the future, whose mind we can no more divine than the palaeopithekos of the Siwalik Mountains was able to forecast the trains of thought of Aristotle, Newton, and Poincaré."
THE END
# The Works of Henry Fielding/To The Same. On Her Wishing To Have A Lilliputian To Play With.

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
Another poem addressed to Celia.
Is there a man who would not be,
My Celia, what is priz'd by thee?
A monkey beau, to please thy sight, Would wish to be a monkey quite.
Or (couldst thou be delighted so)
Each man of sense would be a beau.
Courtiers would quit their faithless skill, To be thy faithful dog Quadrille.
P—lt—y, who does for freedom rage, Would sing confin'd within thy cage;
And W—lp-le, for a tender pat,
Would leave his place to be thy cat.
May I, to please my lovely dame,
Be five foot shorter than I am;
And, to be greater in her eyes, Be sunk to Lilliputian size.
While on thy hand I skipp'd the dance, How I'd despise the king of France! That hand! which can bestow a store
Richer than the Peruvian ore,
Richer than India, or the sea,
(That hand will give yourself away).
Upon your lap to lay me down,
Or hide in plaitings of your gown;
Or on your shoulder sitting high,
What monarch so enthroned as I? Now on the rosy bud I'd rest, Which borrows sweetness from thy breast. Then when my Celia walks abroad,
I'd be her pocket's little load:
Or sit astride, to frighten people, Upon her hat's new-fashioned steeple. These for the day; and for the night,
I'd be a careful, watchful sprite. Upon her pillow sitting still,
I'd guard her from th' approach of ill.
Thus (for afraid she could not be
Of such a little thing as me)
While I survey her bosom rise,
Her lovely lips, her sleeping eyes, While I survey, what to declare
Nor fancy can, nor words must dare,
Here would begin my former pain, And wish to be myself again.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/To The Same; Having Blamed Mr. Gay For His Severity On Her Sex.

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
This poem refers to Fielding's contemporary, the poet and playwright John Gay.
LET it not Celia's gentle heart perplex That Gay severe hath satiriz'd her sex; Had they, like her, a tenderness but known, Back on himself each pointed dart had flown. But blame thou last, in whose accomplish'd mind The strongest satire on thy sex we find.
# The Works of Honoré de Balzac/Volume 34

COPYRIGHT 1902 BY J.D.A.
Vautrin.—Yes, I could acquire a fortune, but who will give me the opportunity? The King could, at your grace's intercession, grant me a pardon, but who then would take my hand in his?
(Vautrin and Raoul, page 153)
THE WORKS OF HONORÉ DE BALZAC
The Dramas
VAUTRIN THE RESOURCES OF QUINOLA PAMELA GIRAUD
XXXIV
EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION BY J. WALKER McSPADDEN
AVIL PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA, U.S.A.
COPYRIGHTED 1901 BY John D. Avil All Rights Reserved
This Touraine Edition de Luxe of the complete works of Honoré de Balzac is limited to twelve hundred and fifty sets, of which this copy is number _______
CONTENTS
PAGE
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/To The Master Of The Salisbury Assembly.

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
TAKE your candles away, let your music be mute,
My dancing, however, you shall not dispute;
Jenny's eyes shall find light, and I'll find a flute.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/Written Extempore On A Halfpenny, Which a young lady gave a beggar, and the author redeemed for half-a-crown

DEAR little, pretty, fav'rite ore,
That once increas'd Gloriana's store;
That lay within her bosom bless'd,
Gods might have envied thee thy nest.
I've read, imperial Jove of old
For love transform'd himself to gold:
And why, for a more lovely lass, May he not now have lurk'd in brass?
Oh! rather than from her he'd part,
He'd shut that charitable heart,
That heart whose goodness nothing less
Than his vast pow'r could dispossess.
 From Gloriana's gentle touch
Thy mighty value now is such,
That thou to me art worth alone
More than his medals are to Sloan.
 Not for the silver and the gold
Which Corinth lost should'st thou be sold:
Not for the envied mighty mass
Which misers wish, or M—h has:
Not for what India sends to Spain,
Nor all the riches of the Main.
 While I possess thy little store,
Let no man call, or think, me poor;
Thee, while alive, my breast shall have,
My hand shall grasp thee in the grave:
Nor shalt thou be to Peter giv'n,
Tho' he should keep me out of heav'n

## Author's Notes

* ↑ In allusion to the custom of Peter-Pence, used by the Roman Catholics.
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
# The Works of Honoré de Balzac

* Vol. I. The Magic Skin, &c.
* Vol. II. The Quest of the Absolute, &c.
* Vol. III. About Catherine de Medici, &c.
* Vol. IV. Seraphita
* Vol. V. Eugénie Grandet, &c.
* Vol. VI. Ursule Mirouët
* Vol. VII. At the Sign of the Cat and Racket, &c.
* Vol. VIII. A Bachelor's Establishment, &c.
* Vol. IX. A Daughter of Eve, &c.
* Vol. X.
* Vol. XI. A Marriage Settlement, &c.
* Vol. XII. Modeste Mignon, &c.
* Vol. XIII. Béatrix
* Vol. XIV. The Jealousies of a Country Town, &c.
* Vol. XV. Lost Illusions
* Vol. XVI. A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
* Vol. XVII. The Lily of the Valley, &c.
* Vol. XVIII. The Country Doctor, &c.
* Vol. XIX. The Country Parson, &c.
* Vol. XX. The Peasantry
* Vol. XXI. Cousin Betty
* Vol. XXII. Cousin Pons
* Vol. XXIII. Scenes from a Courtesan's Life, Part I
* Vol. XXIV. Scenes from a Courtesan's Life, Part II
* Vol. XXV. The Thirteen
* Vol. XXVI. Father Goriot, &c.
* Vol. XXVII. The Rise and Fall of César Birotteau, &c.
* Vol. XXVIII. The Middle Classes, &c.
* Vol. XXIX. The Chouans, &c.
* Vol. XXX. The Gondreville Mystery, &c.
* Vol. XXXI. The Member for Arcis
* Vol. XXXII. The Seamy Side of History, &c.
* Vol. XXXIII. The Physiology of Marriage
* Vol. XXXIV. The Dramas, Part I
* Vol. XXXV. The Dramas, Part II
* Vol. XXXVI. Repertory of the Comédie Humaine
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/To The Right Honourable Sir Robert Walpole, (Now Earl Of Orford). Written in the Year 1730

SIR,
 WHILE at the helm of state you ride, Our nation's envy, and its pride;
While foreign courts with wonder gaze, And curse those councils which they praise;
Would you not wonder, sir, to view
Your bard a greater man than you?
Which that he is, you cannot doubt, When you have read the sequel out.
 You know, great sir, that ancient fellows, Philosophers, and such folks, tell us, No great analogy between
Greatness and happiness is seen.
If then, as it might follow straight,
Wretched to be, is to be great.
Forbid it, Gods, that you should try
What 'tis to be so great as I.
 The family that dines the latest, Is in our street esteem'd the greatest: But latest hours must surely fall
Before him who never dines at all.
 Your taste in architect, you know, Hath been admir'd by friend and foe:
But can your earthly domes compare
To all my castles — in the air?
 We're often taught it doth behove us
To think those greater who're above us.
Another instance of my glory,
Who live above you twice two story,
And from my garret can look down
On the whole street of Arlington.
 Greatness by poets still is painted With many followers acquainted;
This too doth in my favour speak,
Your levée is but twice a week; From mine I can exclude but one day,
My door is quiet on a Sunday.
 Nor in the manner of attendance
Doth your great bard claim less ascendance.
Familiar you to admiration,
May be approach'd by all the nation:
While I, like the Mogul in Indo,
Am never seen but at my window.
If with my greatness you're offended,
The fault is easily amended,
For I'll come down with wondrous ease,
Into whatever place you please.
 I'm not ambitious; little matters
Will serve us great, but humble creatures.
Suppose a secretary o' this isle, Just to be doing with a while;
Admiral, gen'ral, judge, or bishop;
Or I can foreign treaties dish up, If the good genius of the nation
Should call me to negotiation;
Tuscan and French are in my head;
Latin I write, and Greek I — read.
 If you should ask, what pleases best?
To get the most, and do the least;
What fittest for? — you know, I'm sure,
I'm fittest for a — sinecure.

## Author's Notes

* ↑ Where Lord Orford then lived.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/To The Same (Fielding)

Another poem addressed to Sir Robert Walpole.
GREAT sir, as on each levée day I still attend you - still you say
I'm busy now, to-morrow come;
To-morrow, sir, you're not at home,
So says your porter, and dare I
Give such a man as him the lie?
 In imitation, sir, of you,
I keep a mighty levée too; Where my attendants, to their sorrow, Are bid to come again to-morrow.
To-morrow they return, no doubt, And then like you, sir, I'm gone out.
So says my maid - but they, less civil,
Give maid and master to the devil;
And then with menaces depart, Which could you hear would pierce your heart.
 Good sir, or make my levée fly me, Or lend your porter to deny me.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/To Miss H-and At Bath. Written extempore in the pump-room, 1742.

SOON shall these bounteous springs thy wish bestow, Soon in each feature sprightly health shall glow; Thy eyes regain their fire, thy limbs their grace, And roses join the lilies in thy face. But say, sweet maid, what waters can remove The pangs of cold despair, of hopeless love? The deadly star which lights th' autumnal skies Shines not so bright, so fatal as those eyes. The pains which from their influence we endure, Not Brewster, glory of his art, can cure.