The Project Gutenberg eBook of Silver linings
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Silver linings
Author: Wilhelmina Stitch
Release date: January 20, 2025 [eBook #75155]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Methuen & Co. Ltd, 1928
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILVER LININGS ***
[Illustration: Cover art]
SILVER LININGS
BY
WILHELMINA STITCH
AUTHOR OF
"THE FRAGRANT MINUTE," "SILKEN THREADS"
"THE GOLDEN WEB," "JOY'S LOOM"
"WHERE SUNLIGHT FALLS," ETC.
FOURTH EDITION
METHUEN & CO. LTD.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
First Published ... February 23d 1928
Second Edition ... April 1928
Third Edition ... January 1929
Fourth Edition ... 1929
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
CONTENTS
SONG OF LOVELY THINGS
TO ONE WHO SIGHED
LOOK FORWARD
THE WORLD'S BEAUTY
TO FATHER TIME
MIRACLE OF SPRING
EASTER THOUGHTS
SENSE OF HUMOUR
TO A PETULANT HEART
NEIGHBOUR JANE
DIMINISHING EVILS
THE DEATHLESS RAY
LITTLE HEARTBREAK
THIS WAY PASSED HEROES
JUST AS EASY
TO AN ALMOND TREE
MICHAEL INSISTS
RAINY DAY
BEGONE, DULL CARE!
IN A ROCKING-CHAIR
AT A RAILWAY STATION
IN PRAISE OF A WHOLE WEEK
A PRAYER IN ADVERSITY
THE WATCHFUL TONGUE
PETITION
A LITTLE THOUGHTLESSNESS
MAKE ME NORMAL
LIFE, THE TEACHER
THE SINGING KETTLE
HARVESTING
A PAEAN TO WORK
THE PRAYER OF THE HOME
THE MILLINER
IN CONVALESCENCE
A QUEER PHYSICIAN
THE ENVIABLE GREENGROCER
MOVING IN
GOOD MONTH OF AUGUST
TO A BOY OF SEVENTEEN
FOR THOSE IN CITY LODGINGS
THE PERFECT GUEST
JUST GROWING-PAINS
A MAN
TO A CHILD BLOWING BUBBLES
THE ANTIQUE SHOP
TIME'S SACK
THE HUMDRUM WAY
GIFT OF GLOVES
DOGGIE--IN MEMORIAM
WHEN IN THE DUMPS
"FETCH THE FITTER!"
BAGPIPES
WHEN I WAS EIGHT
MY FATHER
THE HEART'S WAY
LIFE IS TOO SHORT
POINT OF VIEW
LIFE'S A.B.C
NURSE
FOUR WALLS
_SONG OF LOVELY THINGS_
How many lovely things there be! The ever-changing, restless sea;
the gracious, friendly, shady tree; and children laughing in their
glee. How many lovely things there are! The glowing, beaming,
friendly star, the garden gate that stands ajar, the sound of Church
bells from afar. How many lovely things I know! Stories of lovers
long ago, and places where the lilies blow, and children's voices
sweet and low. What lovely things have touched my heart--see how the
waves caress and part, and watch pale Dawn from Night upstart and
slip into her mystic mart. What lovely things my ears have heard:
the thrilling song of happy bird, a horse by anxious lover spurred, a
toddler's sweetly lisped first word. What lovely things my eyes have
seen: snow-covered hills and fields of green, and silks of wondrous
weave and sheen--and Baby's toothless smile serene!
_TO ONE WHO SIGHED_
You cannot sing? Well, others can. You do not dance? but others do.
And ever since the world began there have been certain folk like you
who cannot dance, and cannot sing, nor weave a play nor write a book.
But you can sew? Most anything? And are quite expert as a cook?
And you can draw a little bit, amuse your friends with pen and ink?
You make folk laugh--this you admit. You have a lot of gifts, I
think. Oh, foolish one, to sigh and fret because you're not as some
folk are. Suppose a plant of mignonette withered because 'twas not a
star! Be what you are, dear girl, with pride. Accept your limits
with good grace; the world is varied, very wide; for each of us there
is a place. Within your sphere be quite content, be proud of work
that is your own, and to life's complex instrument with sweetness add
your mite of tone.
_LOOK FORWARD_
What a mess I made of things! That was yesterday. Yesterday has
taken wings--hide mistakes away. Things I did can't be undone.
Silly then to sorrow. Better is the task begun on a bright new
morrow. If I hadn't acted thus! Silence, puling heart. Useless now
to fume and fuss, make a brand new start. All the energy that goes
into senseless fretting would rebuild, if you so chose, your plan in
some new setting. What a blow! Fate is unkind. Grit your teeth,
don't murmur. Smile as if you didn't mind, stand a little firmer.
Here is solace for your grief, nothing's done beyond recall. Smudged
a page? Well, turn a leaf. Begin again. That's all. Failed
to-day? To-day is past. To-morrow's peeping round the door. Never
doubt you'll win at last. That is what to-morrow's for.
_THE WORLD'S BEAUTY_
Not in seclusion is true beauty seen, not in a fragrant, silent
country lane, nor in a daisy field all white and green, nor in a
golden meadow washed with rain. But in a smoky, noisy, busy street,
whose only colours through shop-windows show; where there is constant
march of human feet that bravely journey daily to and fro; where
cripples play a gay and daring air; and blind folk stand and dream
that it is light; where passers-by who haven't much to spare yet stop
to give ungrudgingly their mite. And where small houses nestle close
together, beneath whose roofs hard-working people live, who help each
other in the stormy weather, who have so little yet can always give.
O beauty of the world, you are seen best where the soul's banner
floats courageously above the turmoil of the day's high-fevered
quest--in ugly places beautified by Love!
_TO FATHER TIME_
Whene'er you care to turn my hair from brown to grey or white;
whene'er you line this face of mine with wrinkles left and right, I
shall not mind nor call unkind these changes that you bring; nor
shall I pray for you to stay your swift, relentless sting. But
Father Time, please read this rhyme and grant me this request. Take
not from me the power to see a joke and merry jest. Let me not tire
of my desire to try adventures new, nor e'er destroy my deep keen joy
in flowers of vivid hue. Though eyes grow dim and stiff each limb,
please leave untouched my heart. So I will heed another's need and
act a friendly part. Pile on the years, give cause for tears, but
keep my courage strong. Then come what may, I'll ease the day with
laughter and with song. Do what you will, you cannot kill my dreams,
for ever fair. For they are mine, old Father Time. In them you have
no share!
_MIRACLE OF SPRING_
Were I to live a thousand years I still would know that flaming
thrill, that rush of joy when first appears--the golden daffodil. A
thousand times my heart would sing when purple irises unfold; or when
forsythia's branches bring their dazzling showers of gold. I could
not see an almond tree with branches all a rosy glow but that a tide
of ecstasy would through my being flow. Were I to see, a thousand
times, blue scilla bells amid green grass, I know I'd hear their
fairy chimes as I would pass. Were I to live a thousand years I'd
never watch the nesting birds except through eyes bedimmed with
tears, my tongue bereft of words. Were I to weave ten thousand lays,
knew I a thousand songs to sing, I still would lack the power to
praise--the miracle of Spring.
_EASTER THOUGHTS_
Little growing things, pushing through the earth, petals for soft
wings, bells to echo mirth. Little bud and leaf, spite of winter's
pain, spite of nature's grief, they are here again. Little growing
things, roots are in my heart. Hark! the robin sings. Sorrow must
depart. Doubts and chilly fears! winter now is o'er, wipe away your
tears. Courage! rise once more. Courage has not fled, simply slept
awhile. Hope, that you deemed dead, revived beneath a smile. Good
cannot be slain, beauty never dies, spring has come again, soul of
man, arise. Arise and go forth now, Easter calls to you. Blossoms
on the bough, spirit burgeons, too. The Lenten lilies sing "From
dead self, arise," while every growing thing says, "Beauty never
dies."
_SENSE OF HUMOUR_
What it is, can't just say, only know it saved the day, drove the
gathering clouds away. Just a twinkle in the eye, just a smile
instead of sigh; Lo! the storm soon passed right by--all through a
sense of humour. What it is, don't just know, but it made rich
laughter flow, life took on a rosy glow: troubles shrank to half
their size; sorrow wore a cheerful guise; work appeared to be the
prize--all through a sense of humour. Things were going very wrong,
flowers no colour, birds no song; weakness ousted courage
strong--stepped in a sense of humour: put the balance right again,
saved two people lots of pain, brought the sunshine after rain--and
that's a sense of humour.
_TO A PETULANT HEART_
Such a resentful voice--"I didn't ask to be born," it said. But
being here, 'tis fitting to rejoice. In gratitude lift up your
voice. "What for?" it said. For these and many things. For the
flowers' gay hue; the bird that sweetly sings, for grass bedecked
with sparkling dew, for being born an heir to all the beauty that the
world enfolds. Come! have you not your share in sea and sky, in
hills and vales and wolds? But more for this, oh, petulant heart.
That for your strength there is provided toil. And for your soul's
sake, the chance to do your part in planting fruitful seeds in barren
soil. Oh, lad, oh, petulant lad, cast off the foolish mood; be glad.
Be glad that there are battles you must fight; and hills to climb;
defeats to suffer; goals to keep in sight. Be glad, yea, all the
time.
_NEIGHBOUR JANE_
Every morning, when she woke, quaint and short the prayer she spoke.
"Make me easy, Lord, I pray, to live with--easy through the day."
Nothing more did Jane e'er ask. But straightway faced the first
hour's task. Neighbours said it was a fact, Jane had charm and Jane
had tact. She didn't hurt nor irritate; she didn't prick, she didn't
grate. Gentle, courteous, kindly Jane, neighbours called and called
again! Found her presence like sweet balm, sympathetic, soothing,
calm. "Jane," said one, "sweet oil has found to make the wheels of
life go round. Bumpy places disappear just as soon as Jane draws
near." Every evening, e'er she slept, to the window this Jane crept;
worshipped there the starry crowd. "Who am I?" she cried aloud, "to
make a fussy, wordy riot when such nobility is quiet! Make me easy,
Lord, I pray, to live with--easy through the day."
_DIMINISHING EVILS_
How high those hills, how far away. Menacing hills at break of day.
Friend, keep going; there's no knowing when you will come to the end
of the way. Be not alarmed, fear not at all; at the foot of the
slope the hill looks small. Journey along, hearty and strong, the
summit is reached e'er the shadows fall. How great those ills, grim
foes they seem. Swift and swollen life's angry stream. Friend, keep
going, there's no knowing when troubles will vanish as if in a dream.
Be not alarmed, have no fear; the further away the worse they appear.
Journey along, hearty and strong; troubles are bubbles when Courage
is near.
_THE DEATHLESS RAY_
Oh! Happiness, that bright, winged ray, went darting blithely on its
way. It made a little baby smile, and then it skipped another mile,
and made a busy mother sing; and then again it took to wing and
darted swiftly to a boy, filling his heart with youthful joy. From
thence, a weary man it found. To sorrow he'd been straitly bound;
but suddenly his heart felt light and all the world was fair and
bright. It darted further; here and there--around the world--just
everywhere! Right through a thousand hearts it went, and yet its
strength was never spent. This is a truth we should remember,
through all the months, right to December, and then the cycle round
again: a ray of joy need never wane. Our happiness we need not save;
the store will last us to the grave. Give joy away; it will return.
A lovely lesson this to learn.
_LITTLE HEARTBREAK_
A little Heartbreak, wan and sore, was sitting by herself. A sunbeam
slipped around the door and danced upon a shelf. Though little
Heartbreak knew not why, she ceased, quite suddenly, to cry. Still
little Heartbreak sat alone. "I never will be whole again," thus
said she in her saddest tone, "I never will be healed of pain."
Then, unannounced, a little breeze that had been playing in the
trees, passed softly over Heartbreak's face, and, lo! of tears there
was no trace. Then when a bird began to sing, and Heartbreak
couldn't help but hear, there happened such a curious thing--a
silvern echo did appear, enthroned itself in Heartbreak's breast and,
like the bird, sang with sweet zest! So little Heartbreak tossed her
head and laughed to find the world so fair. "It's true," she cried,
"my heart has bled, and I have lived with black despair. But I can't
be quite broken, long--with sunbeams, zephyrs, and birds' song!"
_THIS WAY PASSED HEROES_
They passed but once this way, but they have left a flowered trail
behind. Surprising how in life's brief day they found so many
chances to be kind. They passed but once--this way they went, and
with them joy and grief, and work and play. There is no need to
raise a monument to heroes such as they. They once were found in
simple homes and small, in offices and shops, engaged in work. They
heard quite clearly Duty's trumpet call, and forth they marched with
no attempt to shirk. Soldiers were they, no medals on their breast,
a broom for weapon, or an office pen; and victory oft crowned the
spirit's quest. All honour to these womenfolk and men. They were so
gentle journeying the road, they scattered little acts of kindness
here and there. They had their burdens, but a brother's load was
also one in which they wished to share. No wonder we can see the
path they chose, for flowers have blossomed everywhere they trod.
They passed, and now through them there grows a lasting symbol of the
living God.
_JUST AS EASY_
No harder to praise than to scorn, no harder to love than to hate; no
harder to sing than to mourn, as easy to act as to wait. No harder
to smile than to frown. It's as easy to stand as to lean, as easy to
lift as pull down, to be generous rather than mean. It's not very
hard to be glad, it's not very hard to rejoice, it's harder indeed to
be sad. Let happiness then be our choice. No harder to trust than
to doubt, and courage is easy as fear, and foes are quite easy to
rout with weapons of Good Sense and Cheer. No harder to sing than to
cry, as easy to do as to plan; no harder to laugh than to sigh, and
gulfs aren't to dread but to span. And giving is easier, too, than
withholding your hand from a friend; no harder to aid than to
rue--and sweeter the day at the end.
_TO AN ALMOND TREE_
Oh, little wakeful tree, how beautiful art thou, curving so
gracefully each pink blossomed bough. Thou child, in dainty party
dress, to think that thou wouldst brave--to give us mortals
happiness--a wind-blown, frost-lined grave! Oh, little wakeful one,
why didst thou stir so soon? The Spring has scarce begun, thou
wouldst have graced fair June. Thy blossoms will ne'er see thy
prophecies come true, nor summer's pageantry with happy blushes view.
Pink petals soon will fall (oh, little tree, be still); soon will the
thrushes call and Spring trip o'er the hill. Bare will thy branches
be, thy day of beauty o'er, but little wakeful tree, we will but love
thee more--that thou didst dare to sing: "Oh, heart, prepare for
Spring!"
_MICHAEL INSISTS_
On the grass the sunlight falls, near at hand a blackbird calls; a
squirrel races up a tree. All this, and more, engrosses me. "Throw
a stick," pants Michael. Such a gentle breeze now passes; how
graceful are the bending grasses. Here and there the children play;
I could sit and dream all day. "Throw a stick," pants Michael.
Peace and quiet and sweet repose; someone has a cold, wet nose;
something scratches at my knees (lovely sun and gentle breeze).
"Throw a stick," pants Michael. Michael's head is on one side,
Michael's mouth is opened wide; brown eyes look beseechingly.
Michael! take your eyes from me. "Throw a stick," pants Michael.
Who can sit in selfish ease, just admiring grass and trees, deeming
life most kind and sweet, when a branch lies at one's feet--"Throw a
stick," pants Michael.
_RAINY DAY_
"Rainy day," said Mother Dawn, "rise from out your cloud-lined bed.
Look upon each field and lawn, a coverlet of mist I've spread."
Rainy Day slipped from her cloud, shook bright rain-drops from her
hair. As they fell, she laughed aloud, "Mother Dawn, what shall I
wear?" "Take, my child, this dress of grey, fashioned from a
frowning sky. Rainy Day, now run away, the patient, panting earth is
dry." Rainy Day played hide-and-seek, in and out among the flowers.
Cooled a hollyhock's hot cheek with her gift of gentle showers. Red
roofs shone with great delight when she touched them for a space.
Dry leaves trembled with delight, pressed against her loving face.
Suddenly, a flashing gem, heralded from mighty sun, settled on the
grey gown's hem--Rainy Day her work had done.
_BEGONE, DULL CARE!_
No! little, whining, fretting care, you cannot come a walk with me.
So lovely is the morning air I do not want your company. Oh! little,
whining, fretting care, you have no part in graceful trees; in waving
grass you have no share; you have no kinship with a breeze. I'm
going to a shady place where little children laugh and play. You'd
cast a shadow on each face if you came out with me to-day. I'm going
where a little stream bears lovely lilies on its breast. I could not
sit awhile to dream if you're to be my morning guest. I'm going
where the poppies blow among the friendly golden corn. No little
care would dare to go and show its face this sunny morn. I'm going
where sweet peace is found within a fern-grown fragrant dell, where
silence wraps the spirit round--so carking care farewell!
_IN A ROCKING-CHAIR_
Back and forth; one and two; a needle flashing, bright as mirth.
Filmy stuff of palest blue, bit of heaven come to earth! Anyone can
visit Spain, Holland, France, or Italy, if she cares to go by train,
if she cares to go by sea. Back and forth; soft and slow, needle
dancing merrily. Always thought I'd like to go where grows the giant
banyan tree. Needle's speeding down one side, India's moon is very
bright. How delightful thus to glide across a pool of silver light.
Scented is the midnight air, romance grows on every stem! Jungle
beasts for fights prepare--finished is the wee skirt's hem. Back and
forth; not too fast, on the way to Fancy's land. Here we are, on
shore at last, fairies take me by the hand. Back and forth, one and
two, anyone can fly by air. Cleverer, I think, don't you, to travel
in a rocking-chair!
_AT A RAILWAY STATION_
Proud trunk indeed! It looked at me with ill-disguised antipathy.
It seemed to know I'd never been to all the places it had seen. I
circled it with humble tread and, filled with awe, its labels read.
One year, I saw, it went to Spain; and liked it, for it went again.
And once to Venice, once to Rome. I wondered if it longed for home.
I must admit it travelled far; for there were labels "C.P.R." This
trunk showed such a haughty face. I hastened to another place, and
soon a battered box I spied that did not look so dignified, and on
its shabby lid there sat a whistling boy with ball and bat. Said I
(my manners are so bad), "Where are you going, whistling lad?" His
smile was wonderful to see. "To jolly Margate sands," cried he.
Back to the haughty trunk I went. "Each one," I bowed, "to his own
bent. Though you prefer some far-off land, had I the choice, please
understand, a shabby box I'd rather be, with whistling lad for
company!"
_IN PRAISE OF A WHOLE WEEK_
Poor old Robinson Crusoe, a lonely man was he, with not a soul but
Friday to keep him company. So when I'm feeling lonely, humble, sad
and meek, I just remember that for friends I have a whole good week!
Six days as well as Friday, companions brave and strong; it really
seems they all deserve a tribute and a song. So here's to good Man
Friday, and to his brothers six. There's always one to help me
should I be in a fix. Suppose that Monday's greyish--there's Tuesday
coming soon, and if the morning's boresome--there is the afternoon!
A toast, then, to "a whole week" which has such friendly ways, for
should one Friday disappear--it sends six other days.
_A PRAYER IN ADVERSITY_
"Lord, keep Thou my temper sweet." Thus I used to hear her say as
she trod life's lonely way, faced so often by defeat. "Lord, keep
Thou my temper sweet." Phrase of wisdom! How it clings. Troubles
now I never meet, but within my heart there rings, "Lord, keep Thou
my temper sweet." Sullen is the storm-swept sky. Everything is
going wrong. That's no reason you or I should broadcast a bitter
song. The world has quite enough to bear; we at least might try to
smile. Adding grief would be unfair, things will brighten in a
while. Though despair is looming near, let not bitterness hold sway;
now's the time to conquer fear, to-morrow brings a happy day. Sulk
not with life when things go wrong. What though you met grim defeat!
Chant this helpful little song: "Lord, keep Thou my temper sweet."
_THE WATCHFUL TONGUE_
The "watchful" tongue I do despise, the tongue that always waits to
learn what words would be accounted wise. 'Tis such a tongue I
spurn. The tongue that plays the suavest airs upon the most
expedient string; that echoes much, but never dares to be the leader
in the ring; that always drops a pleasing word because it's easiest
so to do; when drums of argument are heard, by silence, sees the
matter through. Oh! I dislike the trembling tongue that is afraid of
words sincere. I do detest the song that's sung to the accompaniment
of fear. And there's a silence I abhor; a silence meant to lead
astray; a silence like a heavy door denying Truth the right of way.
I'd rather hear quick hammer blows, words edged with steel, perhaps
unkind; a muffled tongue, it never shows the true complexion of the
mind.
_PETITION_
O Lord, I pray that I may e'er delight in springtime's fairy blossoms
pink and white, in green and lacy leaves; may never lose the joy that
always springs at sight of all the little daily things--of
brightly-patterned weaves; of gaily-coloured china; rich, dark grains
that glow long after daylight wanes, wood of time-burnished hue. And
joy in sounds--the blackbird's thrilling call, the human voice
letting rich phrases fall, all precious gifts from You. O Lord, I
pray that I may face each task and rise to its demands, nor ever ask
that others bear my load; that I may prove a loyal and helpful friend
before I reach the journey's quiet end along the winding road.
_A LITTLE THOUGHTLESSNESS_
A little thoughtlessness, so very slight--but someone's sunny day was
turned to night. Someone was caused unnecessary pain, and it takes
time e'er wounds are healed again. A little thoughtless phrase
dropped like a leaf--yet someone heard and, through it, suffered
grief. A little thoughtlessness; the mere not doing of some small
act we might have done so well. Perhaps e'er long we shall be sorely
ruing this slight omission more than words can tell. The things we
do not do! Ah, this is true, they often hurt far more than what we
do. A little thoughtlessness, or little thought; between these two
what differences are wrought! A little thought for others, word or
act--a cheery smile or letter writ with tact, a putting of ourselves
where others stand, the understanding heart, the helping hand. The
"I remember," not, "Oh, I forgot"--a little thoughtfulness has helped
a lot.
_MAKE ME NORMAL_
Make me normal, I would pray. Keep me normal, day by day. Strong, I
pray Thee, balanced, sane; normal body, normal brain. I would be, if
I might choose, somewhat witty to amuse; somewhat clever to achieve;
somewhat capable to grieve; somewhat kind to offer balm; somewhat
like a quiet psalm; somewhat fiery when need be; ever quick with
sympathy; not too good, nor yet too bad; often happy, sometimes sad;
just a normal, decent friend, courage-girt unto the end! Not a
genius hard to please; rather one who can with ease, find, wherever
she may go, people she is glad to know. Merely normal, every
way--for this blessing I would pray.
_LIFE, THE TEACHER_
Here is a truth the years have slowly taught me. There's not an
effort ever made in vain; though fate within its painful clutch has
caught me, farther along the road I've gone--through pain. Here is a
lesson life has slowly taught me: to chase good Fortune is young
folly's way. Always I've found that she herself has sought me when
love of work alone has filled my day. There's not a fault that I
have e'er committed, there's no mistake that I have ever made, that
has not into life's mosaic fitted; this is a law that ever is obeyed.
There's not a thread I've used, though it be knotted, but has in my
life's pattern found its place. There's not a page, though with
mistakes it's blotted, that does not show of destiny some trace.
Here is a truth that I have grown to cherish: no righteous battle's
ever fought in vain; nor does a thought or deed of goodness perish,
but, like a tree, brings forth its fruit again.
_THE SINGING KETTLE_
Up to its neck in water, boiling water, too. Yet the kettle keeps on
singing--that's what we ought to do! Next time we're in some
trouble, almost up to the chin, we'll think of the cheerful kettle,
and a little song begin. It helps, when feelings are boiling, to let
off lots of steam. Whistle and sing with courage; things aren't as
black as they seem. Kettle, you merry creature, scorched by the
callous fire, teach us your power of moulding the will to the day's
desire. Up to your neck in troubles? They haven't swept over your
head! Sing like the steaming kettle, till all your troubles have
fled. Singing will sound so pleasant to any who chance to hear. The
kettle does naught by its duty--but doesn't its singing cheer!
_HARVESTING_
Now when I went a-harvesting across a golden field, "Turn back," they
said, "this wheat and rye is not for you," I did not sigh. I did not
flinch, I did but sing, when I went forth a-harvesting! Within this
golden field (sang I) I've come by right a-harvesting. And from
(cried I) this fruitful field, I'll take my proper share of yield. I
will not sleep until I reap a goodly harvest that will last until the
winter's come and passed. I snapped my fingers while they frowned.
I then began to bind up sheaves of sunlight poured upon the ground;
of shadows made by dancing leaves. I took a blackbird's sweetest
trill; I gathered in a thrush's song; where'er I went I gleaned at
will; this harvest does to me belong. They had no power to say me
nay; the beauty of the earth I own; a harvest song I'll sing to-day
in praise of fields that Joy has sown.
_A PAEAN TO WORK_
To work! Hour by hour, day by day; to employ one's hands and brain.
To strive; to win an inch along the way; to lose; to start again.
Oh! it is joy to work unceasingly with might and main. Hard work is
not a burden, ever. The busy ones are enviable indeed. They have no
time for petty ills that sever the power to do, from the insistent
need. That little leisure snatched for a respite, how packed it is
with joy and keen delight. Gold cannot buy it. 'Tis reserved for
those who labour through the day until its close. Work does not irk.
It brings relief; assuages grief; increases pleasure; adds to the
measure of any happiness we find; and brings to the mind a peaceful
satisfaction; to the heart, a glow. Oh! work! You are the kindest
friend we know.
_THE PRAYER OF THE HOME_
May sunbeams kiss my window-panes and dance inside to pet each wall;
and when the happy daylight wanes, may gracious shadows come to call.
May winds speak low to me in love; may I have friendship with the
skies; and may the stars that shine above sing me their silvern
lullabies. May books abide with me alway, and flowers on every
window-sill; may joyous Laughter come to stay, and Kindliness and
Right Good-Will. Oh! may I be a haven fair for those with whom I
daily live; and may the lonely stranger share in joy that I, a Home,
can give. A steadfast storehouse I would be for tender dreams and
ideals true; and, oh! I pray you, think of me as loving arms
enfolding You. May Passers-by glance up and see my smiling curtains,
blossoms bright, and with a rush of sympathy--ask God to bless me day
and night!
_THE MILLINER_
Nice work, a milliner's, I think. Always intent upon a crown of silk
or velvet, blue or pink; of felt or straw, of red or brown; nice
work, a milliner's, I think. What dreams a milliner must dream,
stitching a bow or velvet band, or finishing the lining's seam,
creating beauty all by hand. What dreams a milliner must dream! For
as she works at this or that she'll see a smiling, winsome face
beneath the nearly-finished hat, that soon will have such style and
grace--an unknown girl's delighted face. Nice work a milliner's must
be, to make a jaunty little crown, and trim it very prettily to match
a new and saucy gown. For as the hat takes shape and form, then one
could whisper tenderly, "Now, gallant hat, defy Life's storm and give
a moment's ecstasy." Nice work a milliner's must be.
_IN CONVALESCENCE_
The joy of coming down the stairs, seeing loved faces once again;
familiar objects, pictures, chairs, a tree that taps the window-pane;
and books that say, "We've missed the touch of one who always loved
us much." The childish, secret, but keen pride that hands have grown
so thin and white. They look so pale, so dignified; 'tis strange,
but true, this gives delight! Then languor and the wish to sleep.
Absurd, but one would like to weep. The lack of power to
concentrate, the feeling there's no soul to care how hard the blow,
how ill the fate that one is called upon to bear. The weariness when
friends forget one doesn't wish for chatter yet. The question, "Will
I e'er get well?" that's like a thumb-screw and a rack; a deep
depression for a spell; then lo! the tide of health flows back.
These feelings come to everyone when convalescence has begun.
_A QUEER PHYSICIAN_
Such a queer physician, didn't sound my heart, neither did he feel my
pulse nor read the nurse's chart; didn't take my temperature, didn't
seem to care, didn't talk of diet; just gave a searching stare.
Asked me, "Do you worry?" "Are you filled with dread?" "Are there
fears that haunt you?" this is what he said. "Do you cherish hatred?
Of whom? and tell me why. You alone can cure yourself if you really
try." "Are the thoughts you entertain happy ones and bright, or are
they fraught with bitterness and malice, envy, spite?" Such a queer
physician, but his questions made me think, and ever since his visit
I've been feeling "in the pink."
_THE ENVIABLE GREENGROCER_
See him every morning (through my window-pane), his little shop
adorning, sun, or fog, or rain. He dresses up the front of it (a
nice, wide, sloping stall) with market garden produce, imported
fruits and all. Suppose he sold but hardware; a blackish pot and
pan. He really is, you must admit, a very lucky man. For he has
flaming oranges, and apples shining red; he doesn't deal in
tin-tacks, but smooth green beans instead. The friendly brown of
walnuts and cauliflowers so white, pale honey-hued bananas--the
nursery folks' delight. With these he decks his window, and makes
his stall so gay, so passers-by must stop to look--no matter what the
day.
_MOVING IN_
Yes, they have a piano--very glad of that. Hope the men won't bump
it going through the door. Looks as if that basket contains a
pussy-cat. Roll of blue linoleum to grace the kitchen floor. Love
to stand upon the kerb and watch a "Moving-in," makes the blood run
warmly, gives the heart-strings such a tug. Don't know the people,
but all the world's akin (that's a comfy-looking chair and that's a
cheerful rug). Don't know the people, matters not a bit, all the
dreams they're dreaming are trooping from the van. Look at that
large roll of blinds, oh, I hope they'll fit! There's a garden
roller and a bright red watering-can. Yes, they have a baby--had to
wait to see. High chair is coming, it's new and shiny white, and
there's a pale blue wardrobe and a little wooden tree on which to
hang small garments whilst Baby sleeps at night. Love to stand upon
the kerb and watch a "Moving-in"--tables, chairs, and curtain-rods,
make all the world akin.
_GOOD MONTH OF AUGUST_
They're pouring out of offices, from shops and schoolrooms, too. And
so, good month of August, please see what you can do. They're
leaving tapes and scissors, the inkpot and the pen, and books with
tiresome figures--they're seeking hill or glen. They'll wake, just
when they wish to; go out or sit at home. Oh! August, you were
lucky for that Emperor of Rome. So please bring luck, I pray you,
for the youngsters and the old who are having days of leisure--be not
tearful, dull, or cold. Smile on them, month of August, let them see
the world is fair; let them feel the world is kindly, in its beauty
let them share. Be it seaside, be it country, wherever be their
goal, kind August, act benignly, refresh them heart and soul. So
fill their eyes with beauty, they never will forget the August sun's
great glory when it begins to set.
_TO A BOY OF SEVENTEEN_
Oh! boy, how fortunate you are. Ahead of you the long, long trail;
above ambition's shining star to beckon over hill and dale. Oh! boy,
how fortunate you are that you have still to travel far. Before you
lies the unknown road, a great adventure to begin. Up, lad, fling
shoulder-high the load; stride forth, my son, intent to win. Be deaf
to all but honour's code, and loiter not in sloth's abode. I do
believe I envy you. Such wide horizons for your eyes, so many things
to learn and do. Dear lad, grow not so over-wise; you will not note
the sunset's hue; nor marvel at the dawn's bright dew. Just
seventeen! Oh, lucky boy, to have so many hours to spend in which to
learn life's greatest joy springs from the struggle as we wend
towards the goal that marks the end.
_FOR THOSE IN CITY LODGINGS_
Let them have windows high above the street, and let them see at
least one city tree; windows high-flung so that their eyes may greet
the sky and night-time's noble pageantry. Then sister moon can be a
precious friend, and stars companions when the shadows fall, and
through these lodging-windows prithee send a scented breeze, a
blackbird's cheery call. And let them find companionship in stairs
that creak a welcome when they mount at night, and in the
friendliness of well-used chairs, and all small things, through time,
made dear to sight. And let there be a child who'll shyly peep at
lonely lodgers as they come and go--a laughing child who nightly
falls asleep while mother sings in accents sweet and low. And give
them this and this and then still more--a neighbour's friendly word
at start of day, a cheery greeting floating through the door, so that
they go not lonely on their way.
_THE PERFECT GUEST_
The perfect guest has named the day when she'll arrive, and by what
train. Nor did she then forget to say when she will travel home
again; and having named the hour and date she doesn't, whim swayed,
change her mind and come too early or too late, for that indeed would
be unkind. She doesn't need a lot of aid, nor ask for service that
will irk, nor by her presence give the maid unnecessary, increased
work. She keeps her room quite spick and span, is always punctual,
talks with ease, falls in with every household plan, and does her
very best to please. She can amuse herself quite well, she writes
her letters, sews or reads, and leaves her hostess for a spell to
give her time for her own needs. And at the pleasant visit's end,
her host and hostess both agree when speaking of their absent friend,
a very perfect guest was she.
_JUST GROWING-PAINS_
Just growing-pains that made him say that hurtful, bitter thing
to-day. He didn't mean to give you pain. 'Twas just a storm that
swept his brain and made him argue black was white; and bad was good,
and wrong was right, and made him scoff and made him sneer at all the
things you hold most dear. He isn't bad, that boy of yours, but just
like others, scores and scores. First babyhood, then childhood
wanes, and then, there come those growing-pains! Oh! Foolish
parents to believe he likes to make you fret and grieve. The minute
that the word had leapt from his hot tongue he could have wept, he
felt ashamed, too proud, alack! to take the silly statement back. He
is a man (and you should know it!) and loves you much, but cannot
show it. He has to quote from Bernard Shaw, and rant about life's
highest law, and say religion's out of date, and reconstruct the
Church and State. Soon will this phase grow weak and wane--it's
nothing but a growing-pain.
_A MAN_
Successful? Yes, through honest work, not through some happy turn of
fate. Never has he been known to shirk since he attained to man's
estate. Approached each task with buoyant zest, of all life's gifts
deemed work the best. But this alone does not portray the man that I
would have you see. A zest for work, I hear you say, is not a claim
on sympathy. So other virtues I'll outline which well describe this
friend of mine. He has that questing type of mind that one
associates with youth. T'wards fulsomeness he's deaf and blind;
abhors a lie, respects the truth; and honesty is part of him, as much
a part as any limb. Quite perfect, then? Oh! no, indeed. Did I not
say he was a man? But turn to him when you're in need and he will
help you all he can. A loyal, sincere, and upright friend, whom one
can trust right to the end.
_TO A CHILD BLOWING BUBBLES_
Just with a little pipe of clay, a bowl of water and some soap, you
find your happiness to-day, releasing fairy worlds of hope. Now
watch these iridescent balls sailing so lightly and so high, and some
collide with chairs and walls, and then to beauty it's "Good-bye!"
You do not weep, but blow and blow until another doth appear, then
wave your small hand to and fro--it floats towards the chandelier. I
watch your velvet cheeks puff out, your lovely eyes are shining
bright. I thrill to hear your happy shout, "This one will reach a
star to-night." Dear little child, in later years may you make
beauty with such ease; and fashion, out of smiles and tears, rainbows
of glowing hope like these. And should one bubble's fate be ill,
then, from your pipe of dreams, I pray you'll blow another, laughing
still, as you are doing, dear, to-day.
_THE ANTIQUE SHOP_
There is a little antique store, just round the corner on Life's
road; and paved with tear-drops is its floor, and smiles light up
this small abode. And Memory sits there every day; she is the
guardian of these wares. My heart, it often wends that way, to see
this shop and how it fares. My heart peers through the window-pane
with eyes like pools of smiles and tears, so glad and sad to see
again the curios of bygone years. Says Memory, "O heart, draw near!
Here is a little shining dream, and here a rippling song of cheer;
and here, your childhood's fairy stream." An antique shop this Past
of mine; its gems kept safe by Memory; each kind word heard, how they
do shine, set in rare Fancy's filigree. Just round the corner, on
Life's street, a little Antique Shop I know. My heart fares forth
with quickened beat to view the gems of Long Ago.
_TIME'S SACK_
"OH, Father Time! what have you there? What's in your bag? Now,
prithee, say. How do you know which is my share of all those things
you hide away? And are there pleasant things for me? Please, Father
Time, just one quick peep. To-morrow's share do let me see, before I
wrap myself in sleep." Old Father Time said not one word, just went
a-walking down Life's street. It's very strange he never heard my
eager, chasing, racing feet. And yet next day, without a doubt, I
find a dozen things to do. From Time's big sack they've fallen out.
He might have told--of course, he knew! I'm wiser now, I do not ask
what Father Time will bring to-morrow; for each day has its play and
task; its joy and e'en its sorrow. And each awakening has this
thrill: I wonder what To-day will bring? Perhaps a golden daffodil
a-trumpeting, "It's Spring!" "It's Spring!"
THE HUMDRUM WAY
When something unusual has to be done, a perilous hill to be scaled,
a bridge to be crossed, a venture begun, we think not of those who
have failed, but we tackle the job with courage and zest, for really
and truly it's fun to feel that our strength is standing the test
when there's something of worth to be done. When we feel we are
watched by critical eyes, when we know there's reward if we win, it's
neither a matter for praise nor surprise that we're only too glad to
begin; for it's human to like the cheers and applause that follow
spectacular feats, but save a few cheers for this other cause--for
the heroes in quiet little streets. When the same old thing has got
to be done--a drab little, quiet little, everyday task, a floor to be
swept, a ledger begun, then this is the boon we justly may ask--that
we may be given the strength, day by day, to walk with sweet grace
the dull, Humdrum Way.
_GIFT OF GLOVES_
A gift of gloves! I must confess no other gift can quite express, so
clearly yet so silently, a friend's most loving thought of me (he
knew my size, how did he guess?). It exercises thoughtfulness, a
knowledge of my style of dress, to choose with perspicacity--a gift
of gloves! For they must fit precisely, yes, if they'd achieve a
huge success. The texture, colour, must agree with other garments
worn by me, must harmonize; well, more or less. But here's the point
I wish to stress: it is a gift that comes to bless, for when one dons
them carefully, a loving thought springs up, you see, responsive to
the gloves' caress. One's hands are clothed in friendliness and
space is bridged by gloves that press with human warmth and
gentleness. One feels a sweet cam'raderie, if one is wearing
happily--a gift of gloves!
_DOGGIE--IN MEMORIAM_
This doggie was young when I was young. We understood each other's
tongue; we understood each other's ways, together we spent our
childhood's days. Later, 'twas he who understood each change of
temper and of mood. He lived to give and I to take; he changed his
ways just for my sake. If rest I wished, then so did he; he gave me
love and sympathy; he liked my silence, liked my talk; was ever glad
to race or walk; to wait for me, to sit quite still, happy and proud
to do my will. Now that he's travelled on alone, there's naught to
do but set this stone, then try to reach my journey's end as nobly as
this canine friend. Oh, little pal of childhood's days, I ought to
have such decent ways. You did your best to teach me, pet--and
doggie, dear, I shan't forget.
_WHEN IN THE DUMPS_
Don't be sorry for yourself--better smile. Worst of troubles will
disperse--in a while. If self-pity mounts up high, you are bound to
mope or cry, bound to amplify your trouble, make it grow in size,
quite double, being sorry for oneself is out of style! Don't be
sorry for yourself--better smile; blackest clouds will pass away--in
a while. 'Tis true, you've been hard hit, not a friend but would
admit you have cause to lose some sleep, quite a lot to make you
weep. Don't you do it, though, for pity's out of style! Don't be
sorry for yourself--better smile. Sun and moon and stars will
shine--in a while, and self-pity doesn't pay, for it has a nasty way
of turning courage pale, and then we're bound to fail. So let's toss
our heads and laugh; lo! the troubles fade to half. Just keep
smiling--for self-pity's out of style!
"_FETCH THE FITTER!_"
"Fetch the fitter, frock's all wrong; sleeves too tight and waist too
low; neck line ugly; skirt too long, worn so very short, you know.
Fetch the fitter, please." Fitter comes and eyes the dress, fills
her mouth with shining pins, shows no signs of deep distress, but her
fearful task begins, flopping on her knees. Snips and pins and pins
and snips, stands upright and snips some more; mutters through her
pin-filled lips: "Just twelve inches from the floor." Now she
measures it. Here some gathers, here a pleat; lifts a bit and snips
a bit; dress is looking now quite neat, just a perfect fit. Wouldn't
it be luck, indeed, when life's pattern goes awry, when it doesn't
fit the need, we had only just to cry: "Fetch the fitter, pray"?
Swiftly she would come and smile (fitters always are so nice), cut
the day to beauty's style, without grumbling, in a trice, perfect
fitting day.
_BAGPIPES_
Since I have heard the great pipes playing, not on the stage nor
crowded street, but out on a moorland with heather swaying to the
pibroch's rhythm about our feet. Since I have heard the pipes thus
playing--for aye in my blood is their throb and beat. Since I have
heard the great pipes wailing, lamenting the death of a gallant chief
and the strength of his clan that was slowly failing (perish the
fruit and fall the leaf). Since I have heard the pipes thus
wailing--for aye in my heart is the pibroch's grief. Since I have
seen a calm loch sleeping, with starshine and moonshine upon its
breast, and heard the pipes with sorrow weeping lamenting a chieftain
gone to his rest. Since I have heard the great pipes playing a
summons to war that the clans must obey, whilst over the moorland the
heather was swaying--their throb and their beat in my blood lives for
aye.
_WHEN I WAS EIGHT_
When I was only eight years old, I longed to be twice ten, and wear a
frock of lace and gold to dazzle princely men. To marry was my great
desire, because it seemed to me, once married I could then aspire to
drink the strongest tea! At every meal I then would eat, thus to
myself I said, a mustard pickle for a treat (one could when one was
wed!). My skirts would trail along the floor, my hair I'd pin up
high and stick in pins, at least a score; an ostrich ruff I'd buy.
Ah, me! How quickly years do pass; how quickly youth has fled. I
stand before the looking-glass--no hair-pins in my head! No
fan-shaped combs like Mother wore, my hair is short, you see; my
skirts refuse to sweep the floor, and I dislike strong tea! But yet
I love to bring to mind these dreams I had of yore. The future looms
both bright and kind when one is two times four.
_MY FATHER_
My recollections are of little things! How his two hands would flap
and soar like wings above my curly head. Then suddenly, oh magic,
great and strange, my curls to coloured sugar-sticks would change--at
least, so Father said. And it was true! I'd see them tumble out.
And only stupid grown-ups then could doubt that Father worked a
spell. Sometimes he'd make a pistol of his hand. One shot, and lo!
there'd fall, at his command (this I remember well), a thrilling
secret parcelled up so tight, right on my plate--and this in broad
daylight! A mother's songs, and care and romping fun, we do accept
as we accept the sun and lovely flowers that blow. But magic
fathers! Those who cure all ills by hourly doses of some spongecake
pills, are marvellous to know! There was a father much beloved by
all. To him the shy birds came; and babies small gurgled and cooed
love's sign. These memories are now as fragrance blown across the
fields of life which he has sown--this Father who was mine.
_THE HEART'S WAY_
'Tis strange--but what I love the best is not the garden at its
height, when fragrant flowers, in masses bright, are rioting for my
delight, the blue, the red, the yellow, white--not then I love the
garden best! But when I make a humble quest around each pregnant
garden bed, and look for bits of blue and red or marguerite with
golden head, just shortly after winter's sped--'tis then I love the
garden best. For then one greets with joyous zest a little spray of
Columbine, some Bleeding Heart to intertwine, one Iris dressed in
purple fine; a small bouquet, but Spring's sweet sign. 'Tis then I
love the garden best. Or when the leaves in brown are dressed, when
many blossoms faint with cold; but here a saffron Snap stands bold;
and here a Pansy splashed with gold; Tobacco flowers at night
unfold--'tis then I love the garden best.
_LIFE IS TOO SHORT_
Life is too short for sighing and regretting. That which is done, we
cannot now undo. Before the sun completes another setting, Life may
have changed its aspect and its hue. Blunders are never mended by
mere fretting; better to start afresh, mistakes forgetting. Life is
too short a single thing to rue. Life is too short for bitterness
and hating. Nothing is gained by venom and despair. 'Tis not a
virtue to be ever prating that worms abide within the blossom fair.
Goodness, forsooth, is not one whit abating, though Cynics give a
jaundiced, twisted rating. Life is too short to entertain dull care.
Life is just long enough for you and me to do our work with energy
and zest. Just long enough for each of us to try to make of it a
helpful, joyous quest; to brighten up, perchance, a neighbour's sky.
Too short for hate; too short for futile sigh. Just long enough to
learn that Love is best.
_POINT OF VIEW_
If only I could prove to you--so much depends on point of view. If
only I could make it clear that you are worried by a fear! If only I
could make you see that we are what we wish to be. If only I could
give you cause to put aside your grief, and pause, and look within
your own sad heart--'tis there you'd find the poisoned dart. If only
I could make it plain that sun no better is than rain; that there's
no riches just like health; that happiness comes not from wealth. If
only I could make you try to view the world with smiling eye, to look
not down but up instead; for thus one sees the sunset red, for thus
one sees the rosy dawn, and gleaming glory of the morn. If only I
could prove to you that all depends on point of view--I think you'd
find life quite worth while, deserving of your praise and smile.
_LIFE'S A.B.C._
Do you remember how we used to say the A.B.C. when we were very
young? We stood in semi-circular array, and proved a nimbleness of
brain and tongue! 'Twas "A.B.C." right to the final "Z," we chanted
in a wailing minor key. One little blue-eyed girl with curly head
always stopped short each time she reached the "D." But patient
teacher, smiling, put her right. Then on she'd go quite blithely to
the end. And some who were exceptionally bright, from "Z" to "A" the
backward trail could wend! But now, we often find Life goes awry.
Its "A.B.C." is very hard to learn. Letters refuse, no matter how we
try, to follow smoothly, each in proper turn. 'Tis then, like
children of the long-ago, we ask the Teacher, watching patiently, if
He will help us so that we may know the way to read Life's puzzling
A.B.C.
_NURSE_
Her modulated voice is sweet, she ne'er looks tired, she's never
late. She's neat and trim from head to feet; she does not gossip,
does not prate, and always she is most discreet. She never wears
harsh, squeaky shoes, nor aprons with a rustling noise. She never
shows she has the blues; she is a model of calm poise; she never
angers nor annoys. She's temperate always, in all things. She's
sympathetic, strong in mind. A ray of hope her presence brings. Her
counsel's wise, she's always kind, and yet she has not angel's wings!
And from her very soul there flows a vital current that inspires, as
through the anxious house she goes rekindling Hope's extinguished
fires. She serves with love, with courage glows--this Nurse whom all
the world admires.
_FOUR WALLS_
What precious things four walls enclose: a glowing fire, deep chairs
for rest, a slender vase to hold one rose. What precious things four
walls enclose when there is present some loved guest. What charming
things four walls embrace: a paper of entrancing hues, and shadows
like spell-woven lace. What charming things four walls embrace:
loved books to guide us and amuse. Four walls enclose the best of
life, its meaning and its very core; a happy husband, happy wife.
Four walls enclose the best of life where baby crawls along the
floor. Four walls enclose such magic things, the sound of laughter,
joyous, free; and peace that spreads its gleaming wings. Four walls
enclose such magic things where there is love and sympathy.
_Printed in Great Britain by_
UNWIN BROTHERS LIMITED, LONDON AND WOKING
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SILVER LININGS ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
