Benjamin Leopold Farjeon's Books

The Last Tenant

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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The Last Tenant

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

The Last Tenant By Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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152

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CreateSpace

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ISBN 10

1490991956

ISBN 13

9781490991955

Devlin the Barber

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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I am a struggling man--the phrase will be well understood, for the class to which I belong is a large one--and I reside in a neighbourhood which is neither very poor nor very fashionable. I have, of course, my friends and acquaintances, and among the most intimate of the former is a family of the name of Melladew. Mr. Melladew is a reader in a printing-office in which a weekly newspaper is printed. Mrs. Melladew, with the assistance of one small servant, manages the home. They had two daughters, twins, eighteen years of age, named respectively Mary and Elizabeth. These girls were very beautiful, and were so much alike that they were frequently mistaken for one another. Mrs. Melladew has told me that when they were very young she was compelled to make some distinguishing mark in their dress to avoid confusion in her recognition of them, such as differently coloured socks or pieces of ribbon. The home of the Melladews was a happy one, and the sisters loved each other sincerely. They were both in outdoor employment, in the establishments of a general linendraper and a fashionable dressmaker. Mary was in the employment of the linendraper--Limbird's, in Regent Street. It is a firm of wide repute, and employs a great number of hands, some of whom sleep in the house. This was the case with Mary Melladew, who went to her work on Monday morning and did not return home until Saturday night. Elizabeth, or Lizzie as she was always called, was employed by Madame Michel, in Baker Street. She went to her work at half-past eight every morning and returned home at half-past seven every night. The printing-office in which Mr. Melladew is engaged employs two readers, a night reader and a day reader. Mr. Melladew is the day reader, his hours being from nine in the morning till seven in the evening. But on Saturdays he has a much longer spell; he is due in the office at eight in the morning, and he remains until two or three hours past midnight--a stretch of eighteen or nineteen hours. By that time all the work for the Sunday edition of the weekly newspaper is done, and the outside pages are being worked off on the steam presses. Now, upon the Saturday morning on which, so far as I am concerned, the enthralling interest of my story commences, certain important events had occurred in my career and in that of Mr. Melladew. Exactly one month previous to that day, the firm in which I had been employed for a great many years had given me a month's notice to leave. My dismissal was not caused by any lapse of duty on my part; it was simply that business had been for some time in a bad state, and that my employers found it necessary to reduce their staff. Among those who received notice to quit, I, unfortunately, was included. Therefore, when I rose on Saturday morning I was in the dismal position of a man out of work, my time having expired on the day before. This was of serious importance to me. With Mr. Melladew the case was different. In what unexpectedly occurred to him there was bright sunshine, to be succeeded by black darkness.

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276

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Library of Alexandria

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ISBN 10

146561057X

ISBN 13

9781465610577

The Nine of Hearts: A Novel

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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The Nine of Hearts: A Novel

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

This morning, at the Central Criminal Court, Mr. Justice Fenmore resumed the trial of Edward Layton for the wilful murder of his wife, Agnes Layton, on the morning of the 26th of March, by the administration of poisonous narcotics in such quantities as to produce death. Extraordinary as was the excitement caused by yesterday's proceedings, the public interest in this mysterious murder was intensified by the strange decision arrived at by the prisoner on this the third day of his trial. The Attorney-general, Mr. J. Protheroe, Q.C., and Mr. Standing conducted the case on behalf of the Crown. The widely spread rumor that an episode of a startling character was impending, received confirmation immediately upon the entrance of the prisoner in the dock. He presented a care-worn appearance, and while the usual formalities were in progress, it was observed that he and his counsel (Mr. Bainbridge, Q.C.) were in earnest consultation, and it appeared as if the learned gentleman were endeavoring to overcome some resolution which the prisoner had formed. At the termination of this conversation Mr. Bainbridge, turning to the Bench, said, "I have to claim your lordship's indulgence for a statement which I find it necessary to make. It is in the remembrance of your lordship that on the first day of this trial the prisoner was undefended, being, as it appeared, resolutely determined to defend himself. Yesterday morning--that is, upon the second day of the trial--I informed your lordship that the prisoner had been prevailed upon by his friends to intrust his defence to me. Being satisfied in my own mind that nothing would occur to disturb this arrangement--which I venture to say was an advisable one--I did not feel called upon to mention that the prisoner's consent to accept legal aid was very reluctantly given. That this was so, however, is proved by what has since transpired. Both in writing and by word of mouth the prisoner now insists upon conducting his own case, and has distinctly informed me that he will not permit me to act for him. I am empowered to say that his decision is not in any sense personal to myself. It is simply, and regrettably, that he has resolved not to be defended or represented by counsel. In these circumstances I have no option but to place myself in your lordship's hands.

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229

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Library of Alexandria

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ISBN 10

1465610588

ISBN 13

9781465610584

The Shield of Love

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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The Shield of Love

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

This is not exactly a story of Cinderella, although a modern Cinderella--of whom there are a great many more in our social life than people wot of--plays her modest part therein; and the allusion to one of the world's prettiest fairy-tales is apposite enough because her Prince, an ordinary English gentleman prosaically named John Dixon, was first drawn to her by the pity which stirs every honest heart when innocence and helplessness are imposed upon. Pity became presently sweetened by affection, and subsequently glorified by love, which, at the opening of our story, awaited its little plot of fresh-smelling earth to put forth its leaves, the healthy flourishing of which has raised to the dignity of a heavenly poem that most beautiful of all words, Home. Her Christian name was Charlotte, her surname Fox-Cordery, and she had a mother and a brother. These, from the time her likeness to Cinderella commenced, comprised the household. Had it occurred to a stranger who gazed for the first time upon Mr. and Miss Fox-Cordery, as they sat in the living-room of the Fox-Cordery establishment, that for some private reason the brother and sister had dressed in each other's clothes, he might well have been excused the fancy. It was not that the lady was so much like a gentleman, but that the gentleman was so much like a lady; and a closer inspection would certainly have caused the stranger to do justice at least to Miss Fox-Cordery. She was the taller and stouter of the twain, and yet not too tall or stout for grace and beauty of an attractive kind. There was some color in her face, his was perfectly pallid, bearing the peculiar hue observable in waxwork figures; her eyes were black, his blue; her hair was brown, his sandy; and the waxwork suggestion was strengthened by his whiskers and mustache, which had a ludicrous air of having been stuck on. There was a cheerful energy in her movements which was conspicuously absent in his, and her voice had a musical ring in it, while his was languid and deliberate. She was his junior by a good ten years, her age being twenty-eight, but had he proclaimed himself no more than thirty, only those who were better informed would have disputed the statement. When men and women reach middle age the desire to appear younger than they are is a pardonable weakness, and it was to the advantage of Mr. Fox-Cordery that it was less difficult for him than for most of us to maintain the harmless fiction. This was not the only bubble which Mr. Fox-Cordery was ready to encourage in order to deceive the world. His infantile face, his appealing blue eyes, his smooth voice, were traps which brought many unwary persons to grief. Nature plays numberless astonishing tricks, but few more astonishing than that which rendered the contrast between the outer and inner Mr. Fox-Cordery even more startling than that which existed in the physical characteristics of this brother and sister.

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263

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Library of Alexandria

Published Date

ISBN 10

1465611479

ISBN 13

9781465611475

The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel

Vol. II

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel

Vol. II

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

Reprint of the original, first published in 1876.

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278

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BoD – Books on Demand

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ISBN 10

338549527X

ISBN 13

9783385495272

The House of the White Shadows

By: Benjamin Farjeon

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The House of the White Shadows

By: Benjamin Farjeon

Benjamin Farjeon's engrossing novel The House of the White Shadows centers around a sensational murder trial that has captured the imagination of all of Geneva. One of the attorneys involved in the case finds himself embroiled in a tumultuous situation of his own.

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537

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The Floating Press

Published Date

ISBN 10

177659097X

ISBN 13

9781776590971

A Fair Jewess

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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A Fair Jewess

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

On a bright, snowy night in December, some years ago, Dr. Spenlove, having been employed all the afternoon and evening in paying farewell visits to his patients, walked briskly toward his home through the narrowest and most squalid thoroughfares in Portsmouth. The animation of his movements may be set down to the severity of the weather, and not to any inward cheerfulness of spirits, for as he passed familiar landmarks he looked at them with a certain regret which men devoid of sentiment would have pronounced an indication of a weak nature. In this opinion, however, they would have been wrong, for Dr. Spenlove's intended departure early the following morning from a field which had strong claims upon his sympathies was dictated by a law of inexorable necessity. He was a practitioner of considerable skill, and he had conscientiously striven to achieve a reputation in some measure commensurate with his abilities. From a worldly point of view his efforts had been attended with mortifying failure; he had not only been unsuccessful in earning a bare livelihood, but he had completely exhausted the limited resources with which he had started upon his career; he had, moreover, endured severe privation, and an opening presenting itself in the wider field of London he had accepted it with gladness and reluctance. With gladness because he was an ambitious man, and had desires apart from his profession; with reluctance because it pained him to bid farewell to patients in whom he took a genuine interest, and whom he would have liked to continue to befriend. He had, indeed, assisted many of them to the full extent of his power, and in some instances had gone beyond this limit, depriving himself of the necessaries of life to supply them with medicines and nourishing food, and robbing his nights of rest to minister to their woes. He bore about him distinguishing marks of the beautiful self-sacrifice. On this last night of his residence among them his purse was empty, and inclement as was the weather he wore, on his road home, but one thin coat which was but a feeble protection from the freezing air which pierced to his skin, though every button was put to its proper use. A hacking cough, which caused him to pause occasionally, denoted that he was running a dangerous risk in being so insufficiently clad; but he seemed to make light of this, and smiled when the paroxysm was over. In no profession can be found displayed a more noble humanity and philanthropy than in that which Dr. Spenlove practiced, and needy as he was, and narrow as had been his means from the start, his young career already afforded a striking example of sweet and unselfish attributes. In the divine placing of human hosts the poor doctor and the poor priest shall be found marching in the van side by side.

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440

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Library of Alexandria

Published Date

ISBN 10

1465591567

ISBN 13

9781465591562

At the Sign of the Silver Flagon

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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At the Sign of the Silver Flagon

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

It is December, and the sun marks the record of a hundred and six in the shade. We are at the golden end of the world, in Australia, at Silver Creek, twelve months ago a wilderness, now a busy and thriving township. Within this brief space, an infant in the history of cities has grown into what promises to become a strong and healthy man. Unknown, unthought of but a year ago, the name of Silver Creek is already a household word in a new and flourishing colony, and holds an important place in the journals of commerce. There are turnings and thoroughfares in Silver Creek sufficiently irregular to drive land surveyors into a state of distraction, and there is but one street which exhibits anything like regularity in its formation; but this is a result more of accident than design. It is the principal street in the township, and is lined with wooden tenements and calico tents, in which the business of the town is transacted. Stores of every description, in which all things necessary, and many things unnecessary, for the requirements of life, are to be found within the limits of this thoroughfare, which is known to the residents as High Street. If you are curious in such matters, you may calculate how many stores High Street contains by setting its length at a mile and a half, and giving each store an average frontage of sixteen feet. A few of the buildings are of wood, the majority of calico, and the inhabitants of one Englishman's castle can hear the inhabitants of the next talking and bargaining during the day, and sighing and murmuring during the night. Not that the inhabitants of Silver Creek are all Englishmen. Other nations thirsting to have their fingers in the golden pie, have sent their representatives across the seas and through the bush, and Americans, Germans, Frenchmen, Spaniards, Italians, Mongols, and Africans, form a rare Tower-of-Babel community. As, however, they have all been drawn thither by one magnet--fashioned of bright gold--they do not emulate the Tower-of-Babel folk, but hob-a-nob amicably with one another, and make common cause of it with the ubiquitous Englishman. The pie is a rich one, but the fruit is unequally distributed, and there are many waste places in it (unfortunately not seen until the crust is dived into), the discovery of which brings disappointment and despair to the hungry seekers. The despair does not last long; they are soon tearing up the earth again, animated by new hopes of coming suddenly upon rich pockets of gold.

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385

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Library of Alexandria

Published Date

ISBN 10

1465610561

ISBN 13

9781465610560

Self-Doomed: A Novel

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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Self-Doomed: A Novel

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

I am truly glad to see you; this meeting has warmed my heart. It is one of life's pleasantest experiences to shake the hand of an old friend, and to learn from his own lips that he has not forgotten you in his wanderings. I am sorely grieved to hear that you have lost your faithful mate, the dear woman who was your companion for so many years. Be comforted; we shall meet them again, these beloved ones. Resignation, friend, resignation. There are griefs which all mortals have to bear. Happy the man in whose heart shines the bright star of Hope, and who derives consolation from it. It is a solace born of Faith the comforter, and it is beyond price. You are anxious to know what has become of my people? Name them, friend. Gideon Wolf, my apprentice? And pretty Katrine Loebeg, too--you are curious about her? Strange that you should bring their names into association, for when you last visited me, twelve years ago, there was nothing between those two; I may say that with confidence. Indeed, it is scarcely possible there could have been, for Katrine was but thirteen. A beautiful maiden, truly, but her heart was not then ripe enough for love; she was a mere child. Twelve years ago! Ah me, ah me! How time flies! The three best seasons have passed over my head, and I am in the winter of my life. But I feel young sometimes even now--yes, indeed, I am good for many a year, I hope. I am fond of life, and I have much to be grateful for, though I stand alone in the world, without wife or child. Gideon Wolf and Katrine Loebeg! Gracious heavens, the contrast! Truly a wolf and a lamb; a hawk and a dove; a poisonous weed and a pure white lily. But you were as much a stranger to those two when you were here last as you are at the present moment. Old Anna was my house-keeper then. You remember Anna; you had good jokes with her, and she liked you; she said you were a proper man. Where is she now, you ask? In her grave. She served me faithfully, and lived till she was nearly eighty. Ah, she was a treasure--you don't often meet with such. Everything went on in the house from hour to hour, from day to day, from week to week, like a well regulated clock. And what beautiful stews she made! Never, never shall I taste the like again. I have another house-keeper now. Hush! She is here.

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132

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Library of Alexandria

Published Date

ISBN 10

1465610596

ISBN 13

9781465610591

Grif: A Story of Australian Life

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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Grif: A Story of Australian Life

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

In one of the most thickly populated parts of Melbourne city, where poverty and vice struggle for breathing space, and where narrow lanes and filthy thoroughfares jostle each other savagely, there stood, surrounded by a hundred miserable hovels, a gloomy house, which might have been likened to a sullen tyrant, frowning down a crowd of abject, poverty-stricken slaves. From its appearance it might have been built a century ago; decay and rottenness were apparent from roof to base: but in reality it was barely a dozen years old. It had lived a wicked and depraved life, had this house, which might account for its premature decay. It looked like a hoary old sinner, and in every wrinkle of its weather-board casing was hidden a story which would make respectability shudder. There are, in every large city, dilapidated or decayed houses of this description, which we avoid or pass by quickly, as we do drunken men in the streets. In one of the apartments of this house, on a dismally wet night, were two inmates, crouched before a fire as miserable as the night. A deal table, whose face and legs bore the marks of much rough usage; a tin candlestick containing a middle-aged tallow candle, the yellow light from which flickered sullenly, as if it were weary of its life and wanted to be done with it; a three-legged stool; and a wretched mattress, which was hiding itself in a corner, with a kind of shamefaced consciousness that it had no business to be where it was:--comprised all the furniture of the room. The gloominess of the apartment and the meanness of the furniture were in keeping with one another, and both were in keeping with the night, which sighed and moaned and wept without; while down the rickety chimney the wind whistled as if in mockery, and the rain-drops fell upon the embers, hissing damp misery into the eyes of the two human beings who sat before the fire, bearing their burden quietly, if not patiently. They were a strange couple. The one, a fair young girl, with a face so mild and sweet, that the beholder, looking upon it when in repose, felt gladdened by the sight. A sweet, fair young face; a face to love. A look of sadness was in her dark brown eyes, and on the fringes, which half-veiled their beauty, were traces of tears. The other, a stunted, ragged boy, with pockmarked face, with bold and brazen eyes, with a vicious smile too often playing about his lips. His hand was supporting his cheek; hers was lying idly upon her knee. The fitful glare of the scanty fire threw light upon both: and to look upon the one, so small and white, with the blue veins so delicately traced; and upon the other, so rough and horny, with every sinew speaking of muscular strength, made one wonder by what mystery of life the two had come into companionship. Yet, strange as was the contrast, there they sat, she upon the stool, he upon the ground, as if they were accustomed to each other's society. Wrapt in her thoughts the girl sat, quiet and motionless, gazing into the fire. What shades of expression passed across her face were of a melancholy nature; the weavings of her fancy in the fitful glare brought nothing of pleasure to her mind. Not far into the past could she look, for she was barely nineteen years of age; but brief as must have been her experience of life's troubles, it was bitter enough to sadden her eyes with tears, and to cause her to quiver as if she were in pain. The boy's thoughts were not of himself; they were of her, as was proven by his peering up at her face anxiously every few moments in silence. That he met with no responsive look evidently troubled him; he threw unquiet glances at her furtively, and then he plucked her gently by the sleeve.

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475

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Library of Alexandria

Published Date

ISBN 10

1465607439

ISBN 13

9781465607430

A Secret Inheritance (Complete)

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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A Secret Inheritance (Complete)

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

My earliest distinct remembrances are of a mean and common home in London, in which I lived with my parents and a servant named Fortress. She was a young woman, her age being twenty-four or five, but her manners were as sedate as those of a matron who had a distaste for frivolity and tittle-tattle. She performed her duties quietly and in silence, and seldom spoke unless she were first addressed. She did not take the trouble to render herself agreeable to me, or to win my affection. This was entirely to my liking, as I was of a retired habit of mind and disposition. It was not unusual for weeks to pass without our exchanging a word. We were surrounded by squalid thoroughfares, the residents in which were persons occupying the lowest stations of life, human bees whose hives were not over stocked with honey, being indeed, I have no doubt, frequently bare of it. This was not the result of indolence, for they toiled early and late. I saw, and observed. Sometimes I wondered, sometimes I despised, and I always shrank from close contact with these sordid conditions of existence. If I had possessed a store of pocket-money it is not unlikely that a portion of it would have been expended in charity, but I will not affirm that I should have been impelled to liberality by motives of benevolence. We were, however, very poor, and my father seldom gave me a penny. I did not complain; I had no wants which money could gratify. I did not consort with other children; I did not play or associate with them; when they made advances towards me I declined to receive them, and I held myself entirely aloof from their pleasures and occupations. In this respect I instinctively followed the fashion of our home and the example of my parents. They had no friends or intimate acquaintances. During the years we lived thus poorly and meanly, not a man, woman, or child ever entered our doors to partake of our hospitality, or to impart what would possibly have been a healthy variety to our days. Our dwelling consisted of two rooms at the top of a small house. They were attics; in one my mother and Mrs. Fortress slept; in the other my father and I. The bed he and I occupied was shut up during the day, and made an impotent pretence of being a chest of drawers. This room was our living room, and we took our meals in it.

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Page Count

486

Publisher

Library of Alexandria

Published Date

ISBN 10

1465607455

ISBN 13

9781465607454

Basil and Annette: A Novel

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

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Basil and Annette: A Novel

By: Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

In the old world the reign of winter has commenced. The woods are snow-white, the hedges are frosted over, the pools are frozen, icicles hang from the branches of the trees. Wayfarers walk briskly, stamp their feet, and beat their hands to keep the circulation going; while other humans, whom business does not call from their houses, snuggle round the fireside, with doors and windows closed to keep out the nipping air. Winged immigrants that came in the sweet spring days have long since taken their departure to warmer climes, bearing with them memories of a bright youth, to be renewed when another spring smiles upon the land. In the new world, at the same moment, it is nature's holiday time. The air is scented with the fragrance of white lilies and jessamine; fringed violets carpet the woods; the wild passion fruit, with its gleaming scarlet flowers, illuminates the bushes; the palm-tree rears its graceful head above festoons of feathery leaves, in which clumps of red berries shine like clusters of stars; tall quandong-trees and wild plums shoot up straight as arrows, for the most part clear of vines and creepers, but not always successful in escaping the embrace of the stag's horn fern, one of the handsomest of all Australia's parasites; and the white-wooded umbrella-tree proudly asserts its claim to preeminence, with its darkly lustrous laurel-shaped leaves surmounted by long radiating spikes of crimson flowers, the brilliancy of which rivals the glowing sunset of the South. Through the grand forests, in which for unnumbered ages the dusky savage has roamed in freedom, never dreaming of the invasion of a higher civilisation, flit flocks of resplendent parrots, chief among them being the blue mountain, the rosella, and the crimson wing; black cockatoos, with their dazzling tails spread out, are lurking in the branches of the bloodwood trees, where they find both food and shelter; flycatchers, all green and gold, are cunningly watching the waterholes for prey; laughing jackasses, with their blue feathers and cold grey eyes, which are now twinkling with fun, are making merry over the absurd antics of native companions, whose conceited hoppings and twirlings are comic enough to inspire mirth in the dullest denizens of the woods; while the soft musical notes of the bellbirds, all green and purple, blue and golden, make harmonious the west wind which travels from the beeches, and fill the air with melody strange and sweet.

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590

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Library of Alexandria

Published Date

ISBN 10

1465592849

ISBN 13

9781465592842

Book's by Benjamin Leopold Farjeon

The Last Tenant

The Last Tenant

Devlin the Barber

Devlin the Barber

The Nine of Hearts: A Novel

The Nine of Hearts: A Novel

The Shield of Love

The Shield of Love

The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel

The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel

The House of the White Shadows

The House of the White Shadows

A Fair Jewess

A Fair Jewess

At the Sign of the Silver Flagon

At the Sign of the Silver Flagon

Self-Doomed: A Novel

Self-Doomed: A Novel

Grif: A Story of Australian Life

Grif: A Story of Australian Life

A Secret Inheritance (Complete)

A Secret Inheritance (Complete)

Basil and Annette: A Novel

Basil and Annette: A Novel

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