John Collis Snaith's Books

The Sailor

By: John Collis Snaith

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A large woman in a torn dress stood at the gate of a rag and bone dealer's yard. The season was November, the hour midnight, the place a slum in a Midland textile town. Hanging from the wall of the house beyond was a dirty oil lamp round which the fog circled in a hundred spectral shapes. Seen by its light, she was not pleasant to look upon. Bare-armed, bare-headed, savage chest half bare and sagging in festoons, she stood stayless and unashamed, breathing gin and wickedness. A grin of quiet joy was upon her alcoholic countenance. Nay, more than joy. It was a light of inward ecstasy, and sprang from the fact that a heavy carter's whip was in her hand. Not many feet from the spot on which she stood was the wall of a neighbor's house. Crouching against it so that he was scarcely visible in the darkness was a boy of thirteen. Without stockings or shoes, he wore only a filthy shirt, a thing that had once been a jacket, and a tattered lower garment which left his thighs half naked. His face was transfigured with terror. "Enery Arper," said the woman with a shrill snigger not unlike the whinny of a horse, "Auntie said she'd wait up for you, didn't she? And she always keeps a promise, don't she, my boy?" The figure six yards away the fog was doing its best to hide cowered yet closer to the wall. "And what was it, Enery, that Auntie promised you if you come 'ome again with ninepence?" The wheeze of the voice had a note of humor. The boy was wedged so close to the wall that he had barked the skin off his bare knees. The woman, watching him intently, began to trail the heavy lash on the cobbled yard. "Said she'd make it up to a shillin' for you, didn't she? ... if you come 'ome again with ninepence. Said she'd cut the heart out o' you ... same as if it was the eye of a pertater." A powerful arm was already loose. The eye of an expert had the distance measured to a nicety. "Clean out." A scream followed that was not human. The heavy whip had caught the boy round the unprotected thighs. "I'll do ye in this time." Mad with pain and terror the boy dashed straight at her, charging like a desperate animal, as with leisurely ferocity she prepared for a second cut at him. The impact of his body was so unexpected that it nearly knocked her down. It was his only chance. Before she could recover her balance he was out of the gate and away in the fog. A lane ran past the yard. He was in it before the whip could reach him again; in it and running for his life. The lane was short, straight and very narrow, with high walls on both sides. A turn to the right led through a small entry into a by-street which gave access to one of the main thoroughfares of the city. A turn to the left ended in a blank wall which formed a blind alley.

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Page Count

572

Publisher

Library of Alexandria

Published Date

ISBN 10

1465514856

ISBN 13

9781465514851

Henry Northcote

By: John Collis Snaith

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Henry Northcote

By: John Collis Snaith

Northcote sat in his chambers in Shepherd’s Inn. Down below was Fleet Street, in the thrall of a bitter December twilight. A heavy and pervasive thaw pressed its mantle upon the gaslit air; a driving sleet numbed the skin and stung the eyes of all who had to face it. Pools of slush, composed in equal parts of ice, water, and mud, impeded the pavements. They invaded the stoutest boots, submerged those less resolute, and imposed not a little inconvenience upon that section of the population which, unaddicted to the wearing of boots, had dispensed with them altogether. The room in which Northcote kept was no more than a large and draughty garret, which abutted from the northern end of a crazy rectangular building on this curious byway of the world’s affairs. Only a few decrepit tiles, a handful of rotten laths, and a layer of cracked plaster intervened between him and the night. The grate had no fire in it; there was no carpet to the floor. A table and two chairs were the sole furniture, and in a corner could be heard the stealthy drip of icy water as it percolated through the roof. The occupant of the room sat in a threadbare overcoat with the collar turned up to his ears. His hands, encased in a pair of woollen gloves, which were full of holes, were pressed upon his knees; a pipe was between his teeth; and while he sucked at it with the devout patience of one to whom it has to serve for everything that the physical side of his nature craved, he stared into the fireless grate with an intensity which can impart a heat and a life of its own. Now and again after some particularly violent demonstration on the part of the weather he would give a little stoical shudder, fix the pipe in the opposite corner of his mouth, and huddle away involuntarily from the draught that came from under the door. Northcote was a man of thirty who found himself face to face with starvation. He had been six years at the bar. Friendless, without influence, abjectly poor, he had chosen the common law side. Occasionally he had been able to pick up an odd guinea in the police-courts, but at no time had he earned enough to meet his few needs. He was now contemplating the removal of the roof from over his head. Its modest rental was no longer forthcoming; and there was nothing remaining among his worldly possessions which would induce the pawnbroker, the friend of the poor, to advance it. “I wonder how those poor devils get on who live in the gutter,” he muttered, grimly, as he shuddered again. “You will soon be able to find an answer to that question,” he added, as he stamped his frozen toes on the hearthstone and beat his fingers against his knees.

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Page Count

420

Publisher

Library of Alexandria

Published Date

ISBN 10

1465583289

ISBN 13

9781465583284

Araminta

By: John Collis Snaith

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Araminta

By: John Collis Snaith

AN old lady who lived in Hill Street was making arrangements to enter upon her seventy-fourth year. It was a quarter to nine in the morning by the ormolu clock on the chimney-piece; and the old lady, somewhat shriveled, very wide-awake, and in the absence of her toupee from the position it was accustomed to grace—at present it was in the center of the dressing-table—looking remarkably like a macaw, was sitting up in bed. Cushions supported her venerable form, and an Indian shawl, the gift of her Sovereign, covered her aged shoulders. There were people who did not hesitate to describe her as a very worldly-minded, not to say very wicked, old lady. The former of these epithets there is none to dispute; in regard to the latter, let our silence honor the truth. It is far from our intention to asperse the character of one who has always passed as a Christian; nor do we ascribe to human frailty the sinister significance that some people do. But as far as this old lady is concerned it is a point upon which we have no bigotry. If sheer worldliness of mind is akin to wickedness, the old woman who lived in Hill Street must have come perilously near to that state. Her views upon all matters relating to this world were extremely robust, and years and experience had confirmed her in them. In regard to the next world she seldom expressed an opinion. In this she was doubtless wise. Sitting very upright in her bed, with those glittering eyes and hawklike features the unmistakable mistress of all they surveyed, she was enough to strike the boldest heart with awe. Not that temerity was the long suit of Miss Burden, a gentlewoman of a certain age whose sole mission in life it was to do her good-will and pleasure in return for board and residence, and forty pounds per annum paid quarterly. Duly fortified with a slice of dry toast and a cup of very strong tea, the old lady said in such a clear and incisive tone that she must have studied the art of elocution in the days of her youth— “Burden, cover my head.” The gentlewoman obeyed the command with delicacy and with dexterity. Yet it must not be thought that the elaborate mechanism which adorned the venerable poll fourteen hours out of the twenty-four was taken from the center of the dressing-table. It was not. Various ceremonies had to be performed before the moment arrived for its reception. In its place a temporary, but none the less marvelous, erection of fine needlework and point lace was produced by Miss Burden, and arranged like a veritable canopy about the brow of Minerva.

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Page Count

461

Publisher

Library of Alexandria

Published Date

ISBN 10

1465583122

ISBN 13

9781465583123

The Council of Seven

By: John Collis Snaith

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The Council of Seven

By: John Collis Snaith

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work. As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

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Page Count

362

Publisher

Palala Press

Published Date

ISBN 10

1377476006

ISBN 13

9781377476001

Book's by John Collis Snaith

The Sailor

The Sailor

Henry Northcote

Henry Northcote

Araminta

Araminta

The Council of Seven

The Council of Seven

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