The Man of the Hour
Grosset & Dunlap, 1905 - 477 páginas
The Man of the Hour was written by well-known popular magazine contributor Octave Thanet, the pseudonym used by Alice French. This story deals with the labor problem and with socialistic efforts to solve it. The hero of the tale is John Ivan Winslow, the only son of a Russian mother and an American father. As a child he is sensitive and impressionable and imbibes the nihilistic views of his mother who is strongly in sympathy with her oppressed people. Before her marriage Mrs. Winslow had been the Princess Olga Galitsuin and had met her husband when he was on a business trip to Russia. Not until after their marriage did Mr. Winslow discover his wife's socialistic tendencies, and these in connection with her impracticability and foreign ways caused unhappiness between them which led finally to their separation.
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Página 292 - In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate : I am the captain of my soul.
Página 158 - For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along, Round the earth's electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong; Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity's vast frame Through its ocean-sundered fibres feels the gush of joy or shame ; — In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim.
Página 375 - THINE eyes still shined for me, though far I lonely roved the land or sea : As I behold yon evening star, Which yet beholds not me. This morn I climbed the misty hill, And roamed the pastures through; How danced thy form before my path Amidst the deep-eyed dew ! When the redbird spread his sable wing, And showed his side of flame ; When the rosebud ripened to the rose, In both I read thy name.
Página 169 - I would wash the dust of the world in a soft green flood : Here, between sea and sea, in the fairy wood, I have found a delicate, wave-green solitude. Here, in the fairy wood, between sea and sea, I have heard the song of a fairy bird in a tree, And the peace that is not in the world has flown to me.
Página 293 - Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul.
Página 67 - Peggy gave an unprincipled giggle. "Maybe she'll think it was him." "Then we got to tell," moaned Johnny. "No, we ain't. He'll run off and so she won't ask him questions." "But she'll think it's him. It'll be mean." "No it won't." "It's mean to have somebody else take your blame or your punishment ; mamma said so." The small casuist was too discreet to attack Johnny's oracle ; she only pouted her pretty lips and quibbled : " 'Tain't mean if the people who get blamed are mean themselves — like him....