The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume I
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Lever Charles James. The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume I
PREFACE
CHAPTER I. BADEN OUT OF SEASON
CHAPTER II. AN HUMBLE INTERIOR
CHAPTER III. THE FOREST ROAD
CHAPTER IV. THE ONSLOWS
CHAPTER V. THE PATIENT
CHAPTER VI. A FIRST VISIT
CHAPTER VII. A LESSON IN PISTOL-SHOOTING
CHAPTER VIII. THE NIGHT EXCURSION
CHAPTER IX. A FINE LADY’S BLANDISHMENTS
CHAPTER X. A FAMILY DISCUSSION
CHAPTER XI. A PEEP BETWEEN THE SHUTTERS AT A NEW CHARACTER
CHAPTER XII. MR. ALBERT JEKYL
CHAPTER XIII. A SUSPICIOUS VISITOR
CHAPTER XIV. AN EMBARRASSING QUESTION
CHAPTER XV. CONTRASTS
CHAPTER XVI. THE “SAAL” OF THE “RUSSIE.”
CHAPTER XVII. A FAMILY DISCUSSION
CHAPTER XVIII. CARES AND CROSSES
CHAPTER XIX. PREPARATIONS FOR THE ROAD
CHAPTER XX. A VERY SMALL “INTERIOR.”
CHAPTER XXI. A FAMILY PICTURE
CHAPTER XXII. KATE
CHAPTER XXIII. A SMALL SUPPER PARTY
CHAPTER XXIV. A MIDNIGHT RECEPTION
CHAPTER XXV. A “LEVANTER.”
CHAPTER XXVI. THE END OF THE FIRST ACT
CHAPTER XXVII. A SMALL DINNER AT THE VILLINO ZOE
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE VISCOUNT’S VISION
CHAPTER XXIX. FRANK’S JOURNEY
CHAPTER XXX. THE THREAT OP “A SLIGHT EMBARRASSMENT.”
CHAPTER XXXI. A CONVIVIAL EVENING
CHAPTER XXXII. AN INVASION
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE CONCLUSION OF A “GRAND DINNER.”
CHAPTER XXXIV. JEKYL’S COUNSELS
CHAPTER XXXV. RACCA MORLACHE
CHAPTER XXXVI. A STREET RENCONTRE
CHAPTER XXXVII. PROPOSALS
CHAPTER XXXVIII. AN ARRIVAL
CHAPTER XXXIX. PRATOLINO
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You see as you look around you that nature has been as unreal as art itself, and that all the bright hues of foliage and flower, all the odors that floated from bed and parterre, all the rippling flow of stream and fountain, have been just as artistically devised, and as much “got up,” as the transparencies or the Tyrolese singers, the fireworks or the fancy fair, or any other of those ingenious “spectacles” which amuse the grown children of fashion. The few who yet linger seem to have undergone a strange transmutation.
The smiling landlord of the “Adler” we refer particularly to Germany as the very land of watering-places is a half-sulky, farmer-looking personage, busily engaged in storing up his Indian corn and his firewood and his forage, against the season of snows. The bland “croupier,” on whose impassive countenance no shade of fortune was able to mark even a passing emotion, is now seen higgling with a peasant for a sack of charcoal, in all the eagerness of avarice. The trim maiden, whose golden locks and soft blue eyes made the bouquets she sold seem fairer to look on, is a stout wench, whose uncouth fur cap and wooden shoes are the very antidotes to romance. All the transformations take the same sad colors. It is a pantomime read backwards.
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“If it’s the gout’s the matter with him,” said Dalton, “I ‘ve the finest receipt in the world. Take a pint of spirits poteen if you can get it beat up two eggs and a pat of butter in it; throw in a clove of garlic and a few scrapings of horseradish, let it simmer over the fire for a minute or two, stir it with a sprig of rosemary to give it a flavor, and then drink it off.”
“Gracious Heaven! what a dose!” exclaimed Jekyl, in horror.
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