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Full Online Book HomeAuthor Charles S. BrooksPage 1
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Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Act 3 Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Act 3

Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Act 3
ACT III(The scene is the same as before. We have given up all hope of a pirate ship rocking on the sea. Our plot still twists us around its little finger. The curtain rises on the tableau of the second act. Old Petey shows again at the window to the right.) DUKE. What done it? What done it? I asks yer. PATCH. Jest when everythin' was goin' pretty. CAPTAIN. Jest when she was about ter hit. DARLIN'. Me heart near stopped--I was that excited. (The pirates sit in deep dejection.) DUKE. The mystery o' this business is how the blinkin' lantern... Plays - Post by : Tassie - Date : May 2012 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 1761

Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Act 2 Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Act 2

Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Act 2
ACT II(It is the same cabin on the following night. There is no thunder and lightning, but it is a dirty night of fog--as wet as a crocodile's nest--and you hear the water dripping from the trees. The Duke, evidently, has had an answer to his "Now I lay me." The lighthouse, as before, shows vaguely through the mist. In this scene we had wished to have a moon. The Duke will need it presently in his courtship; for marvelously it sharpens a lover's oath. 'T is a silver spur to a halting wooer. Shrewd merchants, I am told, go so... Plays - Post by : Tassie - Date : May 2012 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 1896

Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Act 1 Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Act 1

Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Act 1
ACT I(_Our scene is the wind-swept coast of Devon. By day there is a wide stretch of ocean far below. The time is remote and doubtless great ships of forgotten build stand out from Bristol in full sail for western shores. Their white canvas winks in the morning sun as if their purpose were a jest. They seek a northwest passage and the golden mines of India. But we must be loose and free of date lest our plot be shamed by broken fact. A thousand years are but as yesterday. We shall make no more than a general gesture toward... Plays - Post by : Tassie - Date : May 2012 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 1359

Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Characters Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Characters

Wappin' Wharf: A Frightful Comedy Of Pirates - Characters
THE DUKEPATCH-EYETHE CAPTAINRED JOEDARLIN'BETSYOLD MEGSAILOR CAPTAINTHREE SAILORSSETTING: For details of Stage Set turn to pages 35-6-7.... Plays - Post by : Tassie - Date : May 2012 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 2463

A Corner For Echoes A Corner For Echoes

A Corner For Echoes
Sometimes in a quiet hour I see in the memory of my childhood a frame house across a wide lawn from a pleasant street. There are no trees about the yard, in itself a defect, yet in its circumstance, as the house arises in my view, the barrenness denotes no more than a breadth of sunlight across those endless days. There was, indeed, in contrast and by way of shadowy admonishment, a church near by, whose sober bell, grieving lest our joy should romp too long, recalled us to fearful introspection on Sunday evening, and it moved me chiefly to the... Essays - Post by : imported_n/a - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 1296

The Crowded Curb The Crowded Curb

The Crowded Curb
Recently I came on an urchin in the crowded city, pitching pennies by himself, in the angle of an abutment. Three feet from his patched seat--a gay pattern which he tilted upward now and then--there moved a thick stream of shoppers. He was in solitary contest with himself, his evening papers neglected in a heap, wrapped in his score, unconscious of the throng that pressed against him. He was resting from labor, as a greater merchant takes to golf for his refreshment. The curb was his club. He had fetched his recreation down to business, to the vacancy between editions. Presently... Essays - Post by : ortaz - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 2924

A Chapter For Children A Chapter For Children

A Chapter For Children
Once upon a time--for this is the way a story should begin--there lived in a remote part of the world a family of children whose father was busy all day making war against his enemies. And so, as their mother, also, was busy (clubs, my dear, and parties), they were taken care of and had their noses wiped--but in a most kindly way--by an old man who loved them very much. Now this old man had been a jester in his youth. For these were the children of a king and so, of course, they had a jester, just as you... Essays - Post by : netlover - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 2006

Who Was Jeremy? Who Was Jeremy?

Who Was Jeremy?
Who was Jeremy Bentham? I have run on his name recently two or three times. I could, of course, find out. The Encyclopedia--volume Aus to Bis--would enlighten me. Right now, downstairs in the bookcase--up near the top where the shabby books are kept--among the old Baedekers--there is a life of him by Leslie Stephen. No! That is a life of Hobbes. I don't know anything about Hobbes either. It seems to me that he wrote the "Leviathan," whatever that was. But there is a Bentham somewhere around the house. But I have not read it. In a rough way I know... Essays - Post by : randomcreek - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 2886

On Dropping Off To Sleep On Dropping Off To Sleep

On Dropping Off To Sleep
I sleep too well--that is, I go to sleep too soon. I am told that I pass a few minutes of troubled breathing--not vulgar snores, but a kind of uneasy ripple on the shore of wakefulness--then I drift out with the silent tide. Doubtless I merit no sympathy for my perfection--and yet-- Well, in the first place, lately we have had windy, moonlit nights and as my bed sets at the edge of the sleeping porch and the rail cuts off the earth, it is like a ride in an aëroplane to lie awake among the torn and ragged clouds. I... Essays - Post by : rissens2004 - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 2524

In Praise Of A Lawn-mower In Praise Of A Lawn-mower

In Praise Of A Lawn-mower
I do not recall that anyone has written the praises of a lawn-mower. I seem to sow in virgin soil. One could hardly expect a poet to lift up his voice on such a homely theme. By instinct he prefers the more rhythmic scythe. Nor, on the other hand, will mechanical folk pay a full respect to a barren engine without cylinders and motive power. But to me it is just intricate enough to engage the interest. I can trace the relation of its wheels and knives, and see how the lesser spinning starts the greater. In a printing press, on... Essays - Post by : hallmark - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 2326

Circus Days Circus Days

Circus Days
There have been warm winds out of the south for several days, soft rains have teased the daffodils into blossom along the fences, and this morning I heard the first clicking of a lawn-mower. It seems but yesterday that winter was tugging at the chimneys, that March freshets were brawling in the gutters; but, with the shifting of the cock upon the steeple, the spring comes from its hiding in the hills. At this moment, to prove the changing of the season, a street organ plays beneath my window. It is a rather miserable box and is stocked with sentimental tunes... Essays - Post by : rjsexton1 - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 1030

On Finding A Plot On Finding A Plot

On Finding A Plot
A young author has confessed to me that lately, in despair at hitting on a plot, he locked himself in his room after breakfast with an oath that he would not leave it until something was contrived and under way. He did put an apple and sandwich prudently at the back of his desk, but these, he swore, like the locusts and wild honey in the wilderness, should last him through his struggle. By a happy afterthought he took with him into retirement a volume of De Maupassant. Perhaps, he considered, if his own invention lagged and the hour grew late,... Essays - Post by : dmkapke - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 1466

Autumn Days Autumn Days

Autumn Days
It was rather a disservice when the poet wrote that the melancholy days were come. His folly is inexplicable. If he had sung through his nose of thaw and drizzle, all of us would have pitched in to help him in his dismal chorus. But October and November are brisk and cheerful months. In the spring, to be sure, there is a languid sadness. Its beauty is too frail. Its flowerets droop upon the plucking. Its warm nights, its breeze that blows from the fragrant hills, warn us how brief is the blossom time. In August the year slumbers. Its sleepy... Essays - Post by : Heimdall - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 1687

A Visit To A Poet A Visit To A Poet

A Visit To A Poet
Not long ago I accepted the invitation of a young poet to visit him at his lodging. As my life has fallen chiefly among merchants, lawyers and other practical folk, I went with much curiosity. My poet, I must confess, is not entirely famous. His verses have appeared in several of the less known papers, and a judicious printer has even offered to gather them into a modest sheaf. There are, however, certain vile details of expense that hold up the project. The printer, although he confesses their merit, feels that the poet should bear the cost. His verses are of... Essays - Post by : vanyon - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 1808

Little Candles Little Candles

Little Candles
High conceit of one's self and a sureness of one's opinion are based so insecurely in experience that one is perplexed how their slight structure stands. One marvels why these emphatic builders trust again their glittering towers. Surely anyone who looks into himself and sees its void or malformation ought by rights to shrink from adulation of self, and his own opinion should appear to him merely as one candle among a thousand. And yet this conceit of self outlasts innumerable failures, and any new pinnacle that is set up, neglecting the broken rubble on the ground and all the wreckage... Essays - Post by : JMan1234 - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 1149

After-dinner Pleasantries After-dinner Pleasantries

After-dinner Pleasantries
There is a shop below Fourteenth Street, somewhat remote from fashion, that sells nothing but tricks for amateur and parlor use. It is a region of cobblers, tailors and small grocers. Upstairs, locksmiths and buttonhole cutters look through dusty windows on the L, which, under some dim influence of the moon, tosses past the buildings here its human tide, up and down, night and morning. The Trick Shop flatters itself on its signboard that it carries the largest line of its peculiar trickery on the western hemisphere--hinting modestly that Baluchistan, perhaps, or Mesopotamia (where magic might be supposed to flourish) may... Essays - Post by : SLHoffman - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 1911

The Posture Of Authors The Posture Of Authors

The Posture Of Authors
There is something rather pleasantly suggestive in the fashion employed by many of the older writers of inscribing their books from their chambers or lodging. It gives them at once locality and circumstance. It brings them to our common earth and understanding. Thomas Fuller, for example, having finished his Church History of Britain, addressed his reader in a preface from his chambers in Sion College. "May God alone have the glory," he writes, "and the ingenuous reader the benefit, of my endeavors! which is the hearty desire of Thy servant in Jesus Christ, Thomas Fuller." One pictures a room in the... Essays - Post by : Technogeek - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 892

Sic Transit-- Sic Transit--

Sic Transit--
I do not recall a feeling of greater triumph than on last Saturday when I walked off the eighteenth green of the Country Club with my opponent four down. I have the card before me now with its pleasant row of fives and sixes, and a four, and a three. Usually my card has mounted here and there to an eight or nine, or I have blown up altogether in a sandpit. Like Byron--but, oh, how differently!--I have wandered in the pathless wood. Like Ruth I have stood in tears amid the alien corn. In those old days--only a week ago,... Essays - Post by : thedorymen - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 3230

At A Toy-shop Window At A Toy-shop Window

At A Toy-shop Window
In this Christmas season, when snowflakes fill the air and twilight is the pleasant thief of day, I sometimes pause at the window of a toy-shop to see what manner of toys are offered to the children. It is only five o'clock and yet the sky is dark. The night has come to town to do its shopping before the stores are shut. The wind has Christmas errands. And there is a throng of other shoppers. Fathers of families drip with packages and puff after street cars. Fat ladies--Now then, all together!--are hoisted up. Old ladies are caught in revolving doors.... Essays - Post by : framerw47 - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 3426

I Plan A Vacation I Plan A Vacation

I Plan A Vacation
It is my hope, when the snow is off the ground and the ocean has been tamed by breezes from the south, to cross to England. Already I fancy myself seated in the pleasant office of the steamship agent, listening to his gossip of rates and sailings, bending over his colored charts, weighing the merit of cabins. Here is one amidships in a location of greatest ease upon the stomach. Here is one with a forward port that will catch the sharp and wholesome wind from the Atlantic. I trace the giant funnels from deck to deck. My finger follows delightedly... Essays - Post by : patitude - Date : November 2011 - Author : Charles S. Brooks - Read : 734