Edmund Blair Leighton paintings

Edmund Blair Leighton paintings
Eugene de Blaas paintings
Eduard Manet paintings
Edwin Austin Abbey paintings
This was to be an eventful day for the travelers. They had hardly been walking an hour when they saw before them a great ditch that crossed the road and divided the forest as far as they could see on either side. It was a very wide ditch, and when they crept up to the edge and looked into it they could see it was also very deep, and there were many big, jagged rocks at the bottom. The sides were so steep that none of them could climb down, and for a moment it seemed that their journey must end.
"What shall we do?" asked Dorothy despairingly.
"I haven't the faintest idea," said the Tin Woodman, and the Lion shook his shaggy mane and looked thoughtful.
But the Scarecrow said, "We cannot fly, that is certain. Neither can we climb down into this great ditch. Therefore, if we cannot jump over it, we must stop where we are."
"I think I could jump over it," said the Cowardly Lion, after measuring the distance carefully in his mind.

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canvas painting
"It is true it is most wonderful-but it is no more than our lord the king likewise can do." This remark, and this reference to himself, as still the king, saddened Tom Canty, and he felt his hopes crumbling from under him.
"These are not proofs," added the Protector.
The tide was turning very fast now, very fast, indeed-but in the wrong direction; it was leaving poor Tom Canty stranded on the throne, and sweeping the other out to sea. The Lord Protector communed with himself-shook his head-the thought forced itself upon him, "It is perilous to the state and to us all, to entertain so fateful a riddle as this; it could divide the nation and undermine the throne." He turned and said,
"Sir Thomas, arrest this-No, hold!" His face lighted, and he confronted the ragged candidate with this question:
"Where lieth the Great Seal? Answer me this truly, and the riddle is unriddled; for only he that was Prince of Wales can so answer! On so trivial a thing hang a throne and a dynasty

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canvas painting
The dawn was coming now; the hermit observed it, and spoke up sharply, with a touch of nervous apprehension in his voice:
"I may not indulge this ecstasy longer! The night is already gone. It seems but a moment-only a moment; would it had endured a year! Seed of the Church's spoiler, close thy perishing eyes, an thou fearest to look upon..." The rest was lost in inarticulate mutterings. The old man sank upon his knees, his knife in his hand, and bent himself over the moaning boy-
Hark! There was a sound of voices near the cabin-the knife dropped from the hermit's hand; he cast a sheepskin over the boy and started up, trembling. The sounds increased, and presently the voices became rough and angry; then came blows, and cries for help; then a clatter of swift footsteps retreating. Immediately came a succession of thundering knocks upon the cabin door, followed by:
"Hullo-o-o! Open! And despatch, in the name of all the devils!"
Oh, this was the blessedest sound that had ever made music in the king's ears; for it was Miles Hendon's voice!
The hermit, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, moved swiftly out of the bedchamber, closing the door behind him; and straightway the king heard a talk, to this effect, proceeding from the "chapel":

Dante Gabriel Rossetti paintings

Dante Gabriel Rossetti paintings
Daniel Ridgway Knight paintings
Edmund Blair Leighton paintings
Eugene de Blaas paintings
"He hath a comely face."
The other added:
"And pretty hair."
"But is ill clothed enow."
"And how starved he looketh."
They came still nearer, sidling shyly around and about him, examining him minutely from all points, as if he were some strange new kind of animal; but warily and watchfully the while, as if they half feared he might be a sort of animal that would bite, upon occasion. Finally they halted before him, holding each other's hands for protection, and took a good satisfying stare with their innocent eyes; then one of them plucked up all her courage and inquired with honest directness:
"Who art thou, boy?"
"I am the king," was the grave answer.
The children gave a little start, and their eyes spread themselves wide open and remained so during a speechless half-minute. Then curiosity broke the silence:

Diego Rivera paintings

Diego Rivera paintings
Don Li-Leger paintings
David Hardy paintings
Dirck Bouts paintings
When the king awoke in the early morning, he found that a wet but thoughtful rat had crept into the place during the night and made a cozy bed for itself in his bosom. Being disturbed now, it scampered away. The boy smiled, and said, "Poor fool, why so fearful? I am as forlorn as thou. "Twould be a shame in me to hurt the helpless, who am myself so helpless. Moreover, I owe you thanks for a good omen; for when a king has fallen so low that the very rats do make a bed of him, it surely meaneth that his fortunes be upon the turn, since it is plain he can no lower go."
He got up and stepped out of the stall, and just then he heard the sound of children's voices. The barn door opened and a couple of little girls came in. As soon as they saw him their talking and laughing ceased, and they stopped and stood still, gazing at him with strong curiosity; they presently began to whisper together, then they approached nearer, and stopped again to gaze and whisper. By and by they gathered courage and began to discuss him aloud. One said:

Claude Lorrain paintings

Claude Lorrain paintings
Claude Monet paintings
Charles Chaplin paintings
Diane Romanello paintings
Pleasant thoughts came at once; life took on a cheerfuler seeming. He was free of the bonds of servitude and crime, free of the companionship of base and brutal outlaws; he was warm, he was sheltered; in a word, he was happy. The night wind was rising; it swept by in fitful gusts that made the old barn quake and rattle, then its forces died down at intervals, and went moaning and wailing around corners and projections-but it was all music to the king, now that he was snug and comfortable; let it blow and rage, let it batter and bang, let it moan and wail, he minded it not, he only enjoyed it. He merely snuggled the closer to his friend, in a luxury of warm contentment, and drifted blissfully out of consciousness into a deep and dreamless sleep that was full of serenity and peace. The distant dogs howled, the melancholy kine complained; and the winds went on raging, whilst furious sheets of rain drove along the roof; but the majesty of England slept on undisturbed, and the calf did the same, it being a simple creature and not easily troubled by storms or embarrassed by sleeping with a king.

Pierre Auguste Renoir paintings

Pierre Auguste Renoir paintings
Peder Severin Kroyer paintings
Pieter de Hooch paintings
Pietro Perugino paintings
besmirched with mud. He wandered on and on, and grew more and more bewildered, and so tired and faint he could hardly drag one foot after the other. He had ceased to ask questions of any one, since they brought him only insult instead of information. He kept muttering to himself, "Offal Court-that is the name; if I can but find it before my strength is wholly spent and I drop, then am I saved-for his people will take me to the palace and prove that I am none of theirs, but the true prince, and I shall have mine own again." And now and then his mind reverted to his treatment by those rude Christ's Hospital boys, and he said, "When I am king, they shall not have bread and shelter only, but also teachings out of books; for a full belly is little worth where the mind is starved, and the heart. I will keep this diligently in my remembrance, that this day's lesson be not lost upon me, and my people suffer thereby; for learning softeneth the heart and breedeth gentleness and charity."2
The lights began to twinkle, it came on to rain, the wind rose, and a raw and gusty night set in. The houseless prince, the homeless heir to the throne of England, still moved on, drifting deeper into the maze of squalid alleys where the swarming hives of poverty and misery were massed together.
Suddenly a great drunken ruffian collared him and said:

Winslow Homer paintings

Winslow Homer paintings
William Bouguereau paintings
Edward hopper paintings
Mary Cassatt paintings
I'll go down and start getting the lodger's supper ready for you," said the girl good-naturedly. "He's certain to come in when he gets hungry. But he did look upset, didn't he, Ellen? Right down bad - that he did!"
Mrs. Bunting made no answer; she simply stepped aside to allow Daisy to go down.
"Mr. Sleuth won't never come back no more," she said sombrely, and then she felt both glad and angry at the extraordinary change which came over her husband's face. Yet, perversely, that look of relief, of right-down joy, chiefly angered her, and tempted her to add, "That's to say, I don't suppose he will."
And Bunting's face altered again; the old, anxious, depressed look, the look it had worn the last few days, returned.
"What makes you think he mayn't come back?" he muttered.
"Too long to tell you now," she said. "Wait till the child's gone to bed."
And Bunting had to restrain his curiosity.
And then, when at last Daisy had gone off to the back room where she now slept with her stepmother, Mrs. Bunting beckoned to her husband to follow her upstairs.

Wassily Kandinsky paintings

Wassily Kandinsky paintings
William Etty paintings
William Merritt Chase paintings
William Blake paintings
The memory of Mr. Sleuth's cruel words to her, of his threat, did not disturb her overmuch. It had been a mistake - all a mistake. Far from betraying Mr. Sleuth, she had sheltered him - kept his awful secret as she could not have kept it had she known, or even dimly suspected, the horrible fact with which Sir John Burney's words had made her acquainted; namely, that Mr. Sleuth was victim of no temporary aberration, but that he was, and had been for years, a madman, a homicidal maniac.
In her ears there still rang the Frenchman's half careless yet confident question, "De Leipsic and Liverpool man?"
Following a sudden impulse, she went back into the sitting-room, and taking a black-headed pin out of her bodice stuck it amid the leaves of the Bible. Then she opened the Book, and looked at the page the pin had marked: -
"My tabernacle is spoiled and all my cords are broken . . . There is none to stretch forth my tent any more and to set up my curtains."
At last leaving the Bible open, Mrs. Bunting went downstairs, and as she opened the door of her sitting-room Daisy came towards her stepmother.

Ted Seth Jacobs paintings

Ted Seth Jacobs paintings
Vincent van Gogh paintings
Vittore Carpaccio paintings
Warren Kimble paintings
About six o'clock Mrs. Bunting went upstairs. She lit the gas in Mr. Sleuth's sitting-room and looked about her with a fearful glance. Somehow everything seemed to speak to her of the lodger, there lay her Bible and his Concordance, side by side on the table, exactly as he had left chew, when he had come downstairs and suggested that ill-starred expedition to his landlord's daughter. She took few steps forward, listening the while anxiously for the familiar sound of the click in the door which would tell her that the lodger had come back, and then she went over to the window and looked out.
What a cold night for a man to be wandering about, homeless, friendless, and, as she suspected with a pang, with but very little money on him!
Turning abruptly, she went into the lodger's bedroom and opened the drawer of the looking-glass.
Yes, there lay the much-diminished heap of sovereigns. If only he had taken his money out with him! She wondered painfully whether he had enough on his person to secure a good night's lodging, and then suddenly she remembered that which brought relief to her mind. The lodger had given something to that Hopkins fellow - either a sovereign or half a sovereign, she wasn't sure which.

Thomas Cole paintings

Thomas Cole paintings
Theodore Robinson paintings
Titian paintings
Theodore Chasseriau paintings
vain Mr. Hopkins invited Mrs. Bunting and her pretty stepdaughter to step through into the Chamber of Horrors. "I think we ought to go straight home," said Mr. Sleuth's landlady decidedly. And Daisy meekly assented. Somehow the girl felt confused, a little scared by the lodger's sudden disappearance. Perhaps this unwonted feeling of hers was induced by the look of stunned surprise and, yes, pain, on her step-mother's face.
Slowly they made their way out of the building, and when they got home it was Daisy who described the strange way Mr. Sleuth had been taken.
"I don't suppose he'll be long before he comes "home," said Bunting heavily, and he cast an anxious, furtive look at his wife. She looked as if stricken in a vital part; he saw from her face that there was something wrong - very wrong indeed.
The hours dragged on. All three felt moody and ill at ease. Daisy knew there was no chance that young Chandler would come in to-day.

canvas painting

canvas painting was thinking of Bunting, sir. He's got a job to-night. He's going to act as waiter at a young lady's birthday party. I was thinking it's a pity he has to turn out, and in his thin clothes, too" - she brought out her words jerkily.
Mr. Sleuth seemed somewhat reassured, and again he sat down. "Ah!" he said. "Dear me - I'm sorry to hear that! I hope your husband will not catch cold, Mrs. Bunting."
And then she shut the door, and went downstairs.
******
Without telling Bunting what she meant to do, she dragged the heavy washhand-stand away from the chimneypiece, and lighted the fire.
Then in some triumph she called Bunting in.
"Time for you to dress," she cried out cheerfully, "and I've got a little bit of fire for you to dress by."
As he exclaimed at her extravagance, "Well, 'twill be pleasant for me, too; keep me company-like while you're out; and make the room nice and warm when you come in. You'll be fair perished, even walking that short way," she said.

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flower oil painting
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When, at last, he came in with the little tray, Bunting found his wife lying with her face to the wall.
"Here's your tea, Ellen," he said, and there was a thrill of eager, nay happy, excitement in his voice.
She turned herself round and sat up. "Well?" she asked. "Well? Why don't you tell me about it?"
"I thought you was asleep," he stammered out. "I thought, Ellen, you never heard nothing."
"How could I have slept through all that din? Of course I heard. Why don't you tell me?"
"I've hardly had time to glance at the paper myself," he said slowly.
"You was reading it just now," she said severely, "for I heard the rustling. You begun reading it before you lit the gas-ring. Don't tell me! What was that they was shouting about the Edgware Road?"
"Well," said Bunting, "as you do know, I may as well tell you. The Avenger's moving West - that's what he's doing. Last time 'twas King's Cross - now 'tis the Edgware Road. I said he'd come our way, and he has come our way!"

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Why, even now, in her dream, she could hear her husband speaking to her about it:
"Ellen " - so she heard Bunting murmur in her ear - "Ellen, my dear, I'm just going to get up to get a paper. It's after seven o'clock."
The shouting - nay, worse, the sound of tramping, hurrying feet smote on her shrinking ears. Pushing back her hair off her forehead with both hands, she sat up and listened.
It had been no nightmare, then, but something infinitely worse - reality.
Why couldn't Bunting have lain quiet abed for awhile longer, and let his poor wife go on dreaming? The most awful dream would have been easier to bear than this awakening.
She heard her husband go to the front door, and, as he bought the paper, exchange a few excited words with the newspaper-seller. Then he came back. There was a pause, and she heard him lighting the gas-ring in the sitting-room.
Bunting always made his wife a cup of tea in the morning. He had promised to do this when they first married, and he had never yet broken his word. It was a very little thing and a very usual thing, no doubt, for a kind husband to do, but this morning the knowledge that he was doing it brought tears to Mrs. Bunting's pale blue eyes. This morning he seemed to be rather longer than usual over the job.

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famous painting religious
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At the end of ten minutes or so she heard him go down the passage again. Very softly he closed the front door. By then she had divined why the lodger had behaved in this funny fashion. He wanted to get the strong, acrid smell of burning - was it of burning wool? - out of the house.
But Mrs. Bunting, lying there in the darkness, listening to the lodger creeping upstairs, felt as if she herself would never get rid of the horrible odour.
Mrs. Bunting felt herself to be all smell.
At last the unhappy woman fell into a deep, troubled sleep; and then she dreamed a most terrible and unnatural dream. Hoarse voices seemed to be shouting in her ear: "The Avenger close here! The Avenger close here!" "'Orrible murder off the Edgware Road!" "The Avenger at his work again"'
And even in her dream Mrs. Bunting felt angered - angered and impatient. She knew so well why she was being disturbed by this horrid nightmare! It was because of Bunting - Bunting, who could think and talk of nothing else than those frightful murders, in which only morbid and vulgar-minded people took any interest.