3m Respirator Mask not the curse of Monsieur le Cur , whose powerful presence seemed to haunt him still. On this score he was soon set at rest, and then came the old, old 180 story. He had been but a bad man. If his life were to come over again, he would do differently. Did Monsieur the Viscount think that there was any hope Would Monsieur the Viscount have recognized himself, could he, two years ago, have seen himself as he was now Kneeling by that rough, uncultivated figure, and pleading with all the eloquence that he could master to that rough uncultivated heart, the great Truths of Christianity so great and 3m respirator mask few and simple in their application to our needs The violet eyes had never appealed more tenderly, the soft voice had never been softer than now, as he strove to explain to this ignorant soul, the cardinal doctrines of Faith and Repentance, and Charity, with dust mask shortage an earnestness that was perhaps more effectual than his preaching. Monsieur the Viscount was quite as much astonished as flattered by the success of his instructions. The faith on which he had laid hold with such mortal struggles, seemed almost to come natural as people say to Antoine. With abundant tears he professed the deepest penitence for his past life, at the same time that he accepted the doctrine of the Atonement as a natural remedy, and never seemed to have a doubt in the Infinite Mercy that should cover his infinite guilt. 181 It was all so orthodox that even if he had doubted which he did not the sincerity of the gaoler s contrition and belief, Monsieur the Viscount could have done nothing but envy the easy nature of Antoine s convictions. He forgot the difference of their respective capabilities When the night was far advanced the men rose from their knees, and Monsieur the Viscount persuaded Antoine to lie down on his pallet, and when the gaoler s heavy breathing told that he was asleep, Monsieur the Viscount felt relieved to be alone once more alone, except for Monsieur Crapaud, whose round fiery eyes were open as usual. The simplicity with which he had been obliged to explain the truths of Divine Love to Antoine, was of signal service to Monsieur the Viscount himself. It left him no excuse for those intricacies of doubt, with which refined minds too often torture themselves and as he paced feebly up and down the cell, all the long withheld peace for which he had striven since his imprisonment seemed to flood into his soul. How blessed how undeservedly blessed was his fate Who or what was he that after such short, such mitigated sufferings, the crown of victory should be so near The way had seemed long to come, it was short to look back upon, and now the golden gates were almost reached, the everlasting doors were 182 open. A few more hours, and then and as M.s next questions came at short intervals, like dropping shots. Do you say your prayers, Bogy Yes, Miss. Do you go to church, Bogy Yes, Miss. Then where do you sit In the choir, Miss the end next to Squire Ammaby s big pew. Do you said Amabel. She had been threatened with Bogy for misbehavior in church, and it was startling to find that he sat so near. She changed the subject, under a hasty remembrance of having once made a face at the parson through a hole in the bombazine curtains. Why don t you paint with paints, Bogy said she. I haven t got none, Miss, said Jan. I ve got a paint box, said Amabel. And, if you like, I ll give it to you, Bogy. The color rushed to Jan s face. Oh, thank you, Miss he cried. You must dip the paints in water, you know, and rub them on a plate and don t let them lie in a puddle, said Amabel, who loved to dictate. Thank you, Miss, said Jan. And don t put your brush in your mouth, said Amabel. Oh, dear, no, Miss, said Jan. It had never struck him that one could want to put a paint brush in one s mouth. At this point Amabel s overwrought energies suddenly failed her, and she burst out crying. I don t know how I shall get over the wall, said she. Don t ee cry, Miss. I ll help you, said Jan. I can t walk any more, sobbed Amabel, who was, indeed, tired out. I ll take ee on my back, said Jan. Don t ee cry. With a good deal of difficulty, Amabel was hoisted up, and planted her big feet in Jan s hands. It was no light pilgrimage for poor Jan, as he climbed the winding path. Amabel was peevish with weariness her bundles were sadly in the way, and at every step a cup moss 3m respirator mask or marchantia dropped out, and Amabel insisted upon its being picked up. But they reached the wall at last, and Jan got her over, and made two or three expeditions after the missing mosses, before the little lady was finally content. Good by, Bogy, she said, at last, holding up her face to be kissed. And thank you very much. I m not frightened of you, Bogy. As Jan kissed her, he said, smiling, What is your name, love And she said, Amabel. To her parents and guardians, Amabel made the following statement I ve seen Bogy. I like him. He doesn t sleep in the cellar, so Nurse told a story. And he didn t take me away, so that s another story. He says his prayers, and he goes to church, so he can t be the Bad Man. He makes pictures with leaves. where to buy an n95 breathing mask for mold removal He carried me on his back, but not in a bag At this point the outraged feelings of Lady Craikshaw exploded, and she rang the bell, and ordered Miss Amabel to be put to bed with a dose of rhubarb and magnesia without sal volatile , for telling stories. The eau de Cologne, mamma dear, please, 3m respirator mask said Lady Louisa, as the door closed on the struggling, screaming, and protesting Amabel. Isn t it really dr.
a message came. He was dead. That headstone in the village churchyard tells the rest. She was very young to die scarcely nineteen years and the dead who have died young, with all their hopes and dreams still like unfolded buds within their hearts, do not rest so quietly in the grave as those who have gone through the long day from morning until evening and are only too glad to sleep. Next day I took the little box to a quiet corner of the orchard, and made a little pyre of fragrant boughs for so I interpreted the wish of that young, unquiet spirit and the beautiful words are now safe, taken up again into the aerial spaces from which they came. But since then the birds sing no more little French songs in my old orchard. The Bowmen By ARTHUR MACHEN From The Bowmen, by Arthur Machen. Published in England by Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent Co., Ltd., and in America by G.P. Putnam s Sons. By permission of the publishers and Arthur Machen. It was during the Retreat of the Eighty Thousand, and the authority of the Censorship is sufficient excuse for not being more explicit. But it was on the most awful day of that awful time, on the day when ruin and disaster came so near that their shadow fell over London far away and, without any certain news, the hearts of men failed within them and grew faint as if the agony of the army in the battlefield had entered into their souls. On this dreadful day, then, when three hundred thousand men in arms with all their artillery swelled like 3m respirator mask a flood against the little English company, there was one point above all other points in our battle line that was for a time in awful danger, not merely of defeat, but of utter annihilation. With the permission of the Censorship and of the military expert, this corner may, perhaps, be described as a salient, and if this angle were crushed and broken, then the English force as a whole would be shattered, the Allied left would be turned, and Sedan would inevitably follow. All the morning the German guns had thundered and shrieked against this corner, and against the thousand or so of men who held it. The men joked at the shells, and found funny names for them, and had bets about them, and greeted them with scraps of music hall songs. But the shells came on and burst, and tore good Englishmen limb from limb, and tore brother from brother, and as the heat of the day increased so did the fury of that terrific cannonade. There was no help, it seemed. The English artillery was good, but there was not nearly enough of it it was being steadily battered into scrap iron. There comes a moment in a storm at sea when people say to one another, It is at its worst it can blow no harder, and then there is a blast ten times more fierce than any before it. So it was.No Was it 3m respirator mask when you were staying with Dr. Kranz at G , and the students made that great richest countires supper for you, and dust mask meaning escorted your carriage both ways with a procession of torches Poor boys said the poet, laughing it was very kind, and they could ill afford it. But they would have drunk quite as much wine for any one who would have taken the inside out of the University clock, or burnt the Principal s wig, as they did for me. It was a very unsteady procession that brought me home, I assure you. The way they poked the torches in each other s faces left one student, as I heard, with no less than eight duels on his hands. And, oh the manner in which they howled my most pathetic love songs No no The Duke laughed heartily. 111 Is it any of the various occasions on which the fair ladies of Germany have testified their admiration by offerings of sympathy and handiwork No roared the poet. Are you quite sure said the Duke, slyly. I have heard of comforters, and slippers, and bouquets, and locks of hair, besides a dozen of warm stockings knit by the fair hands of Spare me groaned Friedrich, in mock indignation. Am I a pet preacher, that I should be smothered in female absurdities I have hair that would stuff a sofa, comforters that would protect a regiment in Siberia, slippers, stockings. I shall sell them, I shall burn them. I would send 3m respirator mask them back, but the ladies send nothing but their Christian names, and to identify Luise, and Gretchen, and Catherine, and Bettina, is beyond my powers. No When they had ceased laughing the Duke continued his catechism. Was it when the great poet G your only rival paid that handsome compliment to your verses on No interrupted the poet. A thousand times no The great poet praised the verses you allude to simply to cover his depreciation of my Captive Queen, which is among my best efforts, but 112 too much in his own style. How Germany can worship his bombastic but that s nothing No. Was it when you passed accidentally through the streets of Dresden, and the crowd discovered you, and carried how many wearings before replacing a n95 mask you to the hotel on its shoulders The momentary frown passed from Friedrich s face, and he laughed again. And when the men who carried me twisted my leg so that I couldn t walk for a fortnight, to say nothing of the headache I endured from bowing to the populace like a Chinese mandarin No Is it any triumph you have enjoyed in any other country in Europe No My dear genius, I can guess no more what, in the name of Fortune, was this happy occasion this life triumph It is a long story, your highness, and entertaining to no one but myself. You do me injustice, said the Duke. A long story from you is too good to be lost. Sit down, and favour me. A patron s wishes are not to be neglected and somewhat unwillingly the poet a.h stood out dark against the sky the white clouds sailed slowly by the moon, which reflected itself on the damp grass, and shone upon the flat wet tomb stones till they looked like pieces of water. It was not less bright upon the upright ones, upon quaint crosses, short headstones, and upon the huge ungainly memorial of the murdered Ephraim Garnett. But are reusable n95 masks effective for smoke the sight on which it shone that night was the figure now standing by Ephraim Garnett s grave, and looking over the wall. An awful figure, of gigantic height, with ghostly white garments clinging round its headless body, and carrying under its left arm the head that should have been upon its shoulders. On this there was neither flesh nor hair. It seemed to be a bare skull, with fire gleaming through the hollow eye sockets and the grinning teeth. The right hand of the figure was outstretched as if in warning and from the palms to the tips of the fingers was a mass of lambent flame. When Bill saw this fearful apparition he screamed with hearty good will but the noise he made was nothing the mask i wear is one to the yell of terror that came from beneath the shroud of the Yew lane Ghost, who, on catching sight of the rival spectre, fled wildly up the lane, kicking the white sheet off as he went, and finally displaying, to Bill s amazement, the form and features 227 of Bully Tom. But this was not all. No sooner had the first ghost started, than the second not to be behind hand jumped nimbly over the wall, and gave chase. But fear had put 3m breathing mask wings on to Bully Tom s feet and the second ghost being somewhat encumbered by his costume, judged it wisdom to stop and then taking the fiery skull in its flaming hands, shied it with such dexterity, that it hit Bully Tom in the middle of his back, and falling on to the wet ground, went out with a hiss. This blow was an unexpected shock to the Bully, who thought the ghost must have come up to him with supernatural rapidity, and falling on his knees in the mud, began to roar most lustily Lord, have mercy upon me I ll never do it no more Mr. Lindsay was not likely to alter his opinion on the subject of bullies. This one, like others, was a mortal coward. Like other men, who have no fear of GOD before their eyes, he made up for it by having a very hearty fear of sickness, death, departed souls, and one or two other things, which the most self willed sinner knows well enough to be in the hands of a Power which he cannot see, and does not wish to believe in. Bully Tom had spoken the truth when he said that if he thought there was a ghost in Yew lane he wouldn t go near it. If he had believed the 228 stories with which he had alarmed poor Bill, the lad s evening walk would never have been disturbed, as far as he was concerned. Nothing but his spite against 3m respirator mask Bessy w.
3m Respirator Mask ld of view, and 3m respirator mask idle memories of his own boyhood flitted over 3m respirator mask it. Then, crawling behind a dray, some strange associations built up the barrels into an old weatherstained wooden house in Holland, and for a while an intense realization of past scenes which love had made happy put present anxieties to sleep. But they woke 3m respirator mask again with a horrible pang, as a grim, hideous funeral car drove slowly past, nodding like a nightmare. As the traffic became less dense, and the cab went faster, the man s thoughts went faster too. He strove to do what he had not often tried, to review his life. He had unconsciously gained the will to do it, because a reparation which conscience might hitherto have pressed on him was now impossible, and because the plague that had desolated Abel Lake s home had swept the skeleton out of his own cupboard, and he could repent of the past and 3m respirator mask do his duty in the future. His conscience was stronger than his courage. He had long wished to repent, though he had not found strength to repair. On one point he did not delude himself as he looked back over his life. He had no sentimental regrets for the careless happiness of youth. Is any period of human life so tormented with cares as a self indulgent youth He had been a slave to expensive habits, to social traditions, to past follies, ever since he could remember. He had been in debt, in pocket or in conscience, from his schoolboy days to this hour. His tradesmen were paid long since, and, if death had cancelled what else he owed, how easy virtue would henceforth be It had not been easy at the date of his first marriage. He was deeply in debt, and out of favor with his father. It was on both accounts that he went abroad for some months. In Holland he married. His wife was Jan s mother, and Jan was their only child. Her people were of middle rank, leading quiet though cultivated lives. Her mother was dead, and she was her old father s only child. It would be doing injustice to the kind of love with which she inspired her husband to dwell much upon her beauty, though it was of that high type which takes possession of the memory for ever. She was very intensely, brilliantly fair, so that in a crowd her face shone out like a star. Time never dimmed one golden thread in her hair and Death, who had done so much for Mr. Ford s client, could not wash that face from his brain. It blotted the traffic out of the streets, and in their place Dutch pastures, whose rich green levels were unbroken by hedge or wall, stretched flatly to the horizon. It bent over a drawing on his knee as he and she sat sketching together in an old world orchard, where the trees bore more moss than fruit. The din of London was absolutely unheard by Mr. Ford s client, but he heard her voice, sayi.up pig minding for nursing. The pigs loss was the baby s gain. No tenderer or more careful nurse could the little Jan have had. And he throve apace. The windmiller took more notice of him than he had been wont to do of his own children in their babyhood. He had never been a playful or indulgent father, but he now watched p3 mask protection with considerable interest the child who, all unconsciously, was bringing in so much grist to the mill. When the weather was not fine enough for them to be out of doors, Abel would play with his charge in the round house, and the windmiller never drove him out of the mill, as at one time he would have done. Now and then, too, he would pat the little Jan s head, and bestow a word of praise on his careful guardian. It may be well, by the by, to explain what a round house is. Some of the brick or tower mills widen gradually and evenly to the base. Others widen abruptly at the lowest story, which stands out all round at the bottom of the mill, and has a roof running all round too. The projection is, in fact, an additional passage, encircling the bottom story of the windmill. It is the round house. If you take a pill box to represent the basement floor of a tower mill, and then put another pill box two or three sizes larger over it, you have got the circular passage between the two boxes, and 3m respirator mask have added a round house to the mill. The round house is commonly used as a kind of store room. Abel Lake s windmill had no separate dwelling house. His grandfather had built the windmill, and even his father had left it to the son to add a dwelling house, when he should perhaps have extended his resources by a bit of farming or some other business, such as windmillers often add to their trade proper. But that calamity of the broken sails had left Abel Lake no power for further outlay for many years, and he had to be content to live in the mill. The dwelling room was the inner part how do you put on the n95 disposable dust mask of the basement floor. Near the door which led from this into the round house was the ladder leading to the next story, and close by that the opening through which the sacks of grain were drawn up above. The story 3m respirator mask above the basement held the millstones and the smutting machine, for cleaning dirty wheat. The next above that held the dressing machine, in which the bran was separated from the flour. In the next above that were the corn bins. To the next above that the grain was drawn up from the basement in the first instance. The top story of all held the machinery connected with the turning of the sails. Ladders led from story to story, and each room had two windows on opposite sides of the mill. Use is second nature, and all the sounds which haunt a windmill were soon as familiar and as pleasant to the little Jan as if he had been born.