: G. K. Chesterton
: 9 Books of Fiction and 21 Books of Essays
: Seltzer Books
: 9781455391400
: 1
: CHF 0.10
:
: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 3767
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB

This book-collection file includes 29 books -- 10 books of fiction (The Ball and the Cross, The Club of Queer Trades, The Innocence of Father Brown, The Man Who Knew Too Much, The Man Who Was Thursday, Manalive, The Napoleon of Notting Hill, The Trees of Pride, Tremendous Trifles, and The Wisdom of Father Brown) and 19 collections of essays (All Things Considered, The Appetite of Tyranny, The Crimes of England, Appreciations and Criticisms of the Works of Charles Dickens, The Defendant, Eugenics and Other Evils, Heretics, Lord Kitchener, A Miscellany of Men, The New Jerusalem, Orthodoxy, Alarms and Discursions, A Short History of England, Twelve Types, Utopia of Usurers and Other, Essays, Varied Types, The Victorian Age in Literature, and What's Wrong with the World). Gilbert Keith Chesterton (29 May 1874 - 14 June 1936) was an influential English writer of the early 20th century. His prolific and diverse output included journalism, philosophy, poetry, biography, Christian apologetics, fantasy and detective fiction. Chesterton has been called the 'prince of paradox.' He wrote in an off-hand, whimsical prose studded with startling formulations. For example: 'Thieves respect property. They merely wish the property to become their property that they may more perfectly respect it.' As a Christian apologist he is widely admired throughout many religious denominations, as well as by many non-Christians[citation needed]. As a political thinker, he cast aspersions on both Liberalism and Conservatism, saying, 'The whole modern world has divided itself into Conservatives and Progressives. The business of Progressives is to go on making mistakes. The business of the Conservatives is to prevent the mistakes from being corrected.''

VI. THE OTHER PHILOSOPHER


 

Between high hedges in Hertfordshire, hedges so high as to create a kind of grove, two men were running.  They did not run in a scampering or feverish manner, but in the steady swing of the pendulum.  Across the great plains and uplands to the right and left of the lane, a long tide of sunset light rolled like a sea of ruby, lighting up the long terraces of the hills and picking out the few windows of the scattered hamlets in startling blood-red sparks.  But the lane was cut deep in the hill and remained in an abrupt shadow.  The two men running in it had an impression not uncommonly experienced between those wild green English walls; a sense of being led between the walls of a maze.

 

Though their pace was steady it was vigorous; their faces were heated and their eyes fixed and bright.  There was, indeed, something a little mad in the contrast between the evening's stillness over the empty country-side, and these two figures fleeing wildly from nothing.  They had the look of two lunatics, possibly they were.

 

"Are you all right?" said Turnbull, with civility. "Can you keep this up?"

 

"Quite easily, thank you," replied MacIan. "I run very well."

 

"Is that a qualification in a family of warriors?" asked Turnbull.

 

"Undoubtedly.  Rapid movement is essential," answered MacIan, who never saw a joke in his life.

 

Turnbull broke out into a short laugh, and silence fell between them, the panting silence of runners.

 

Then MacIan said:"We run better than any of those policemen. They are too fat.  Why do you make your policemen so fat?"

 

"I didn't do much towards making them fat myself," replied Turnbull, genially,"but I flatter myself that I am now doing something towards making them thin.  You'll see they will be as lean as rakes by the time they catch us.  They will look like your friend, Cardinal Manning."

 

"But they won't catch us," said MacIan, in his literal way.

 

"No, we beat them in the great military art of running away," returned the other. "They won't catch us unless----"

 

MacIan turned his long equine face inquiringly. "Unless what?" he said, for Turnbull had gone silent suddenly, and seemed to be listening intently as he ran as a horse does with his ears turned back.

 

"Unless what?" repeated the Highlander.

 

"Unless they do--what they have done.  Listen."  MacIan slackened his trot, and turned his head to the trail they had left behind them.  Across two or three billows