The Birth of the Nation (Illustrated) - 2 Angebote vergleichen
Bester Preis: Fr. 1.03 (€ 1.06)¹ (vom 15.12.2016)1
The Flying Reporter (2014)
EN NW EB DLEAN: 1230000207744, in Englisch, Lost Leaf Publications, Lost Leaf Publications, Lost Leaf Publications, neu, E-Book, elektronischer Download.
Lieferung aus: Deutschland, in-stock.
Jimmy Donnelly had just arrived at the hangar at the Long Island flying field where his plane was housed. To be sure, the plane really wasn't Jimmy's, because it belonged to the New York Morning Press; but Jimmy was its pilot, and had flown it ever since that great newspaper had decided that it must have a plane of its own. And Jimmy had piloted it so long, and had taken such loving care of it, that he felt as though it were his very own. Indeed, he could not have lavished more attention on the plane if it had been his own. He was forever polishing and cleaning it, and checking over the engine, and keeping it tuned up to concert pitch. But just now Jimmy was not thinking about his plane. The morning mail lay before him on the table in the little hangar office. There were the daily papers, some circulars, and several letters. Jimmy had already slit the letters open. The one he picked out of the bunch was a rather bulky letter that bore, in the upper left hand corner, this return address: Warren Long, Hadley Airport, New Brunswick, N.J. But Jimmy did not need to read this return address to know from whom the letter came. He recognized the handwriting instantly. That was why he selected this letter in preference to any other letter, to read first. He knew perfectly well that it was from his old friend Warren Long, dean of Air Mail fliers, the pilot who had helped him to get into the U.S. Air Mail Service as a "grease monkey," and who had afterward assisted him up the ladder, rung by rung, until he, Jimmy, had attained his present enviable position as a flying reporter for the New York Morning Press. Jimmy wondered why Warren Long had written to him. He opened the envelope eagerly. Out dropped what looked like a white silk handkerchief. Jimmy was more puzzled than ever. With growing curiosity he pulled the letter from the envelope, spread it out on his desk, and read as follows: Dear Jimmy: Last night I had occasion to join the Caterpillar Club. It is odd how a fellow.
Jimmy Donnelly had just arrived at the hangar at the Long Island flying field where his plane was housed. To be sure, the plane really wasn't Jimmy's, because it belonged to the New York Morning Press; but Jimmy was its pilot, and had flown it ever since that great newspaper had decided that it must have a plane of its own. And Jimmy had piloted it so long, and had taken such loving care of it, that he felt as though it were his very own. Indeed, he could not have lavished more attention on the plane if it had been his own. He was forever polishing and cleaning it, and checking over the engine, and keeping it tuned up to concert pitch. But just now Jimmy was not thinking about his plane. The morning mail lay before him on the table in the little hangar office. There were the daily papers, some circulars, and several letters. Jimmy had already slit the letters open. The one he picked out of the bunch was a rather bulky letter that bore, in the upper left hand corner, this return address: Warren Long, Hadley Airport, New Brunswick, N.J. But Jimmy did not need to read this return address to know from whom the letter came. He recognized the handwriting instantly. That was why he selected this letter in preference to any other letter, to read first. He knew perfectly well that it was from his old friend Warren Long, dean of Air Mail fliers, the pilot who had helped him to get into the U.S. Air Mail Service as a "grease monkey," and who had afterward assisted him up the ladder, rung by rung, until he, Jimmy, had attained his present enviable position as a flying reporter for the New York Morning Press. Jimmy wondered why Warren Long had written to him. He opened the envelope eagerly. Out dropped what looked like a white silk handkerchief. Jimmy was more puzzled than ever. With growing curiosity he pulled the letter from the envelope, spread it out on his desk, and read as follows: Dear Jimmy: Last night I had occasion to join the Caterpillar Club. It is odd how a fellow.
2
The Birth of the Nation (Illustrated) (2014)
EN NW EB DLEAN: 1230000207744, in Englisch, Lost Leaf Publications, Lost Leaf Publications, Lost Leaf Publications, neu, E-Book, elektronischer Download.
Lieferung aus: Deutschland, in-stock.
We are about to commemorate the settlement of the English at Jamestown three hundred years ago. Under God's blessing, we are not only at peace with all the world, but are bound by ties of close friendship to the great kingdoms and republics on earth. Therefore, we may confidently expect to welcome numbers of their representatives to our three hundredth birthday celebration. Many will be the banners unfurled in waters which ebbed and flowed in awful silence but three hundred years ago, or were stirred only by the paddle of the Indian canoe; and loud the thunders of welcome and greeting from shores which echoed then with the scream of the eagle and the war-whoop of the savage.[2] The story of a world emerging from the darkness in which it had been hidden for countless ages will always thrill the imagination. Phantom ships loom dimly out of the mists of a far-off time. Strange names are whispered in vague traditions, which are found in no written record-names of mighty mariners, who were blown by tempests upon a strange coast-Arthur; Malgro; Brandon; a "Fryer of Lynn," who by reason of his "black art" reached the North Pole in 1360; Madock, "sonne of Quinneth, Prince of Wales," a man of peace, who sought refuge in a wilderness because of strife among his brethren; Leif, the Norwegian; Nicolo Zeno, the Venetian; Hanno, the Carthaginian! Colossal figures tremble for a moment on the horizon, and are lost in fog and doubt. At last the great Genoese sails forth, and becomes a tangible figure in history. Often as his story may be told, familiar as it is to every schoolboy in the land, we can never hear it without a keen realization of its personal relations to ourselves. [3]"It would be impossible," said Daniel Webster, "for us to read the discovery of our continent without being reminded how much it has affected our own fortunes and our own existence. It would be unnatural for us to contemplate with unaffected minds that most touching and pathetic scene when the great disc.
We are about to commemorate the settlement of the English at Jamestown three hundred years ago. Under God's blessing, we are not only at peace with all the world, but are bound by ties of close friendship to the great kingdoms and republics on earth. Therefore, we may confidently expect to welcome numbers of their representatives to our three hundredth birthday celebration. Many will be the banners unfurled in waters which ebbed and flowed in awful silence but three hundred years ago, or were stirred only by the paddle of the Indian canoe; and loud the thunders of welcome and greeting from shores which echoed then with the scream of the eagle and the war-whoop of the savage.[2] The story of a world emerging from the darkness in which it had been hidden for countless ages will always thrill the imagination. Phantom ships loom dimly out of the mists of a far-off time. Strange names are whispered in vague traditions, which are found in no written record-names of mighty mariners, who were blown by tempests upon a strange coast-Arthur; Malgro; Brandon; a "Fryer of Lynn," who by reason of his "black art" reached the North Pole in 1360; Madock, "sonne of Quinneth, Prince of Wales," a man of peace, who sought refuge in a wilderness because of strife among his brethren; Leif, the Norwegian; Nicolo Zeno, the Venetian; Hanno, the Carthaginian! Colossal figures tremble for a moment on the horizon, and are lost in fog and doubt. At last the great Genoese sails forth, and becomes a tangible figure in history. Often as his story may be told, familiar as it is to every schoolboy in the land, we can never hear it without a keen realization of its personal relations to ourselves. [3]"It would be impossible," said Daniel Webster, "for us to read the discovery of our continent without being reminded how much it has affected our own fortunes and our own existence. It would be unnatural for us to contemplate with unaffected minds that most touching and pathetic scene when the great disc.
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