The Gray Dawn - White, Stewart Edward
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On the veranda of the Bella Union Hotel, San Francisco, a man sat enjoying his morning pipe. The Bella Union overlooked the Plaza of that day, a dusty, unkempt, open space, later to be swept and graded and dignified into Portsmouth Square. The man was at the younger fringe of middle life. He was dressed neatly and carefully in the fashionable costume of the time, which was the year of grace 1852. As to countenance, he was square and solid; as to physique, he was the same; as to expression, he inclined toward the quietly humorous; in general he would strike the observer as deliberately,…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
On the veranda of the Bella Union Hotel, San Francisco, a man sat enjoying his morning pipe. The Bella Union overlooked the Plaza of that day, a dusty, unkempt, open space, later to be swept and graded and dignified into Portsmouth Square. The man was at the younger fringe of middle life. He was dressed neatly and carefully in the fashionable costume of the time, which was the year of grace 1852. As to countenance, he was square and solid; as to physique, he was the same; as to expression, he inclined toward the quietly humorous; in general he would strike the observer as deliberately, philosophically competent. A large pair of steel bound spectacles sat halfway down his nose. Sometimes he read his paper through their lenses; and sometimes, forgetting, he read over the tops of their bows. The newspaper he held was an extraordinary document. It consisted of four large pages. The outside page was filled solidly with short eight or ten line advertisements; the second page grudgingly vouchsafed a single column of news items; the third page warmed to a column of editorial and another of news; all the rest of the space on these and the entire fourth page was again crowded close with the short advertisements. They told of the arrival of ships, the consignment of goods, the movements of real estate, the sales of stock, but mainly of auctions. The man paid little attention to the scanty news, and none at all to the editorials. His name was John Sherwood, and he was a powerful and respected public gambler.
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Autorenporträt
Stewart Edward White was an American author, dramatist, and spiritualist who was born March 12, 1873, and died September 18, 1946. Known wall painter Gilbert White was his brother. His mother was Mary E. Danielell and his father was a lumberjack named Thomas Stewart White. White was born in Grand Rapids, Michigan. He graduated from Grand Rapids High School and the University of Michigan with a B.A. in 1895 and an M.A. in 1903. In the years between 1900 and 1922, he wrote both fiction and non-fiction about travel and adventure, with a focus on natural history and life outside. He and his wife Elizabeth "Betty" Grant White wrote many books starting in 1922. They said they got the ideas for the books from talking to ghosts. Besides that, they wrote about their trips in California. It was September 18, 1946, when White died in Hillsborough, California. He was 73 years old. People liked White's books at a time when America was losing its wild places. He was very aware of the beauty in both nature and people, and he could write about them in a simple way. Based on his own life, he wrote funny and clever things about building cabins, canoeing, logging, gold hunting, guns, fishing, hunting, and camping in both his camping diaries and Westerns.