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A Rule of the Boy Scouts is every day to do some one a good turn. Not because the copy-books tell you it deserves another, but in spite of that pleasing possibility. If you are a true Scout, until you have performed your act of kindness your day is dark. You are as unhappy as is the grown-up who has begun his day without shaving or reading the New York Sun. But as soon as you have proved yourself you may, with a clear conscience, look the world... more...

CHAPTER INAT SAVES A BOAT "There's a rowboat adrift!" exclaimed one of a group of men who stood on the edge of a large pier at Chicago's water front. "Yes, and the steamer will sure smash it," added another. "She's headed right for it! It's a wonder folks wouldn't learn to tie their boats secure. Whose is it?" "I don't know. It's a good boat, though. Pity to see it knocked into kindling wood." "That's right." The pilot of the big freight... more...

by Moliere
The Bores is a character-comedy; but the peculiarities taken as the text of the play, instead of being confined to one or two of the leading personages, are exhibited in different forms by a succession of characters, introduced one after the other in rapid course, and disappearing after the brief performance of their rôles. We do not find an evolution of natural situations, proceeding from the harmonious conduct of two or three individuals,... more...

HOSPITALITY OF THE ARAB. In 1804, Osman Bardissy was the most influential of the Mameluke Beys, and virtually governed Egypt. Mehemet Ali, then rising into power, succeeded in embroiling this powerful old chief with Elfy Bey, another of the Mamelukes. The latter escaped to England, where he was favourably received, and promised assistance by our government against Osman, who was in the French interests. At this time a Sheikh of Bedouin stood... more...

PREFACE There is, perhaps, a better excuse for giving an Anthology of American Negro Poetry to the public than can be offered for many of the anthologies that have recently been issued. The public, generally speaking, does not know that there are American Negro poets—to supply this lack of information is, alone, a work worthy of somebody's effort. Moreover, the matter of Negro poets and the production of literature by the colored people... more...


I. OLD MOODIE The evening before my departure for Blithedale, I was returning to my bachelor apartments, after attending the wonderful exhibition of the Veiled Lady, when an elderly man of rather shabby appearance met me in an obscure part of the street. "Mr. Coverdale," said he softly, "can I speak with you a moment?" As I have casually alluded to the Veiled Lady, it may not be amiss to mention, for the benefit of such of my readers as are... more...

ON THE STREETS OF ANTWERP. “Good-bye, Elmer, and you, too, Rooster!” “It’s too bad we have to hurry home, and break up the Big Five Motorcycle Boys’ combination, just when we’ve been having such royal good times over in the country of the Great War!” “But there was nothing else to do, Elmer, when you got that cable message telling you to take the first steamer home, as your mother was about to... more...

Chapter I The editor of that much-abused New York daily, Liberty, pushed back his editorial typewriter and opened one letter in the pile which the office-boy—no respecter of persons—had just laid upon the desk while whistling a piercing tune between his teeth. The letter said: DEAR BEN,—I hate to think what your feelings will be on learning that I am engaged to be married to a daughter of the capitalistic class. Try to... more...

I THE WAR ON THE WORD It will hardly be denied that there is one lingering doubt in many, who recognise unavoidable self-defence in the instant parry of the English sword, and who have no great love for the sweeping sabre of Sadowa and Sedan. That doubt is the doubt whether Russia, as compared with Prussia, is sufficiently decent and democratic to be the ally of liberal and civilised powers. I take first, therefore, this matter of civilisation.... more...

When the long grey lines came flooding upon Paris in the plain,We stood and drank of the last free air we never could taste again:They had led us back from the lost battle, to halt we knew not whereAnd stilled us; and our gaping guns were dumb with our despair.The grey tribes flowed for ever from the infinite lifeless landsAnd a Norman to a Breton spoke, his chin upon his hands. “There was an end to Ilium; and an end came to Rome;And a man... more...