Childhood. Ah dear delights, that o’er my soulOn memory’s wing like shadows fly!Ah flowers that Joy from Eden stole,While Innocence stood laughing by.Coleridge. “Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” cried a young boy, as he capered vigorously about, and clapped his hands. “Father and mother will be home in a week now, and then we shall stay here a little time, and then, and then, I shall go to school.” The last... more...

A Tale of Weston School. Weston versus Hillsborough. “Well cut, Saurin, well cut! Run it out! Four!” The ball was delivered again to the bowler, who meditated a shooter, but being a little tired, failed in his amiable intention, and gave the chance of a half-volley, which the batsman timed accurately, and caught on the right inch of the bat, with the whole swing of his arms and body thrown into the drive, so that the ball went clean... more...

CHAPTER I DAVE AND HIS CHUMS “I say, Dave, here’s an odd piece of news.” “An odd piece of news, Roger? What about?” “A wild man in the woods back of Oak Hall,” answered Roger Morr, who held a letter in his hand. “Queerest thing you ever heard of.” “I should say it was, if it’s about a wild man,” returned Dave Porter. “Who sent that letter?” “Shadow... more...

Peters the Susceptible   APER-WEIGHTS," observed Patty, sucking an injured thumb, "were evidently not made for driving in tacks. I wish I had a hammer." This remark called forth no response, and Patty peered down from the top of the step-ladder at her room-mate, who was sitting on the floor dragging sofa-pillows and curtains from a dry-goods box. "Priscilla," she begged, "you aren't doing anything useful. Go down and ask Peters for a... more...

CHAPTER I. CONIC SECTION. It was just after that happy visit of which I told at the end of "WhatKaty Did," that Elsie and John made their famous excursion to ConicSection; an excursion which neither of them ever forgot, and aboutwhich the family teased them for a long time afterward. The summer had been cool; but, as often happens after cool summers, the autumn proved unusually hot. It seemed as if the months had been playing a game, and had... more...

PART FIRST To begin with I wish to disclaim the possession of those high gifts of imagination and expression which would have enabled my pen to create for the reader the personality of the man who called himself, after the Russian custom, Cyril son of Isidor—Kirylo Sidorovitch—Razumov. If I have ever had these gifts in any sort of living form they have been smothered out of existence a long time ago under a wilderness of words.... more...

CHAPTER I—THE BROWN FAMILY "I'm the Poet of White Horse Vale, sir,With liberal notions under my cap."—Ballad The Browns have become illustrious by the pen of Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle, within the memory of the young gentlemen who are now matriculating at the universities. Notwithstanding the well-merited but late fame which has now fallen upon them, any one at all acquainted with the family must feel that much has yet to be... more...

THOMAS HUGHES. Thomas Hughes is a native of the royal county of Berkshire, England. From the nursery windows of the old farmhouse in Uffington, where he was born, in 1823, he delighted in looking out on that famous White Horse Hill which he describes in the opening chapters of "Tom Brown's School Days." His father was such an English squire as he represents Tom's father to be, and his grandfather was vicar of the parish, and therefore a man of... more...

A Short Summary, With Some Explanations of Concepts Presented byHughes, but Not Well Defined by Him, Being Apparently WellUnderstood in His Day, but With Which Modern Readers May beUnfamiliar. This is the sequel to Hughes' more successful novel Tom Brown's School Days, which told about Tom at the Rugby School from the age of 11 to 16. Now Tom is at Oxford University for a three year program of study, in which he attends class lectures and does... more...

A Change. “Yes, she must go to school!” repeated Mr Chester. A plaintive sob greeted his words from the neighbourhood of the sofa. For once in her life Mrs Chester’s kindly, good-tempered face had lost its smiles, and was puckered up into lines of distress. She let one fat, be-ringed hand drop to her side and wander restlessly over the satin skirt in search of a pocket. Presently out came a handkerchief, which was applied to... more...