Alfred W. Cooper

My family and home—We conceal a fugitive Indian. It was evening. The sun had just set beneath the waters of the Pacific, which could be distinguished in the far distance; and the whole western sky, undimmed by a cloud, was burning with a radiant glow of splendour such as to the eyes of the untutored Peruvians might well appear an emanation from the Deity they worshipped. I was looking out, with... more...

Toadstools! “Oh, I say, here’s a game! What’s he up to now?” “Hi! Vane! Old weathercock! Hold hard!” “Do you hear? Which way does the wind blow?” Three salutations shouted at a lad of about sixteen, who had just shown himself at the edge of a wood on the sunny slope of the Southwolds, one glorious September morning, when the spider-webs were still glittering with iridescent colours, as... more...