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Showing: 1-10 results of 38

As Easy as A.B.C. (1912) The A.B.C., that semi-elected, semi-nominated body of a few score persons, controls the Planet. Transportation is Civilisation, our motto runs. Theoretically we do what we please, so long as we do not interfere with the traffic and all it implies. Practically, the A.B.C. confirms or annuls all international arrangements, and, to judge from its last report, finds our tolerant, humorous, lazy little Planet only too... more...

AN HABITATION ENFORCED My friend, if cause doth wrest thee,Ere folly hath much oppressed thee,Far from acquaintance kest theeWhere country may digest thee...Thank God that so hath blessed thee,And sit down, Robin, and rest thee.—THOMAS TUSSER. It came without warning, at the very hour his hand was outstretched to crumple the Holz and Gunsberg Combine. The New York doctors called it overwork, and he lay in a darkened room, one ankle... more...

Introduction In an issue of the London World in April, 1890, there appeared the following paragraph: "Two small rooms connected by a tiny hall afford sufficient space to contain Mr. Rudyard Kipling, the literary hero of the present hour, 'the man who came from nowhere,' as he says himself, and who a year ago was consciously nothing in the literary world." Six months previous to this Mr. Kipling, then but twenty-four years old, had arrived in... more...

Hunting. Certes it is a noble sportAnd men have quitted selle and swum for't,But I am of a meeker sortAnd I prefer Surtees in comfort. Reach down my "Handley Cross" again.My run, where never danger lurks, isWith Jorrocks and his deathless trainPigg, Binjimin and Arterxerxes! January. Coursing. Most men harry the world for fun—Each man seeks it a different wayBut "of all daft devils under the sunA grey'ound's the daftest"... more...

Danny Deever "What are the bugles blowin' for?" said Files-on-Parade."To turn you out, to turn you out", the Colour-Sergeant said."What makes you look so white, so white?" said Files-on-Parade."I'm dreadin' what I've got to watch", the Colour-Sergeant said.For they're hangin' Danny Deever, you can hear the Dead March play,The regiment's in 'ollow square—they're hangin' him to-day;They've taken of his buttons off an' cut his stripes... more...


CHAPTER I The weather door of the smoking-room had been left open to the North Atlantic fog, as the big liner rolled and lifted, whistling to warn the fishing-fleet. "That Cheyne boy's the biggest nuisance aboard," said a man in a frieze overcoat, shutting the door with a bang. "He isn't wanted here. He's too fresh." A white-haired German reached for a sandwich, and grunted between bites: "I know der breed. Ameriga is full of dot kind. I dell... more...

DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES I have eaten your bread and salt,I have drunk your water and wine,The deaths ye died I have watched beside,And the lives that ye led were mine.Was there aught that I did not shareIn vigil or toil or ease,One joy or woe that I did not know,Dear hearts across the seas?I have written the tale of our lifeFor a sheltered people's mirth,In jesting guise—but ye are wise,And ye know what the jest is worth. GENERAL SUMMARY... more...

Except for those who, under compulsion of a sick certificate, are flying Bombaywards, it is good for every man to see some little of the great Indian Empire and the strange folk who move about it. It is good to escape for a time from the House of Rimmon—be it office or cutchery—and to go abroad under no more exacting master than personal inclination, and with no more definite plan of travel than has the horse, escaped from pasture,... more...

The polo-ball was an old one, scarred, chipped, and dinted. It stood on the mantelpiece among the pipe-stems which Imam Din, khitmatgar, was cleaning for me. "Does the Heaven-born want this ball?" said Imam Din, deferentially. The Heaven-born set no particular store by it; but of what use was a polo-ball to a khitmatgar? "By your Honor's favor, I have a little son. He has seen this ball, and desires it to play with. I do not want it for... more...

HOW THE WHALE GOT HIS THROAT IN the sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Whale, and he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel. All the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth—so! Till at last there was only one small fish left in all the... more...