Fiction Books

CHAPTER I. THE AUTHOR'S DESIGN. The writer has spent much of his time for thirty-five years in the study of electricity and in inventing appliances for purposes of transmitting intelligence electrically between distant points, and is perhaps more familiar with the phenomena of electricity than with those of any other branch of physics; yet he finds it still the most difficult of all the natural... more...

INTRODUCES A GENTLEMAN. "Then it's an entire mystery?" "Yes, Phrida." "But it's astounding! It really seems so utterly impossible," declared my well-beloved, amazed at what I had just related. "I've simply stated hard facts." "But there's been nothing about this affair in the papers." "For certain reasons the authorities are not exactly... more...

THE The first Comfort of Whoring, Answer'd.No sooner does a Maid arrive to Years,And she the Pleasures of Conjunction hears,But strait her Maidenhead a Tip-toe runs,To get her like, in Daughters or in Sons;Upon some jolly Lad she casts her Eye,And with some am'rous Gestures by the by;She gives him great Encouragement to takeHis fill of Love, and swears that for his sakeShe soon shall Die;... more...

CHAPTER I In the latter days of July in the year 185––, a most important question was for ten days hourly asked in the cathedral city of Barchester, and answered every hour in various ways—Who was to be the new bishop? The death of old Dr. Grantly, who had for many years filled that chair with meek authority, took place exactly as the ministry of Lord –––– was going to give place to that... more...

Barry Raymond drew the latchkey out of the door and entered his small flat in Kensington just as the clock in the tiny hall chimed the hour of ten. It was a wet night; and he drew off his Burberry and hung it up with a sense of pleasure in being again in his cosy little eyrie at the top of the chilly stone steps. Humming a tune, he crossed the diminutive hall and went into the sitting-room, where the... more...

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE HUNCH-BACK. There was in former times at Casgar, on the extreme boundaries of Tartary, a tailor who had a pretty wife, whom he affectionately loved, and by whom he was beloved with reciprocal tenderness. One day while he was at work, a little hunch-back seated himself at the shop door and began to sing, and play upon a tabor. The tailor was pleased with his performance, and... more...

CHAPTER I The front gate screaked, a slow, timid, almost furtive sort of screak, and then banged suddenly shut as though it despaired of further concealment. Mary Louise gathered her sewing to her, rose to her feet, and looked out. It was raining. Through the glass upper half of the door that opened from the sitting room upon the side porch she could see the swelling tendrils of the vines that crawled... more...

"You, Mr. Rapp?" Stanley Rapp blinked, considering the matter. He always thought over everything very carefully. Of course, some questions were easier to answer than others. This one, for instance. He had very few doubts about his name. "Uh," Stanley Rapp said. "Yes. Yes." He stared at the bearded young man. Living in the Village, even on the better side of it, one saw beards... more...

When it was the Forty-ninth Night, She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the damsel ceased not to drink and ply Sharrkan with drink till he took leave of his wits, for the wine and the intoxication of love he bore her. Presently she said to the slave girl, "O Marjanah[FN#188]! bring us some instruments of music!" "To hear is to obey," said the hand maid and going out,... more...

PROLOGUE A FACE haunted Cameron—a woman's face. It was there in the white heart of the dying campfire; it hung in the shadows that hovered over the flickering light; it drifted in the darkness beyond. This hour, when the day had closed and the lonely desert night set in with its dead silence, was one in which Cameron's mind was thronged with memories of a time long past—of a home back in... more...