Fiction Books

CHAPTER I. THE REHEARSAL. It was a little after seven o'clock on the evening of December 31, 186—. Inside, the little red schoolhouse was ablaze with light. Sounds of voices and laughter came from within and forms could be seen flitting back and forth through the uncurtained windows. Outside, a heavy fall of snow lay upon hill and vale, trees and house-tops, while the rays of a full-orbed moon... more...

I THE TEA-TABLE Angeline's slender, wiry form and small, glossy gray head bent over the squat brown tea-pot as she shook out the last bit of leaf from the canister. The canister was no longer hers, neither the tea-pot, nor even the battered old pewter spoon with which she tapped the bottom of the tin to dislodge the last flicker of tea-leaf dust. The three had been sold at auction that day in... more...

In this age we read so much that we lay too great a burden on the imagination. It is unable to create images which are the spiritual equivalent of the words on the printed page, and reading becomes for too many an occupation of the eye rather than of the mind. How rarely—out of the multitude of volumes a man reads in his lifetime—can he remember where or when he read any particular book, or with... more...

CHAPTER I It began with Jerry’s finishing off all the olives that were left, “like a pig would do,” as Greg said. His finishing the olives left us the bottle, of course, and there is only one natural thing to do with an empty olive-bottle when you’re on a water picnic. That is, to write a message as though you were a shipwrecked mariner, and seal it up in the bottle and chuck it as far out as... more...

STORY AND SONG OF THE HE-DHU´-SHKA. It had been a warm September day; and I was resting in my hammock, swung from a wide-spreading tree that stood near the tent of my Indian host. We had partaken of our evening meal beside an outdoor fire. The mother was busy clearing away the supper dishes, the men had gone off to look after the horses, the children had fallen asleep, and I lay watching the shadowy... more...

Most gentle Sleep! Two nights I wooed in vain;Thou wouldst not come to banish racking pain:For what is Sleep but Life in stone bound fast?Oblivion of the Present, Future, Past....

CHAPTER I. BY SAMUEL MERWIN Genevieve Remington had been called beautiful. She was tall, with brown eyes and a fine spun mass of golden-brown hair. She had a gentle smile, that disclosed white, even teeth. Her voice was not unmusical. She was twenty-three years old and possessed a husband who, though only twenty-six, had already shown such strength of character and such aptitude at the criminal branch... more...

DUMAS IN ITALY.[Souvenirs de Voyage en Italie, parALEXANDRE DUMAS. 5 vols. duod.]France has lately sent forth her poets in great force, to travel, and to write travels. Delamartine, Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, and others, have been forth in the high-ways and the high-seas, observing, portraying, poetizing, romancing. The last-mentioned of these, M. Dumas, a dramatist very ingenious in the... more...

The MessageOnce more Chet, Walt and Diane are united in a wild ride to the Dark Moon—but this time they go as prisoners of their deadly enemy Schwartzmann.In a hospital in Vienna, in a room where sunlight flooded through ultraviolet permeable crystal, the warm rays struck upon smooth walls the color of which changed from hot reds to cool yellow or gray or to soothing green, as the Directing Surgeon... more...

"THE MOORE HOUSE? ARE YOU SPEAKING OF THE MOORE HOUSE?" For a detective whose talents, had not been recognized at headquarters, I possessed an ambition which, fortunately for my standing with the lieutenant of the precinct, had not yet been expressed in words. Though I had small reason for expecting great things of myself, I had always cherished the hope that if a big case came my way I should... more...