Fiction Books

CHAPTER I. THE SIGNAL. About fifty years have elapsed since King Clotaire had his son Chram burned alive together with the latter's wife and daughters. Let us forget the spectacle of desolation that conquered Gaul continues to present under the descendants of Clovis for the last fifty years, and rest our eyes upon the Valley of Charolles. Oh, the fathers of the happy inhabitants who people that... more...

THE 'BLUE PETER' Ding ... dong.... Ding ... dong. The university bells toll out in strength of tone that tells of south-west winds and misty weather. On the street below my window familiar city noises, unheeded by day, strike tellingly on the ear—hoof-strokes and rattle of wheels, tramp of feet on the stone flags, a snatch of song from a late reveller, then silence, broken in a little by... more...

LEGACY AND LEGATEE Marsden was one of the few villages of our populous country yet left remote from any line of railway. The chief events of its quiet days were the morning and evening arrivals and departures of the mail-coach, whose driver still retained the almost obsolete custom of blowing a horn to signal his approach. All Marsden favored the horn, it was so convenient and so—so antique! which... more...

THE HALL. The ancient house, and the best for housekeeping in this county or the next; and though the master of it write but squire, I know no lord like him. —Merry Beggars. The reader, if he has perused the volumes of the Sketch-Book, will probably recollect something of the Bracebridge family, with which I once passed a Christmas. I am now on another visit to the Hall, having been invited to a... more...

CHAPTER I. THE BISHOP'S FOLLY Towards the close of the last century there was a very remarkable man, Bishop of Down, in Ireland: a Liberal in politics, in an age when Liberalism lay close on the confines of disloyalty; splendidly hospitable, at a period when hospitality verged on utter recklessness; he carried all his opinions to extremes. He had great taste, which had been cultivated by foreign... more...

CHAPTER I Cautiously the young flight engineer stretched his cramped legs across some gadgets in his crowded little compartment. Leaning back in his swivel chair he folded a pair of freckled hands behind his neck and smiled at Lee. "This is it doctor; we're almost there." The tall and lanky man at the frame of the door didn't seem to understand. Bending forward he peered through the... more...

CHAPTER I. THE BRADYS AS CUSTOM HOUSE DETECTIVES. The Collector of the Port of New York sat in his office in the Custom House with a look of annoyance upon his face. Several of his chief inspectors were standing about the room with the most uneasy expressions, for they were being censured unmercifully. "I tell you, gentlemen," the Collector was saying, angrily, "I am very much disgusted... more...

THE BRACELETS. In a beautiful and retired part of England lived Mrs. Villars, a lady whose accurate understanding, benevolent heart, and steady temper, peculiarly fitted her for the most difficult, as well as most important of all occupations—the education of youth. This task she had undertaken; and twenty young persons were put under her care, with the perfect confidence of their parents. No young... more...

THE HALL. The ancientest house, and the best for housekeeping in this county or the next, and though the master of it write but squire, I know no lord like him. MERRY BEGGARS. The reader, if he has perused the volumes of the Sketch Book, will probably recollect something of the Bracebridge family, with which I once passed a Christmas. I am now on another visit at the Hall, having been invited to a... more...

CHAPTER IUNDERGROUND TERRORS "Ay, lad," said the old miner, the pale flame of his cap-lamp lighting up his wrinkled face and throwing a distorted shadow on the wall of coal behind, "there's goin' to be a plenty of us killed soon." "Likely enough, if they're all as careless as you," Clem retorted. "Carelessness ain't got nothin' to do with it,"... more...