Fiction Books

Thename of Free Joe strikes humorously upon the ear of memory. It is impossible to say why, for he was the humblest, the simplest, and the most serious of all God's living creatures, sadly lacking in all those elements that suggest the humorous. It is certain, moreover, that in 1850 the sober-minded citizens of the little Georgian village of Hillsborough were not inclined to take a humorous view of... more...

CHAPTER I. THE SNAKE AND THE SOUL. When Colonel Matthew Devon de Warrenne, V.C., D.S.O., of the Queen's Own (118th) Bombay Lancers, pinned his Victoria Cross to the bosom of his dying wife's night-dress, in token of his recognition that she was the braver of the twain, he was not himself. He was beside himself with grief. Afterwards he adjured the sole witness of this impulsive and emotional... more...

CHAPTER ITHE GREAT FOREST The old men say their fathers told them that soon after the fields were left to themselves a change began to be visible. It became green everywhere in the first spring, after London ended, so that all the country looked alike. The meadows were green, and so was the rising wheat which had been sown, but which neither had nor would receive any further care. Such arable fields as... more...

INTRODUCTION The tale of Yvashka; or, Jack with the Bear’s Ear, is a great favourite in Russia.  Its main interest depends not so much on him of the Bear’s Ear, or even his comrade, Moustacho, who angles for trout with his moustaches, as on Baba Yaga.  This personage is the grand mythological demon of the Russians, and frequently makes her appearance in their popular tales, but perhaps in none... more...

THE KASÎDAH I The hour is nigh; the waning Queen   walks forth to rule the later night;Crownd with the sparkle of a Star,   and throned on orb of ashen light: The Wolf-tail* sweeps the paling East   to leave a deeper gloom behind,And Dawn uprears her shining head,   sighing with semblance of a wind: * The false dawn. The highlands catch yon Orient gleam,   while purpling still the... more...

THE ROMAUNT OF MARGRET. Can my affections find out nothing best,But still and still remove? Quarles. I.I plant a tree whose leafThe yew-tree leaf will suit:But when its shade is o'er you laid,Turn round and pluck the fruit.Now reach my harp from off the wallWhere shines the sun aslant;The sun may shine and we be cold!O hearken, loving hearts and bold,Unto my wild romaunt.Margret, Margret.... more...

THE STORIES OF THE THREE BURGLARS   I am a householder in a pleasant country neighbourhood, about twenty miles from New York. My family consists of myself and wife, our boy, George William, aged two, two maid-servants, and a man; but in the summer we have frequent visitors, and at the time of which I am about to write my Aunt Martha was staying with us. My house is large and pleasant, and we have... more...

Chapter I. It was seven o'clock in the morning when Herr von Niebeldingk opened the iron gate and stepped into the front garden whose wall of blossoming bushes separated the house from the street. The sun of a May morning tinted the greyish walls with gold, and caused the open window-panes to flash with flame. The master directed a brief glance at the second story whence floated the dull sound of... more...

"THE GALLANT, GOOD RIOU" This is a true story of one of Nelson's captains, he of whom Nelson wrote as "the gallant and good Riou"—high meed of praise gloriously won at Copenhagen—but Riou, eleven years before that day, performed a deed, now almost forgotten, which, for unselfish heroism, ranks among the brightest in our brilliant naval annals, and in the sea story of Australia... more...

I.May that triumphant Lord protect us, who as he stands in mysterious meditation, bathed in twilight, motionless, and ashy pale, with the crystal moon in his yellow hair, appears to the host of worshippers on his left, a woman, and to those on his right, a man.There lived of old, on the edge of the desert, a rájá of the race of the sun. And like that sun reflected at midday in the glassy depths of... more...