Fiction Books

CHAPTER I. A BYWAY OF THE ARDSLEY. The white burro had a will of her own. So, distinctly, had her mistress. As had often happened, these two wills conflicted. For the pair had come to a point where three ways met. Pepita wanted to ascend the hill, by a path she knew, to stable and supper. Amy wished to follow a descending road, which she did not know, into the depths of the forest. Neither inclined... more...

CHAPTER I THE MELON HARVEST Once upon a time I owned a watermelon. I say once because I never did it again. When I got through owning that melon I never wanted another. The time was 1831; I was a boy of seven and the melon was the first of all my harvests. Every night and morning I watered and felt and surveyed my watermelon. My pride grew with the melon and, by and by, my uncle tried to express the... more...

LETTER I. Beloved: This is your first letter from me: yet it is not the first I have written to you. There are letters to you lying at love's dead-letter office in this same writing—so many, my memory has lost count of them! This is my confession: I told you I had one to make, and you laughed:—you did not know how serious it was—for to be in love with you long before you were in love with... more...

THE FIRST PHILIPPIC. THE ARGUMENT When Julius, or, as he is usually called by Cicero Caius Caesar was slain on the 15th of March, A.U.C. 710, B.C. 44 Marcus Antonius was his colleague in the consulship, and he, being afraid that the conspirators might murder him too, (and it is said that they had debated among themselves whether they would or no) concealed himself on that day and fortified his house,... more...

By other Nature books I'm sure, You've often been misled, You've tried a wall-flower to secure. And "picked a hen" instead: You've wondered what the egg-plants lay, And why the chestnut's burred, And if the hop-vine hops away, It's perfectly absurd. I hence submit for your inspection, This very new and choice collection, Of flowers on Storks, and Phlox of birds,... more...

AT THE TELEGRAPH On the third day of August, 1870, I left Paris in search of John Buckhurst. On the 4th of August I lost all traces of Mr. Buckhurst near the frontier, in the village of Morsbronn. The remainder of the day I spent in acquiring that “general information” so dear to the officials in Paris whose flimsy systems of intelligence had already begun to break down. On August 5th, about eight... more...

Schalken the Painter "For he is not a man as I am that we should come together; neither is there any that might lay his hand upon us both. Let him, therefore, take his rod away from me, and let not his fear terrify me." There exists, at this moment, in good preservation a remarkable work of Schalken's. The curious management of its lights constitutes, as usual in his pieces, the chief... more...

MOTHERNOOK. THE EASTERN SHORE OF MARYLAND.One day, worn out with head and pen,And the debate of public men,I said aloud, "Oh! if there wereSome place to make me young awhile,I would go there, I would go there,And if it were a many a mile!"Then something cried—perhaps my map,That not in vain I oft invoke—"Go seek again your mother's lap,The dear old soil that gave you sap,And see... more...

CHAPTER I. THE GRAND TOUR OF JEAN JACQUES BARBILLE "Peace and plenty, peace and plenty"—that was the phrase M. Jean Jacques Barbille, miller and moneymaster, applied to his home-scene, when he was at the height of his career. Both winter and summer the place had a look of content and comfort, even a kind of opulence. There is nothing like a grove of pines to give a sense of warmth in winter... more...

Once upon a time there was a lad named Jacob Boehm, who was a practical huntsman. One day Jacob said to his mother, "Mother, I would like to marry Gretchen—the nice, pretty little daughter of the Herr Mayor." Jacob's mother thought that he was crazy. "Marry the daughter of the Herr Mayor, indeed! You want to marry the daughter of the Herr Mayor? Listen; many a man wants and wants,... more...