Fiction Books

Chapter One Parthians, Medes and Elamites SALVETE! Oh ye, who tread the trodden pathAnd keep the narrow lawIn famished faith that Judgment DayShall blast your sluggard mists awayAnd show what Moses saw!Oh thralls of subdivided time,Hours Measureless I singThat own swift ways to wider scenes,New-plucked from heights where Vision preensA white, unwearied wing!No creed I preach to bend dull thoughtTo see... more...

CHAPTER I 1818-1846 BIRTH—PARENTS—HOME SURROUNDINGS AND EARLY LIFE Maria Mitchell was born on the island of Nantucket, Mass., Aug. 1, 1818.She was the third child of William and Lydia [Coleman] Mitchell. Her ancestors, on both sides, were Quakers for many generations; and it was in consequence of the intolerance of the early Puritans that these ancestors had been obliged to... more...

INTRODUCTION. Grave doubts at times arise in the critical mind as to whether America has had any famous women. We are reproached with the fact, that in spite of some two hundred years of existence, we have, as yet, developed no genius in any degree comparable to that of George Eliot and George Sand in the present, or a dozen other as familiar names of the past. One at least of our prominent literary... more...

CHAPTER I THE NEW CAR Half of a small boy protruded from the oven, his stout tan shoes waving convulsively. "Twaddles!" Nora coming into her orderly kitchen was amazed."Glory be, child, are you making toast of yourself?" The shoes gave a final wriggle and Twaddles deftly backed out of the oven, turning to show a flushed face and a pair of dark, dancing eyes. "What are ye doing?"... more...

The Inhumanities of Parents--Corporal Punishment. Not long ago a Presbyterian minister in Western New York whipped his three-year-old boy to death, for refusing to say his prayers. The little fingers were broken; the tender flesh was bruised and actually mangled; strong men wept when they looked on the body; and the reverend murderer, after having been set free on bail, was glad to return and take... more...

TRAGEDY There, pressed so close to the pane of the window that the nose was flattened grotesquely, eyes wildly staring, hair disheveled, was a face that even in that tense moment the girls recognized! the face of Professor Dempsey! It took the boys perhaps a second to fling out of the room, jump down the steps of the porch and circle the house to the window. And yet, in that second, the man was gone,... more...

YOUNG USHER. You gave read of that remarkable man, Mr. Usher, who was Archbishop of Armagh. I will tell you something about his early childhood. He was born in Dublin, in the year 1580, and when a little boy he was fond of reading. He lived with his two aunts who were born blind, and who acquired much knowledge of the Scriptures by hearing others read the Scriptures and other good books. At seven years... more...

CHAPTER I My father—peace to his soul!—had been of those who thronged London streets with wine tubs to drink the restored king's health on bended knee; but he, poor gentleman, departed this life before his monarch could restore a wasted patrimony. For old Tibbie, the nurse, there was nothing left but to pawn the family plate and take me, a spoiled lad in his teens, out to Puritan kin of Boston... more...

CHAPTER I. WHEN GREEN GRASS COMES Old Applehead Furrman, jogging home across the mesa from Albuquerque, sniffed the soft breeze that came from opal-tinted distances and felt poignantly that spring was indeed here. The grass, thick and green in the sheltered places, was fast painting all the higher ridges and foot-hill slopes, and with the green grass came the lank-bodied, big-kneed calves; which meant... more...

Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude, Edward, Edward? Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude, And why sae sad gang ye, O?" "O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude, Mither, mither; O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude, And I had nae mair but he, O."—ANONYMOUS The Horde of sleek ships arose in the west at twilight—gleaming slivers that reflected the dying sun as they lanced... more...