Fiction Books

LETTER I The Straits of New York—When is a Ship not a Ship?—Nationality of Passengers—A Dream Realized. R.M.S. Lucania. The Atlantic Ocean is geographically a misnomer, socially and politically a dwindling superstition. That is the chief lesson one learns—and one has barely time to take it in—between Queenstown and Sandy Hook. Ocean forsooth! this little belt of blue water that we cross... more...

CHAPTER I. AS THE SUN WENT DOWN. With gloom in his heart, Black Partridge strode homeward along the beach path. The glory of a brilliant August sunset crimsoned the tops of the sandhills on the west and the waters of the broad lake on the east; but if the preoccupied Indian observed this at all, it was to see in it an omen of impending tragedy. Red was the color of blood, and he foresaw that blood must... more...

CHAPTER I Introduction and Preliminary Remarks—General Principles to be observed in Glass Working—Choice of Apparatus—Tools and Appliances—Glass. Glass-blowing is neither very easy nor very difficult; there are operations so easy that the youngest laboratory boy should be able to repeat them successfully after once having been shown the way, there are operations so difficult that years are... more...

LONDON AS IT WAS AND AS IT IS. Writing the history of a vast city like London is like writing a history of the ocean—the area is so vast, its inhabitants are so multifarious, the treasures that lie in its depths so countless. What aspect of the great chameleon city should one select? for, as Boswell, with more than his usual sense, once remarked, "London is to the politician merely a seat of... more...

CHAPTER I It was springtime in Kentucky, gay, irresponsible, Southern springtime, that comes bursting impetuously through highways and byways, heedless of possible frosts and impossible fruitions. A glamour of tender new green enveloped the world, and the air was sweet with the odor of young and growing things. The brown river, streaked with green where the fresher currents of the creeks poured in,... more...

When a slightly mad robot drunk on AC, wants you to join an experiment in optimum ecology—don't do it! After all, who wants to argue like Disraeli or live like Ivan the Terrible? I Nicholas Martin looked up at the robot across the desk. "I'm not going to ask what you want," he said, in a low, restrained voice. "I already know. Just go away and tell St. Cyr I approve. Tell him I... more...

CHAPTER I "Why, Goosie, what are you doing?" Goosie, otherwise Mr. Charles-Norton Sims, dropped his arms hastily down his sides and stood very still, caged in the narrow space between porcelain tub and gleaming towel-rack. The mirror before which he had been performing his morning calisthenics faced him uncompromisingly; it showed him that he was blushing. The sight increased his embarrassment.... more...

Little Bel's Supplement. "Indeed, then, my mother, I'll not take the school at Wissan Bridge without they promise me a supplement. It's the worst school i' a' Prince Edward Island." "I doubt but ye're young to tackle wi' them boys, Bel," replied the mother, gazing into her daughter's face with an intent expression in which it would have been hard... more...

PREFACE Certain places, said Stevenson, cry out for a story, and Scott, in any new surroundings, straightway invented an appropriate tale, if there were not already a story or tradition in existence. One might even believe that the place itself tells its own tale to the sympathetic imagination. Thus Mr. Bligh Bond in his book, The Gate of Remembrance, implies that the whisperings of the genius loci... more...

PART I. Many hundreds of years ago, when the Plantagenets were kings, England was so covered with woods, that a squirrel was said to be able to hop from tree to tree from the Severn to the Humber. It must have been very different to look at from the country we travel through now; but still there were roads that ran from north to south and from east to west, for the use of those who wished to leave... more...