Fiction Books

CHAPTER I NICOLAS, a scion of an illustrious family of Vervignole, showed marks of sanctity from his earliest childhood, and at the age of fourteen vowed to consecrate himself to the Lord. Having embraced the ecclesiastical profession, he was raised, while still young, by popular acclamation and the wish of the Chapter, to the see of St. Cromadaire, the apostle of Vervignole, and first Bishop of... more...

I. INTRODUCTION. I have been requested to write some papers on our Lord's miracles. I venture the attempt in the belief that, seeing they are one of the modes in which his unseen life found expression, we are bound through them to arrive at some knowledge of that life. For he has come, The Word of God, that we may know God: every word of his then, as needful to the knowing of himself, is needful... more...

INTRODUCTORY TO "THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER" And when, and where, do you think we find the children next? No longer in the winter-time, but in the merry month of May. No longer in Tanglewood play-room, or at Tanglewood fireside, but more than half-way up a monstrous hill, or a mountain, as perhaps it would be better pleased to have us call it. They had set out from home with the mighty purpose of... more...

CHAPTER I. My father, Reginald Monfort, was an English gentleman of good family, who, on his marriage with a Jewish lady of wealth and refinement, emigrated to America, rather than subject her and himself to the commentaries of his own fastidious relatives, and the incivilities of a clique to which by allegiance of birth and breeding he unfortunately belonged. Her own family had not been less averse to... more...

THE MIRACULOUS REVENGE I arrived in Dublin on the evening of the fifth of August, and drove to the residence of my uncle, the Cardinal Archbishop. He is like most of my family, deficient in feeling, and consequently averse to me personally. He lives in a dingy house, with a side-long view of the portico of his cathedral from the front windows, and of a monster national school from the back. My uncle... more...

THE MIRACLE Up from the templed city of the Jews,  The road ran straight and whiteTo Jericho, the City of the Palms,  The City of Delight. Down that still road from far Judean hills  The shepherds drove their sheepAt silver dawn—at stirring of the birds—  When men were all asleep. Full many went that weary way at noon,  Or rested by the trees,Romans and slaves, Gentiles and bearded... more...

CHAPTER I WHY WE WERE ENROLLED Archie Hemming is as straight-headed a boy as was ever raised in Boston town, and he insists that, while we are seemingly idling our time away here in the Cambridge camp, I ought to set down what small share we lads of Boston have had in beating the lobster backs, for certain it is we have done our share, and no less a man than General Israel Putnam has told us plainly... more...

THE MIRACLE MAN THE "ROOST" He was a misshapen thing, bulking a black blotch in the night at the entrance of the dark alleyway—like some lurking creature in its lair. He neither stood, nor kneeled, nor sat—no single word would describe his posture—he combined all three in a sort of repulsive, formless heap. The Flopper moved. He came out from the alleyway onto the pavement, into the lurid... more...

CHAPTER I TWO YOUNG VIRGINIANS When Uncle 'Rasmus loses his temper because of some prank which we lads of James Town may have played upon him, he always says that no good can ever come of that in which "chillun an' women are mixed." It had never entered my mind that there was in such a remark any cause for anger on my part, until that day when Saul Ogden repeated it, shaking his head... more...

CHAPTER IA FAREWELL BANQUET "D'Aumont!" "Eh? d'Aumont!" The voice, that of a man still in the prime of life, but already raucous in its tone, thickened through constant mirthless laughter, rendered querulous too from long vigils kept at the shrine of pleasure, rose above the incessant babel of women's chatter, the din of silver, china and glasses passing to and fro.... more...