Fiction Books

Of all kinds of satire, there is none so entertaining and universally improving, as that which is introduced, as it were occasionally, in the course of an interesting story, which brings every incident home to life, and by representing familiar scenes in an uncommon and amusing point of view, invests them with all the graces of novelty, while nature is appealed to in every particular. The reader... more...

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The manner in which a man has lived is often the key to the way he will die. Take old man Donegal, for example. Most of his adult life was spent in digging a hole through space to learn what was on the other side. Would he go out the same way? Old Donegal was dying. They had all known it was coming, and they watched it come—his haggard wife, his daughter, and now his grandson, home on emergency leave... more...

CHAPTER I A BOTHERSOME BAG "Mother, are you there?" "Yes, Marjorie; what is it, dear?" "Nothing. I just wanted to know. Is Kitty there?" "No; I'm alone, except for Baby Rosy. Are you bothered?" "Yes, awfully. Please tell me the minute Kitty comes. I want to see her." "Yes, dearie. I wish I could help you." "Oh, I wish you could! You'd be... more...

CHAPTER I. GRIM THE FISHER AND HIS SONS. This story is not about myself, though, because I tell of things that I have seen, my name must needs come into it now and then. The man whose deeds I would not have forgotten is my foster-brother, Havelok, of whom I suppose every one in England has heard. Havelok the Dane men call him here, and that is how he will always be known, as I think. He being so well... more...

PROLOGUE THE AFFAIR OF THE MAN WHO CALLED HIMSELF HAMILTON CLEEK The thing wouldn't have happened if any other constable than Collins had been put on point duty at Blackfriars Bridge that morning. For Collins was young, good-looking, and—knew it. Nature had gifted him with a susceptible heart and a fond eye for the beauties of femininity. So when he looked round and saw the woman threading her... more...

I CONFESS it, I am keenly sensitive to "skyey influences." (2) I profess no indifference to the movements of that capricious old gentleman known as the clerk of the weather. I cannot conceal my interest in the behavior of that patriarchal bird whose wooden similitude gyrates on the church spire. Winter proper is well enough. Let the thermometer go to zero if it will; so much the better, if... more...

SPRINGSpring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!The palm and may make country houses gay,Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.The fields breathe sweet, the daisies... more...

t was the ending of the ninth inning; the score stood 8 to 7 in Princeton's favor, but Harvard had only one man out, and the bases were full. Was it any wonder that the Freshmen couldn't keep their seats, and that the very air seemed to hold its breath while Bradfield, '98, twisted the ball? In the centre of the grand stand, where the orange and black was thickest, but the enthusiasm... more...

CHAPTER1 ABOARD THE GOODTIME A blanket of fog, thick and damp, swirled about the decks of the excursion steamer, Goodtime, cautiously plying its course down the river. At intervals, above the steady throb of the ship’s engines, a fog horn sounded its mournful warning to small craft. “I hope we don’t collide with another boat before we make the dock,” remarked Louise Sidell who stood at the... more...