Fiction Books

I. BOYHOOD I It was dawn on the first of May, 1877. From the sea the mist came sweeping in, in a gray trail that lay heavily on the water. Here and there there was a movement in it; it seemed about to lift, but closed in again, leaving only a strip of shore with two old boats lying keel uppermost upon it. The prow of a third boat and a bit of breakwater showed dimly in the mist a few paces off. At... more...

I. BOYHOOD I It was dawn on the first of May, 1877. From the sea the mist came sweeping in, in a gray trail that lay heavily on the water. Here and there there was a movement in it; it seemed about to lift, but closed in again, leaving only a strip of shore with two old boats lying keel uppermost upon it. The prow of a third boat and a bit of breakwater showed dimly in the mist a few paces off. At... more...

CHAPTER I. Ou peut-on etre mieux qu'au sein de sa famille?—French Song. [Where can on be better than in the bosom of one's family?] I am an only child. My father was the younger son of one of our oldest earls; my mother the dowerless daughter of a Scotch peer. Mr. Pelham was a moderate whig, and gave sumptuous dinners; Lady Frances was a woman of taste, and particularly fond of diamonds and... more...

CHAPTER I SPRINGTIDE "Peggy, Maggie, Mag, Margaret, Marguerite, Muggins. Hum! Half a dozen of them. Wonder if there are any more? Yes, there's Peggoty and Peg, to say nothing of Margaretta, Gretchen, Meta, Margarita, Keta, Madge. My goodness! Is there any end to my nicknames? I mistrust I'm a very commonplace mortal. I wonder if other girls' names can be twisted around into as many... more...

THE BAROMETER FALLING The September morning was warmer and more enervating than September mornings in Maryland usually are, though the month is generally conceded to be a trying one. Even at beautiful Severndale where, if at any point along the river, a refreshing breeze could almost always be counted upon, the air seemed heavy and lifeless, as though the intense heat of the summer had taken from it... more...

CHAPTER ITHE EXODUS “Do you know, Peggy Raymond, that you haven’t made a remark for three-quarters of an hour, unless somebody asked you a question?–and, even then, your answers didn’t fit.” It was mid-June, and as happens not unfrequently in the month acknowledging allegiance to both seasons, spring had plunged headlong into summer, with no preparatory gradations from breezy coolness to... more...

CHAPTER I. ABOUT the middle of the last century, at eight o'clock in the evening, in a large but poor apartment, a man was slumbering on a rough couch. His rusty and worn suit of black was of a piece with his uncarpeted room, the deal table of home manufacture, and its slim unsnuffed candle. The man was Triplet, scene painter, actor and writer of sanguinary plays, in which what ought to be, viz.,... more...

CHAPTER I "Faith, there's no man says more and knows less than yerself, I'm thinkin'." "About Ireland, yer riverence?" "And everything else, Mr. O'Connell." "Is that criticism or just temper, Father?" "It's both, Mr. O'Connell." "Sure it's the good judge ye must be of ignorance, Father Cahill." "And what might that... more...

THE LATEST CARD FORCE. Effect.—A pack of unprepared cards is shuffled by any member of the audience and handed to the performer, who requests one of the spectators to secretly note a card by simply raising a portion of the pack whilst held in the hand of the performer, who turns his head away whilst this is being done. The cards are again shuffled, and the performer instantly names the selected card.... more...

OT really; you can't mean it really!""As true as possible. Mother told me her very own self," was the emphatic reply. Two children, brother and sister, the boy aged ten, the girl three years older, were carrying on this conversation in the garden of a country rectory. "But really and truly, on your word of honour," repeated Leonard, as though he could not believe what his sister... more...