Fiction Books

THE STORY OF THE UNKNOWN CHURCH I was the master-mason of a church that was built more than six hundred years ago; it is now two hundred years since that church vanished from the face of the earth; it was destroyed utterly,—no fragment of it was left; not even the great pillars that bore up the tower at the cross, where the choir used to join the nave.  No one knows now even where it stood, only in... more...

THE STORY OF THE LITTLE HUNCH-BACK. There was in former times at Casgar, on the extreme boundaries of Tartary, a tailor who had a pretty wife, whom he affectionately loved, and by whom he was beloved with reciprocal tenderness. One day while he was at work, a little hunch-back seated himself at the shop door and began to sing, and play upon a tabor. The tailor was pleased with his performance, and... more...

AM I NOT A MAN AND BROTHER? AIR—Bride's Farewell. Am I not a man and brother?  Ought I not, then, to be free?Sell me not one to another,  Take not thus my liberty.Christ our Saviour, Christ our Saviour,  Died for me as well as thee. Am I not a man and brother?  Have I not a soul to save?Oh, do not my spirit smother,  Making me a wretched slave;God of mercy, God of... more...

An Address, &c.    Believe me, Sir; I do these lines impartWith every pang that can corrode the heart;Bring to your mind a dismal scene late past,And let that guilty Amour be your last.Think of my friend that was of late so gay,By your vile arts dishonour’d and away;From every joy that animates this life,The tender mother and the happy wife.A husband’s frowns, a father’s burning tears,For... more...

THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN Before the railroad's thin lines of steel bit their way up through the wilderness, Athabasca Landing was the picturesque threshold over which one must step who would enter into the mystery and adventure of the great white North. It is still Iskwatam—the "door" which opens to the lower reaches of the Athabasca, the Slave, and the Mackenzie. It is somewhat... more...

ABOUT RAINDROPS The river of Tavy is a great mountain-carver. From its mud-holes of Cranmere to the walls of Tavistock it is a hewer of rocks. Thenceforth it becomes a gardener, raising flowers and herbs; it becomes idyllic. It goes into Arcadia. And at last it floats ships of war. There is a story in Hebrew literature of a king called Solomon, a man reputed wise, although a fool with women, who... more...

MISS THOMASINA TUCKER I “Good-bye, Miss Tucker!” “Good luck, Miss Tommy!” “Bye, bye, Tomsie!” “Don’t stay away too long!” These sentiments were being called from the Hoboken dock to the deck of an ocean steamer, while a young lady, buried in bouquets and bonbons, leaned over the rail, sparkling, inciting, compelling, responding. “Take care of yourself, Tommy!” “I don’t see but... more...

A Matrimonial Hurdle. Cassandra Raynor stood on the terrace of her great house, looking over the sweep of country stretching to right and left, and in her heart was the deadliest of all weariness,—the weariness of repletion. It seemed at that moment the bitterest cross that she had nothing left for which to wish, that everything good which the world could give was hers already, and had left her cold.... more...

Of the seven Icelandic short stories which appear here, the first was probably written early in the thirteenth century, while the rest all date from the early twentieth century. It might therefore be supposed that the earliest of these stories was written in a language more or less unintelligible to modern Icelanders, and that there was a gap of many centuries in the literary production of the nation.... more...

Chapter I."Good morrow, coz.Good morrow, sweet Hero."SHAKSPEARE.When Mr. Effingham determined to return home, he sent orders to his agent to prepare his town-house in New-York for his reception, intending to pass a month or two in it, then to repair to Washington for a few weeks, at the close of its season, and to visit his country residence when the spring should fairly open. Accordingly, Eve... more...