Fiction Books

CHAPTER I THE NORTH RAID An hour before, Deal Sanderson had opened his eyes. He had been comfortably wrapped in his blanket; his head had been resting on a saddle seat. His sleep over, he had discovered that the saddle seat felt hard to his cheek. In changing his position he had awakened. His face toward the east, he had seen a gray streak widening on the horizon—a herald of the dawn. Sanderson found... more...

CHAPTER I. SEAT-SANDAL. "This happy breed of men, this little world." "To knowThat which before us lies in daily lifeIs the prime wisdom." "All that are lovers of virtue ... be quiet, and go a-angling." There is a mountain called Seat-Sandal, between the Dunmail Raise and Grisedale Pass; and those who have stood upon its summit know that Grasmere vale and lake lie at their feet,... more...

THE LANDING. If any one had been watching the bay that August night (which, fortunately for us, there was not), they would have seen up till an hour after midnight as lonely and peaceful a scene as if it had been some inlet in Greenland. The war might have been waging on another planet. The segment of a waning moon was just rising, but the sky was covered with clouds, except right overhead where a bevy... more...

Governesses used to tell us that the seasons of the year each consist of three months, and of these March, April, and May make the springtime.  I should like to break the symmetry, and give February to spring, which would then include February, March, April, and May.  It has been said that winter is but autumn “shyly shaking hands with spring.”  We will, accordingly, make winter a short link of... more...

When Henry Vizetelly, that admirable scholar, historian, and journalist, was sent to prison for publishing Zola's novels mine were taken over by Walter Scott, and all were reprinted except "Spring Days." This book was omitted from the list of my acknowledged works, for public and private criticism had shown it no mercy; and I had lost faith in it. All the welcome it had gotten were a few... more...

THE LITTLE DOG-ANGEL High up in the courts of Heaven to-dayA little dog-angel waits,With the other angels he will not play,But he sits alone at the gates;"For I know that my master will come," says he:"And when he comes, he will call for me." He sees the spirits that pass him byAs they hasten towards the throne,And he watches them with a wistful eyeAs he sits at the gates alone;"But... more...

INTRODUCTION. James Fenimore Cooper was born in Burlington, N. J., in 1789—the year in which George Washington was inaugurated first President of the United States. His boyhood was passed at Cooperstown, N. Y., a village founded by his father. After completing his studies at Yale, young Cooper entered the American navy as midshipman, subsequently obtaining the rank of lieutenant. He also made some... more...

Mrs. Gereth had said she would go with the rest to church, but suddenly it seemed to her that she should not be able to wait even till church-time for relief: breakfast, at Waterbath, was a punctual meal, and she had still nearly an hour on her hands. Knowing the church to be near, she prepared in her room for the little rural walk, and on her way down again, passing through corridors and observing... more...

THE SPREAD EAGLE In his extreme youth the adulation of all with whom he came in contact was not a cross to Fitzhugh Williams. It was the fear of expatriation that darkened his soul. From the age of five to the age of fourteen he was dragged about Europe by the hair of his head. I use his own subsequent expression. His father wanted him to be a good American; his mother wanted him to be a polite... more...

"Q." A year or two ago it was observed that three writers were using the curiously popular signature "Q." This was hardly less confusing than that one writer should use three signatures (Grant Allen, Arbuthnot Wilson, and Anon), but as none of the three was willing to try another letter, they had to leave it to the public (whose decision in such matters is final) to say who is Q to it.... more...