Fiction Books

THE ARM CHAIR.Cowper, the poet of the Christian muse,Sung of the Sofa; could I but infuseSome of his talent in my laggard quill,Some of his genius on my verse distil,Then would I sing,—my theme too from the fair,—Of thy coevals, rhyme-creating chair!He who with artist's skill scooped out thy seat,Trim made thy elbows, uprights, and thy feet,Now fourscore years and four has measured... more...

FLOWER BABIESI know where some babies are snug asleep,All in a long straight row.And I know that someone is singing to them,Singing soft and low.And all night long the babies sleepAnd dream baby dreams, you know.And the little stars are listening, too,To the singing soft and low.Shall I tell you where these babies are?You never can guess, I know.And shall I tell you just who it isThat is singing soft... more...

NAPOLEONDER[1] [Footnote 1: The Russian peasant's name for Napoleon Bonaparte. The final syllable "der" has perhaps been added because to the ear of the peasant "Napoleon" sounds clipped and incomplete, as "Alexan" would sound to us without the "der."] Long ago—but not so very long ago; our grandfathers remember it—the Lord God wanted to punish the people of the... more...

IN WHICH I ARRIVE IN NEW YORK The rain was falling in great gray blobs upon the skylight of the little room in which I opened my eyes on that February morning whence dates the chronological beginning of this autobiography. The jangle of a bell had awakened me, and its harsh, discordant echoes were still trembling upon the chill gloom of the daybreak. Lying there, I wondered whether I had really heard a... more...

CHAPTER I Now this is an episode in a young man's life, and has no real beginning or ending. And you who are old and have forgotten the passions of youth may condemn it. But there are others who are neither old nor young who, perhaps, will understand and find some interest in the study of a strange woman who made the illumination of a brief space. Paul Verdayne was young and fresh and foolish when... more...

GENERAL JOSEPH WARREN. A fiery, vehement, daring spirit was this Joseph Warren, who was a doctor thirteen years, a major-general three days, and a soldier three hours. In that part of Boston which is called Roxbury, there is a modern house of stone, on the front of which a passer-by may read the following inscription: "On this spot stood the house erected in 1720 by Joseph Warren, of Boston,... more...

THE SONG OF THE STONE WALL Come walk with me, and I will tellWhat I have read in this scroll of stone;I will spell out this writing on hill and meadow.It is a chronicle wrought by praying workmen,The forefathers of our nation—Leagues upon leagues of sealed history awaiting an interpreter.This is New England's tapestry of stoneAlive with memories that throb and quiverAt the core of the agesAs the... more...

I Was very glad when I heard that one Monsieur de Cros had published an Answer to a late Book, Entituled, Memoirs of what pass’d in Christendom, &c. And could not but expect some considerable Discoveries in those Affairs and Intriegues, from a person who thought himself a Match for Sir W. T. Besides, I hoped it might have had this good Effect, to move that Author in his own defence to oblige us... more...

WHENCE AND WHY The chapters of this book were originally articles in Everybody’s Magazine. I have not embellished them with footnotes nor given them any other part of the panoply of critical apparatus. It could be done. I have preferred to leave them in the dress I first gave them,—a fighting dress. They owe much of their structure, it is true, to facts and ideas out of the dust of libraries. But... more...

SOME INFORMAL PRELIMINARY REMARKS The noted Brazilian critic, José Verissimo, in a short but important essay on the deficiencies of his country's letters, has expressed serious doubt as to whether there exists a genuinely Brazilian literature. "I do not know," he writes, "whether the existence of an entirely independent literature is possible without an entirely independent... more...