Fiction Books

Sometimes, I know, I must seem a crotchety old man. "Old John Hanson," they call me, and roll their eyes as though to say, "Of course, you have to forgive him on account of his age." But the joke isn't always on me. Not infrequently I gain much amusement observing these cocky youngsters who strut in the blue-and-silver uniforms of the Service in which, until more or less recently,... more...

It was a brilliant gathering—brilliant in every sense of the word. The hall was a great effort of the decorator's art; the people were faultlessly dressed; the faces were strong, handsome—fair or dark complexioned as the case might be; those present represented the wealth and fashion of the Western Canadian ranching world. Intellectually, too, there was no more fault to find here than is usual... more...

THE WIFE I I RECEIVED the following letter: "DEAR SIR, PAVEL ANDREITCH! "Not far from you—that is to say, in the village of Pestrovo—very distressing incidents are taking place, concerning which I feel it my duty to write to you. All the peasants of that village sold their cottages and all their belongings, and set off for the province of Tomsk, but did not succeed in getting there, and... more...

SNOW-BOUND. A WINTER IDYL. TO THE MEMORY OF THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES, THIS POEM IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. The inmates of the family at the Whittier homestead who are referred to in the poem were my father, mother, my brother and two sisters, and my uncle and aunt both unmarried. In addition, there was the district school-master who boarded with us. The "not unfeared, half-welcome guest" was... more...

It was Madame who first entered the box, and Madame was bright with youthful bloom, bright with jewels, and, moreover, a beauty. She was a little creature, with childishly large eyes, a low, white forehead, reddish-brown hair, and Greek nose and mouth. "Clearly," remarked the old lady in the box opposite, "not a Frenchwoman. Her youth is too girlish, and she has too petulant an air of... more...

CHAPTER I THE FACE OF HATE It was three o'clock in the morning. Along a deserted pavement of Riverside Drive strode briskly a young man whose square-set shoulders and erect poise suggested a military training. His coat, thrown carelessly open to the cold night wind, displayed an expanse of white indicative of evening dress. As he walked his heels clicked sharply on the concrete with the forceful... more...

Plans. It was the old story of woman comforting man in his affliction; the trouble in this instance appearing in the shape of a long blue envelope addressed to himself in his own handwriting. Poor young poet! He had no more appetite for eggs and bacon that morning; he pushed aside even his coffee, and buried his head in his hands. “Back again!” he groaned. “Always back, and back, and back, and... more...

THE first thing which attracted my attention to the man was the shock of white hair above the lean young face. But for this, I should not have looked twice at him: long, spare, and stooping, a shabby figure, he crouched over a cup of coffee in a corner of the dingy restaurant, at fretful enmity with the world; typical, I should have said, of the furtive London nondescript. But that white hair startled... more...

1. Jesus chako kopa Saghalie, (Repeat twice.) Jesus hias kloshe. Jesus wawa kopa tillikums, (Repeat twice.) Jesus hias kloshe. 2. Jesus wawa wake kliminiwhit, Jesus hias kloshe. Jesus wawa wake kapswalla. Jesus hias kloshe. 3. Kopa nika Jesus mimaloose, Jesus hias kloshe. Jesus klatawa kopa Saghalie, Jesus hias kloshe. 4. Alta Jesus mitlite kopa Saghalie, Jesus hias kloshe. Yaka Jesus tikegh nika... more...

PREFACE. Having formerly occupied my thoughts on the subject of promoting the knowledge and practice of religion among the Negroes in the West Indies, I was naturally led to inquire into the means, which had been successfully adopted in the catholic islands. I traced them to the enthusiastic labours of the clergy in general, particularly the Jesuits. The conduct of the fathers of that society in South... more...