Fiction Books

IDYLL I. The Death of Daphnis.THYRSIS. A GOATHERD. THYRSIS. Sweet are the whispers of yon pine that makes Low music o'er the spring, and, Goatherd, sweet Thy piping; second thou to Pan alone. Is his the horned ram? then thine the goat. Is his the goat? to thee shall fall the kid; And toothsome is the flesh of unmilked kids. GOATHERD. Shepherd, thy lay is as the noise of streams Falling and falling... more...

CHAPTER I WESTVILLE PREPARES TO CELEBRATE The room was thick with dust and draped with ancient cobwebs. In one corner dismally reposed a literary junk heap—old magazines, broken-backed works of reference, novels once unanimously read but now unanimously forgotten. The desk was a helter-skelter of papers. One of the two chairs had its burst cane seat mended by an atlas of the world; and wherever any... more...

CHAPTER I PHYLLIS Phyllis leaned against the door-jamb and looked down the long road which wound up from the valley and lost itself now and again in the land waves. Miles away she could see a little cloud of dust travelling behind the microscopic stage, which moved toward her almost as imperceptibly as the minute-hand of a clock. A bronco was descending the hill trail from the Flagstaff mine, and its... more...

Come, now, there may as well be an end of this! Every time I meet your eyes squarely, I detect the question just slipping out of them. If you had spoken it, or even boldly looked it; if you had shown in your motions the least sign of a fussy or fidgety concern on my account; if this were not the evening of my birthday, and you the only friend who remembered it; if confession were not good for the soul,... more...

CHAPTER ON BOARD THE "CORMORANT" SLOOP Midway in that period of Ireland's history during which, according to historians, the distressful country had none—to be more precise, on a spring morning early in the eighteenth century, and the reign of George the First, a sloop of about seventy tons burthen was beating up Dingle Bay, in the teeth of a stiff easterly breeze. The sun was two hours... more...

No translation can expect to equal, much less to excel, the original. The excellence of a translation can only be judged by noting how far it has succeeded in reproducing the original tone, colors, style, the delicacy of sentiment, the force of inert strength, the peculiar expressions native to the language with which the original is written, or whatever is its marked characteristic. The ablest can do... more...

Preparation of a handbook of reptiles and amphibians by the junior author has led to a survey of the collections of these animals at Kansas State Teachers College in Emporia. Numerous locality records of interest and importance have been accumulated there through the efforts of the senior author and a number of his students, particularly Mr. Allen Downs. The more important records, including the first... more...

I. CHORDS OF AWAKENING: THE HIGHER CONQUEST [CUTLER]      _The Son of God goes forth to war,           A kingly crown to gain:     His blood-red banner streams afar:           Who follows in His train?      Who best can drink his cup of woe,           Triumphant over pain;     Who patient bears his cross below,           He follows in His... more...

CHAPTER I "THE BLACK-ROBED PHANTOM 'DEATH'" "Father Adrian!" "I am here!" "I saw the doctor talking with you aside! How long have I to live? He told you the truth! Repeat his words to me!" The tall, gaunt young priest drew nearer to the bedside, and shook his head with a slow, pitying gesture. "The time was short—short indeed. Yet, why should you fear?... more...

Friends and neighbours. “Give you good-morrow, neighbour! Whither away with that great fardel (Bundle), prithee?” “Truly, Mistress, home to Staplehurst, and the fardel holdeth broadcloth for my lads’ new jerkins.” The speakers were two women, both on the younger side of middle age, who met on the road between Staplehurst and Cranbrook, the former coming towards Cranbrook and the latter from... more...