Fiction Books

Complimentary Pieces Addressed to the Author. 1Well as the author knows that the following testimonies are not so much about as above him, and that men of great ingenuity, as well as our friends, are apt, through abundant zeal, so to praise us as rather to draw their own likeness than ours, he was yet unwilling that the world should remain always ignorant of compositions that do him so much honour; and... more...

THE EAGLE AND THE MOLE Avoid the reeking herd,Shun the polluted flock,Live like that stoic bird,The eagle of the rock. The huddled warmth of crowdsBegets and fosters hate;He keeps, above the clouds,His cliff inviolate. When flocks are folded warm,And herds to shelter run,He sails above the storm,He stares into the sun. If in the eagle's trackYour sinews cannot leap,Avoid the lathered pack,Turn... more...

The author of this little work has asked me to write him a Preface, and I gladly do so, especially if it will help to find him buyers, as well as readers, who will put into practice the admirable receipts he offers to gourmets and others. For my own part I can speak with some authority—indeed the best—as to the excellence of Santiagoe's Curries, for I am among the fortunate few who have tasted... more...

Towards the close of the First French Revolution, Joseph Leopold SigisbertHugo, son of a joiner at Nancy, and an officer risen from the ranks in theRepublican army, married Sophie Trébuchet, daughter of a Nantes fitter-outof privateers, a Vendean royalist and devotee. Victor Marie Hugo, their second son, was born on the 26th of February, 1802, at Besançon, France. Though a weakling, he was carried,... more...

CHAPTER I. THE KING OF THE YEGGMEN. Four men were seated around a camp fire made of old railroad ties, over which a kettle was boiling merrily, where it hung from an improvised crane above the blaze. Around, on the ground, were scattered a various assortment of tin cans, some of which had been hammered more or less straight to serve for plates, and it was evident from the general appearance of things... more...

THE 'BLUE PETER' Ding ... dong.... Ding ... dong. The university bells toll out in strength of tone that tells of south-west winds and misty weather. On the street below my window familiar city noises, unheeded by day, strike tellingly on the ear—hoof-strokes and rattle of wheels, tramp of feet on the stone flags, a snatch of song from a late reveller, then silence, broken in a little by... more...

Braanol stirred, throbbed sluggishly once, then lay quiescent as his mental self surged up from the deeps of non-entity. And gradually he came to know that someone had entered the room. His room, far beneath the city. Now he could feel the vibra-currents through the liquids of the huge tanks where he had lain somnolent for untold aeons. It was pleasant, caressing. For a moment he floated there,... more...

Even now I cannot realize that he is dead, and often in the city streets—on Fifth Avenue in particular—I find myself glancing ahead for a glimpse of the tall, boyish, familiar figure—experience once again a flash of the old happy expectancy. I have lived in many lands, and have known men. I never knew a finer man than Graham Phillips. His were the clearest, bluest, most honest eyes I ever... more...

CHAPTER I Smaly and his wife Redy set forth in search of three little girls: They are bewitched so that their noses turn into beaks: Smaly eats the latch of a door and Redy eats the hinge: Redy's fingers weep tears: They meet with a Confectioner who resembles a Kangaroo. Smaly and Redy were husband and wife, and they lived together in a little white house. This house had three rooms upstairs and... more...

INTRODUCTION. To the Labouring Classes of this Kingdom. 1. Throughout this little work, I shall number the Paragraphs, in order to be able, at some stages of the work, to refer, with the more facility, to parts that have gone before. The last Number will contain an Index, by the means of which the several matters may be turned to without loss of time; for, when economy is the subject, time is a thing... more...