Fiction Books

INTRODUCTION. By the courtesy of Forest and Stream and Hunter-Trader-Trapper these articles are republished in book form by the author. I have been induced to bring them out a second time under one cover by the frequent requests of my fellow bushmen who were kind enough to criticise them favorably when they first appeared in the magazine. In this preamble I think it proper and possibly interesting to... more...

PART I THE EVENING SKYRose-bosom'd and rose-limb'dWith eyes of dazzling brightShakes Venus mid the twinèd boughs of the night;Rose-limb'd, soft-steppingFrom low bough to boughShaking the wide-hung starry fruitage—dimmedIts bloom of snowBy that sole planetary glow.Venus, avers the astronomer,Not thus idly dancing goesFlushing the eternal orchard with wild rose.She through ether... more...

CHAPTER I BEAUTIFUL AS THE DAY The house was three miles from the station, but, before the dusty hired hack had rattled along for five minutes, the children began to put their heads out of the carriage window and say, "Aren't we nearly there?" And every time they passed a house, which was not very often, they all said, "Oh, is this it?" But it never was, till they reached the very... more...

CHAPTER I ROOM NO. 317 I laid my papers down upon the broad mahogany counter, and exchanged greetings with the tall frock-coated reception clerk who came smiling towards me. "I should like a single room on the third floor east, about the middle corridor," I said. "Can you manage that for me? 317 I had last time." He shook his head at once. "I am very sorry, Mr. Courage," he... more...

MY COUSIN FANNY We do not keep Christmas now as we used to do in old Hanover. We have not time for it, and it does not seem like the same thing. Christmas, however, always brings up to me my cousin Fanny; I suppose because she always was so foolish about Christmas. My cousin Fanny was an old maid; indeed, to follow St. Paul's turn of phrase, she was an old maid of the old maids. No one who saw her... more...

I was born in Constantinople; my father was a dragoman at the Porte, and besides, carried on a fairly lucrative business in sweet-scented perfumes and silk goods. He gave me a good education; he partly instructed me himself, and also had me instructed by one of our priests. He at first intended me to succeed him in business one day, but as I showed greater aptitude than he had expected, he destined me,... more...

THE MARTIAN "BARTY JOSSELIN IS NO MORE...." When so great a man dies, it is generally found that a tangled growth of more or less contentious literature has already gathered round his name during his lifetime. He has been so written about, so talked about, so riddled with praise or blame, that, to those who have never seen him in the flesh, he has become almost a tradition, a myth—and one... more...

The Hell O! O! Chaunty Chaunty Man . . Man the capstan, bullies!Men . . . . . . Ha!-o-o! Ha!-o-o!Chaunty Man . . Capstan-bars, you tarry souls!Men . . . . . . Ha!-o-o! Ha!-o-o!Chaunty Man . . Take a turn!Men . . . . . . Ha!-o-o!Chaunty Man . . Stand by to fleet!Men . . . . . . Ha!-o-o!Chaunty Man . . Stand by to surge!Men . . . . . . Ha!-o-o!Chaunty Man . . Ha!—o-o-o-o!Men . . . . . .... more...

I. The friends of Dean Ramsay desiring a memorial of his life, his friendly publishers, and his nearest relatives, have asked me to undertake the work, and placed in my hands some materials giving authentic facts and dates, and illustrating the Dean's own views on the leading events of his life. I feel myself excluded from dealing with one important part of such a life, for I could not take upon... more...

"This man is a spy for Earth," a voice droned, as the telecaster vibrated and a photo of Harry Horn flashed on the screen. "Ten thousand credits for this man, dead or alive. Contact Lazar of the Security Police. Harry Horn. Thirty-four, five feet, eleven inches, one hundred and seventy-two pounds." Lynn Brickel snapped off the humming machine. She frowned. Horn had been high in the... more...