Fiction Books

CHAPTER I. THE CITY IN THE WILDERNESS. "What, are you stepping westward?" "Yea." Yet who would stop or fear to advance,Though home or shelter there was none,With such a sky to lead him on!"—WORDSWORTH. "Ah! cool night wind, tremulous stars,Ah! glimmering water,Fitful earth murmur,Dreaming woods!"—ARNOLD. In A. D. sixteen hundred and ninety-two, a few Franciscan monks... more...

The Old Time Journalist will tell you that the best reporter is the one who works his way up. He holds that the only way to start is as a printer's devil or as an office boy, to learn in time to set type, to graduate from a compositor into a stenographer, and as a stenographer take down speeches at public meetings, and so finally grow into a real reporter, with a fire badge on your left suspender,... more...

THE RAY FAMILY.  There are women who cannot grow alone as standard trees;—for whom the support and warmth of some wall, some paling, some post, is absolutely necessary;—who, in their growth, will bend and incline themselves towards some such prop for their life, creeping with their tendrils along the ground till they reach it when the circumstances of life have brought no such prop within their... more...

CHAPTER I THE CLUTCHING HAND "Jameson, here's a story I wish you'd follow up," remarked the managing editor of the Star to me one evening after I had turned in an assignment of the late afternoon. He handed me a clipping from the evening edition of the Star and I quickly ran my eye over the headline: "THE CLUTCHING HAND" WINS AGAIN NEW YORK'S MYSTERIOUS MASTER CRIMINAL... more...

WITHOUT DOGMA. ROME, 9 January. Some months ago I met my old friend and school-fellow, Jozef Sniatynski, who for the last few years has occupied a prominent place among our literary men. In a discussion about literature Sniatynski spoke about diaries. He said that a man who leaves memoirs, whether well or badly written, provided they be sincere, renders a service to future psychologists and writers,... more...

HIS DEAD WIFE'S PHOTOGRAPH. This story created a sensation when it was first told. It appeared in the papers and many big Physicists and Natural Philosophers were, at least so they thought, able to explain the phenomenon. I shall narrate the event and also tell the reader what explanation was given, and let him draw his own conclusions. This was what happened. A friend of mine, a clerk in the same... more...

TWO YEARS AGO. INTRODUCTORY. It may seem a somewhat Irish method of beginning the story of "Two Years Ago" by a scene which happened but a month since. And yet, will not the story be on that very account a better type of many a man's own experiences! How few of us had learnt the meaning of "Two Years Ago," until this late quiet autumn time; and till Christmas, too, with its gaps in... more...

I. A PRINCE OF COURT PAINTERS EXTRACTS FROM AN OLD FRENCH JOURNAL Valenciennes, September 1701. [5] They have been renovating my father's large workroom. That delightful, tumble-down old place has lost its moss-grown tiles and the green weather-stains we have known all our lives on the high whitewashed wall, opposite which we sit, in the little sculptor's yard, for the coolness, in... more...

BARBOX BROTHERS I “Guard!  What place is this?” “Mugby Junction, sir.” “A windy place!” “Yes, it mostly is, sir.” “And looks comfortless indeed!” “Yes, it generally does, sir.” “Is it a rainy night still?” “Pours, sir.” “Open the door.  I’ll get out.” “You’ll have, sir,” said the guard, glistening with drops of wet, and looking at the tearful face of his... more...

CHAPTER I EAST OF THE SETTING SUN Far off in the mountain lands, somewhere to the east of the setting sun, lies the principality of Graustark, serene relic of rare old feudal days. The traveler reaches the little domain after an arduous, sometimes perilous journey from the great European capitals, whether they be north or south or west—never east. He crosses great rivers and wide plains; he winds... more...