Fiction Books

I At about eleven o'clock in the evening of the 20th of February, 186—, which chanced to be Shrove Sunday, a party of detectives left the police station near the old Barriere d'Italie to the direct south of Paris. Their mission was to explore the district extending on the one hand between the highroad to Fontainebleau and the Seine, and on the other between the outer boulevards and the... more...

CHAPTER I THE CURTAIN RISES "For the Lord's sake, Jennie—" Dick Welford paused at the bottom of a range of steps which wound up the capitol hill from Pennsylvania Avenue. The girl standing at the top stamped her foot imperiously. "Hurry—hurry!" "I won't—" "Then I'll leave you!" The boy laughed. "You don't dare. It's barely sunup—still... more...

MICHAEL ANGELO. A.D. 1475-1564. THE REVIVAL OF ART. Michael Angelo Buonarroti--one of the Great Lights of the new civilization--may stand as the most fitting representative of reviving art in Europe; also as an illustrious example of those virtues which dignify intellectual pre-eminence. He was superior, in all that is sterling and grand in character, to any man of his age,--certainly in Italy;... more...

CHAPTER I 'Grandfather! I want to speak to you; please listen.' 'Well, who said I would not listen? But speak up, Biddy.' The old man put his hand to his ear, and his granddaughter leaned over the back of his chair. 'Don't call me Biddy, grandfather. I am Bryda.' 'Bryda! Phew! Your poor mother was called Biddy, and you ain't better than she was that I know... more...

CHAPTER I. Providential Intervention.--Nature and Providence alike Mysterious.--An Unseen Hand shaping Human Events.--The Author urged to enter the Ministry.--Shrinks from the Responsibility.--Flies to Modern Tarshish.--Heads for Iowa.--Gets Stuck in the Mud.--Smitten by a Northern Gale.--Turns Aside to see the Eldorado.--Finds Himself Face to Face with the Itinerancy. The ways of Providence are... more...

met the man who had died. A bitter, heart-numbing night of weird, shrieking wind and flying snow. A few black hours I will never forget. "Well, Jerry, lad!" my mother said to me as I pushed back from the table and started for my sheepskin coat and the lantern in the corner of the room. "Surely you're not going out a night like this? Goodness gracious, Jerry, it's not fit!"... more...

"Over the Plum-Pudding" I have been asked so often and by so many persons known and unknown to me why it was that a Christmas book that was to have been issued some years ago under my editorial supervision never appeared, although announced as ready for immediate publication, that I feel that I should make some statement in explanation of the seeming deception. The matter was very annoying,... more...

THE TELEGRAM. 'BREVOORT HOUSE, NEW YORK, Oct. 6th, 18—. 'To Mr. Frank Tracy, Tracy Park, Shannondale. 'I arrived in the Scotia this morning, and shall take the train for Shannondale at 3 p.m. Send someone to the station to meet us. 'ARTHUR TRACEY.' This was the telegram which the clerk in the Shannonville office wrote out one October morning, and despatched to the Hon. Frank... more...

THE SUBSTITUTE The night watchman had just returned to the office fire after leaving it to attend a ring at the wharf bell. He sat for some time puffing fiercely at his pipe and breathing heavily. "Boys!" he said, at last. "That's the third time this week, and yet if I was to catch one and skin 'im alive I suppose I should get into trouble over it. Even 'is own father and... more...

CHAPTER I. The stage coach was invisible in a cloud of its own dust as it lurched and rolled along the alkali flats down the valley, and Sancho, the ranch-keeper, could not make out whether any passengers were on top or not. He had brought a fine binocular to bear just as soon as the shrill voice of Pedro, a swarthy little scamp of a half-breed, announced the dust-cloud sailing over the clump of... more...