Christian Books

THE FORGET-ME-NOT—FIDELITY. n the days of the long-ago, my ancestors did not dwell as we do now—in brooks or by the banks of shallow streams, but grew in wild luxuriance beneath the shade of overhanging trees, and under the wayside hedgerows. We were always a quiet, unassuming race, and, indeed, I am fain to confess, were not held in more esteem by mortals than are our sweet cousins whom children... more...

A Sceptic’s Home. Look back some forty years—there was not a quieter place then than the little village of Crossbourne. It was a snug spot, situated among hills, and looked as though it were hiding away out of the sight and notice of the bustling, roaring traffic that was going ceaselessly on all around it. A little fussy stream or brook flowed on restlessly day and night through the centre of the... more...

PREFACE. Some one has said that inasmuch as the Preface to a book is the last thing that is written, it ought to be the last that is read. I suppose that some readers prefer to omit the Preface until they have read the book, for many writers, Lord Lytton among the number, really destroy the illusion of a work of fiction by specifying the conditions under which it was written. A certain amount of faith... more...

CHAPTER I. A voice rang through one of the streets of Alexandria. "Sinners, away, or keep your eyes to the ground! Keep your eyes to the ground!" The white-robed priestesses of Ceres, carrying a sacred basket, walked in procession through the Alexandrian street, and as they walked they cried aloud their warning. So, for four centuries, since the reign of Ptolemy Philadelphus, had priestesses of... more...

CHAPTER I THE LADY OF THE TREE The man lay in the tall grass. Behind him the wall of the Killimaga estate, from its beginning some fifty yards to his left, stretched away to his right for over a thousand feet. Along the road which ran almost parallel with the wall was the remnant of what had once been a great woods; yearly the county authorities determined to cut away its thick undergrowth—and yearly... more...

CHAPTER I THE NEW COACHMAN "Now you polish up those buckles real good, won't you, 'Zekiel? I will say for Fanshaw, you could most see your face in the harness always." The young fellow addressed rubbed away at the nickel plating good humoredly, although he had heard enough exhortations in the last twenty-four hours to chafe somewhat the spirit of youth. His mother, a large, heavy... more...

A Holy Saint. T is in the Thebaïd, on the heights of a mountain, where a platform, shaped like a crescent, is surrounded by huge stones. The Hermit's cell occupies the background. It is built of mud and reeds, flat-roofed and doorless. Inside are seen a pitcher and a loaf of black bread; in the centre, on a wooden support, a large book; on the ground, here and there, bits of rush-work, a mat or... more...

CHAPTER I PAUL DOUGLAS and his wife, Esther, were holding a serious council together over their older boy, Walter. "I can't help feeling a little disappointment over the way things are going. I did so want the boy to come into the office with me." "I know," said Esther, with a grave smile, "but he seems to have his mind made up. I don't think we ought to thwart him if he... more...

CHAPTER I. Doubtless some of our readers are acquainted with the noble "coast road" that skirts round the north-eastern corner of Ireland, extending, it might almost be said, from Belfast to Londonderry. The characteristic features of this noble esplanade (for such it is) are chiefly to be seen between the little town of Larne, where the railway ends, and Cushendall. Throughout this drive of... more...

CHAPTER I. So came the holiday week, wherein was to be done so much less than usual—and so much more. Mr. Linden's work, indeed, was like to double on all hands; for he was threatened with more tea-drinkings, dinners, suppers, and frolics, than the week would hold. How should he manage to give everybody a piece of him, and likewise present himself entire to the assembled boys when ever they... more...