Classics Books

THE KID AMATEUR Gerard paused on the steps of the cement plateau overlooking the racetrack, his eyebrows lifting in the wave of humor glinting across his face like sunlight over quiet water. "What?" he wondered. "Who——" The grinning mechanician who had just come across from the row of training-camps opposite supplied the information. "Oh, that's Rose's rose. Ain't... more...

Chapter I DIP INTO THIS NOVEL ANYWHERE.... It deals with a god in whom nobody believed, and of his adventures the day after eternity. For instance, try Chapter XVI. One Sunday afternoon I was driving through a sparsely settled region on the southwest slope of the Catskills. It was growing late and I was anxious to get back to New York, but I had lost my way. In an attempt to cut across to the Hudson... more...

“In the West Countree.” “Take care, Mr Luke Vine, sir. There’s a big one coming.” The thin, little, sharp-featured, grey-haired man on a rock looked sharply round, saw the big one coming, stooped, picked up a large basket, and, fishing-rod in hand, stepped back and climbed up a few feet, just as a heavy swell, which seemed to glide along rapidly over the otherwise calm sea, heaved, flooded... more...

CHAPTER I "I am," said Reggie Mann, "quite beside myself to meet this LucyDupree." "Who told you about her?" asked Allan Montague. "Ollie's been telling everybody about her," said Reggie. "It sounds really wonderful. But I fear he must have exaggerated." "People seem to develop a tendency to exaggeration," said Montague, "when they talk about... more...

THE JUNGLE "Children are like jam: all very well in the proper place, but you can't stand them all over the shop—eh, what?" These were the dreadful words of our Indian uncle. They made us feel very young and angry; and yet we could not be comforted by calling him names to ourselves, as you do when nasty grown-ups say nasty things, because he is not nasty, but quite the exact opposite... more...

CHAPTER I I The long street rising and falling and rising again until its farthest crest high in the east seemed to brush the fading stars, was deserted even by the private watchmen that guarded the homes of the apprehensive in the Western Addition. Alexina darted across and into the shadows of the avenue that led up to her old-fashioned home, a relic of San Francisco's "early days,"... more...

CHAPTER I."A child of our grandmother Eve, a female; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a woman."—Love's Labors Lost.The gates are thrown wide open, and the carriage rolls smoothly down the long dark avenue, beneath the waving branches of the tall elms and the copper beeches, through which the dying sun is flinging its parting rays. The horses, sniffing the air of home, fling up their... more...

THE FROST SPIRIT He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comesYou may trace his footsteps nowOn the naked woods and the blasted fields and thebrown hill's withered brow.He has smitten the leaves of the gray old treeswhere their pleasant green came forth,And the winds, which follow wherever he goes,have shaken them down to earth. He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!from the frozen... more...

THE POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. THE LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. We feel considerable trepidation in beginning a life of Johnson, not so much on account of the magnitude of the man—for in Milton, and one or two others, we have already met his match—but on account of the fact that the field has been so thoroughly exhausted by former writers. It is in the shadow of Boswell, the best of all... more...

INDUSTRIAL DESIGNING. A great many women have, or think they have, a taste for art. They can make a pretty sketch, or draw a landscape quite fairly, and so they think they will "take up" art as a profession. And nearly all of them fail of success. The trouble seems to be that they lack originality; they are mere copyists, and too often very poor reproducers of the things they copy. One branch... more...