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Classics Books
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Unknown
LIFE OF JOSEPH ADDISON. Joseph Addison, the Spectator, the true founder of our periodical literature, the finest, if not the greatest writer in the English language, was born at Milston, Wiltshire, on the 1st of May 1672. A fanciful mind might trace a correspondence between the particular months when celebrated men have been born and the peculiar complexion of their genius. Milton, the austere and...
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ERNEST DOWSON I The death of Ernest Dowson will mean very little to the world at large, but it will mean a great deal to the few people who care passionately for poetry. A little book of verses, the manuscript of another, a one-act play in verse, a few short stories, two novels written in collaboration, some translations from the French, done for money; that is all that was left by a man who was...
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Henry Oyen
THE PLUNDERER I Roger Payne had come to a decision. He waited until the office door had closed behind the departing stenographer, then swung his long legs recklessly upon his flat-top desk and shouted across the room at his partner: "Jim Tibbetts!" Tibbetts frowned. He was footing a column of cost figures and the blast from his young partner nearly made him lose count. Payne grinned. He liked...
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Eleanor Gates
IN THE FURROW The coulée was a long, scarlet gash in the brown level of the Dakota prairie, for the sumach, dyed by the frosts of the early autumn, covered its sides like a cloth whose upper folds were thrown far over the brinks of the winding ravine and, southward, half-way to the new cottonwood shack of the Lancasters. Near it, a dark band against the flaming shrub, stretched the plowed strip,...
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Alexander Blade
It seemed to be the same tree that kept getting in my way. I tried to go around it but it moved with me and I ran right into it. I found myself sprawled on my back and my nose was bleeding where I had hit it against the tree. Then I got up and ran again. I had to keep running. I didn't know why; I just had to. There was a puddle of water and I splashed through it and then slipped and fell into a...
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John Lubbock
CHAPTER I. THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS. "If a man is unhappy, this must be his own fault; for God made all men to be happy."—EPICTETUS. Life is a great gift, and as we reach years of discretion, we most of us naturally ask ourselves what should be the main object of our existence. Even those who do not accept "the greatest good of the greatest number" as an absolute rule,...
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HOW TO USE THE BOOK One recognizes a plant by the presence of structural features peculiar to itself, and not found on any other kind of plant. In such a book as this, these characters are given one or a few at a time, and contrasted with the characters which other sorts of plants possess. Such a presentation is called a Key, and by its proper use the name may be learned of any plant considered in it....
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PREFACE America since the days of Captain John Smith has been the land of hope for multitudes in Europe. In many an humble home, perhaps in some English village, or an Ulster farm, or in the Rhine valley, one might find a family assembled for the reading of a letter from son, or brother, or friend, who had made the great venture of going to the New World. "Land is abundant here and cheap," the...
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Marion Zimmer Bradley has written some of the finest science fiction in print. She has been away from our pages too long. So this story is in the nature of a triumphant return. It could well be her best to date.By the time I got myself all the way awake I thought I was alone. I was lying on a leather couch in a bare white room with huge windows, alternate glass-brick and clear glass. Beyond the clear...
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Richard Bradley
PREFACE. here would be little Occasion for a Preface to this Treatise, if the last Foreign Advices had not given us something particular relating to the Pestilence that now rages in the South Parts of France; and what may more particularly recommend these Relations to the World, is, because they come from Physicians, who resided at the Infected Places. The Physician at Aix gives us the following...
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