Classics Books

There is a great deal of admirable literature concerning Miss Mitford, so much of it indeed, that the writer of this little notice feels as if she almost owed an apology to those who remember, for having ventured to write, on hearsay only, and without having ever known or ever seen the author of 'Our Village.' And yet, so vivid is the homely friendly presence, so clear the sound of that voice... more...

OLD SALTS The lure of the sea prevailed, and at nineteen I shipped for a four-months' fishing trip on the Newfoundland Banks. These banks are not the kind that slope toward some gentle stream where the weary fisherman can rest between bites, protected from the sun by the shade of an overhanging tree; they are thirty to forty fathoms beneath the surface of the Atlantic Ocean, a thousand miles out... more...

THE FATHER[1] By Björnstjerne Björnson (1838-1910) The man whose story is here to be told was the wealthiest and most influential person in his parish; his name was Thord Överaas. He appeared in the priest's study one day, tall and earnest. "I have gotten a son," said he, "and I wish to present him for baptism." "What shall his name be?" "Finn,—after my... more...

CHAPTER I Peace was signed, and the world, which for so long had been the great Corsican's plaything, came to itself again. It came to itself, bruised and mangled, bleeding from a thousand wounds, and studded with battle-fields like a body with festering sores. Yet, in the rebound from bondage to freedom, men did not realise that there was anything very pitiable in their condition. The ground from... more...

THE FIRST BOOK.   Orleans was hush'd in sleep. Stretch'd on her couch  The delegated Maiden lay: with toil  Exhausted and sore anguish, soon she closed  Her heavy eye-lids; not reposing then,  For busy Phantasy, in other scenes  Awakened. Whether that superior powers,  By wise permission, prompt the midnight dream,  Instructing so the passive [1] faculty;  Or that the soul,... more...

I Part of a densely grown garden; on the right benches; at the back a rail fence, separating the garden from a field. SCENE I Enter NÁDYA and LÍZA NÁDYA. No, LГѓ­za, don't say that: what comparison could there be between country and city life! LÍZA. What is there so specially fine about city life? NÁDYA. Well, everything is different there; the people themselves, and even the whole... more...

THE SUPPLY AT SAINT AGATHA'S. At the crossing of the old avenue with the stream of present traffic, in a city which, for obvious reasons, will not be identified by the writer of these pages, there stood—and still stands—the Church of Saint Agatha's. The church is not without a history, chiefly such as fashion and sect combine to record. It is an eminent church, with a stately date upon... more...

FOREWORD "Camerado, this is no book;Who touches this touches a man." Walt Whitman's relation to his work was more personal than that of most poets. He was, in a larger sense, a man of one book, and this book, issued and reissued at various periods of the poet's life, was, at each issuance, the latest expression of his development. The infinite care he gave to his work; the continual... more...

It was not until Miss Menemon's engagement to John Usselex was made public that the world in which that young lady moved manifested any interest in her future husband. Then, abruptly, a variety of rumors were circulated concerning him. It was said, for instance, that his real name was Tchurchenthaler and that his boyhood had been passed tending geese in a remote Bavarian dorf, from which, to avoid... more...

The joy of the people on the return of Louis XVIII., in 1814, was unbounded. It was in the spring, and the hedges, gardens, and orchards were in full bloom. The people had for years suffered so much misery, and had so many times feared being carried off by the conscription never to return, they were so weary of battles, of the captured cannon, of all the glory and the Te Deums, that they wished for... more...