Classics Books

THE WIDOW'S TAVERN The morning of that day—it was a Tuesday of the Lenten season—could not have dawned more promisingly. The sea, off the Cabañal, was in flat calm, as smooth as a polished mirror. Not the slightest ripple broke the shimmering triangular wake that the sun sent shoreward over the lifeless surface of the water. The fishing fleet had headed, bright and early, for the grounds off... more...

DUST In the dull hot dusk of a summer's day a green touring-car, swinging out of the East Drive, pulled up smartly, trembling, at the edge of the Fifty-ninth Street car-tracks, then more sedately, under the dispassionate but watchful eye of a mounted member of the Traffic Squad, lurched across the Plaza and merged itself in the press of vehicles south-bound on the Avenue. Its tonneau held four... more...

IMPRESSIONS AND COMMENTS July 24, 1912.—I looked out from my room about ten o'clock at night. Almost below the open window a young woman was clinging to the flat wall for support, with occasional floundering movements towards the attainment of a firmer balance. In the dim light she seemed decently dressed in black; her handkerchief was in her hand; she had evidently been sick. Every few moments... more...

CHAPTER I. BY WAY OF BEGINNING. It was not just an ordinary sort of name, but one of those which made you think "thereby hangs a tale." In this case the thought goes to the mark, and the tale in question will be told after a fashion in the following pages. At the outset a quick glance back to times long past is necessary in order to a fair start, and without a fair start it were hardly worth... more...

Schalken the Painter "For he is not a man as I am that we should come together; neither is there any that might lay his hand upon us both. Let him, therefore, take his rod away from me, and let not his fear terrify me." There exists, at this moment, in good preservation a remarkable work of Schalken's. The curious management of its lights constitutes, as usual in his pieces, the chief... more...

CHAPTER I MR. WRENN IS LONELY The ticket-taker of the Nickelorion Moving-Picture Show is a public personage, who stands out on Fourteenth Street, New York, wearing a gorgeous light-blue coat of numerous brass buttons. He nods to all the patrons, and his nod is the most cordial in town. Mr. Wrenn used to trot down to Fourteenth Street, passing ever so many other shows, just to get that cordial nod,... more...

HEADSTRONG AND HEADLONG Far from any house or hut, in the depth of dreary moor-land, a road, unfenced and almost unformed, descends to a rapid river. The crossing is called the "Seven Corpse Ford," because a large party of farmers, riding homeward from Middleton, banded together and perhaps well primed through fear of a famous highwayman, came down to this place on a foggy evening, after heavy... more...

THE GRANGE PICNIC. Early in the cool hush of a June morning in the seventies, a curious vehicle left Farmer Councill's door, loaded with a merry group of young people. It was a huge omnibus, constructed out of a heavy farm wagon and a hay rack, and was drawn by six horses. The driver was Councill's hired man, Bradley Talcott. Councill himself held between his vast knees the staff of a mighty... more...

RELIGIOUS POEMS THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM Where Time the measure of his hoursBy changeful bud and blossom keeps,And, like a young bride crowned with flowers,Fair Shiraz in her garden sleeps; Where, to her poet's turban stone,The Spring her gift of flowers imparts,Less sweet than those his thoughts have sownIn the warm soil of Persian hearts: There sat the stranger, where the shadeOf scattered... more...

THE DOOM OF SOULIS."They roll'd him up in a sheet of lead—A sheet of lead for a funeral pall;They plunged him in the caldron red,And melted him—lead, and bones, and all."—Leyden. A Gazetteer would inform you that Denholm is a village beautifully situated near the banks of the Teviot, about midway between Jedburgh and Hawick, and in the Parish of Cavers; and perhaps, if of modern... more...