Classics Books

O bony relic of forgotten days,Which, from my bookshelf, dominates the room,Your empty sockets, with sardonic gaze,Follow me weirdly in the deepening gloom!I often think, if sudden speech returned,You might reveal that secret, grisly jestYou're grinning at—or tell me what you've learnedOf that dark realm to which we're all addressed.By what rude hands were you exhumed, and whyWrenched... more...

Saussure (1860) described Peromyscus aztecus from southern México. Osgood (1909) by comparison of one of Saussure's specimens with some from Mirador, Veracruz, concluded that aztecus was a subspecies of P. boylii. Dalquest (1953) incorrectly reported specimens of P. boylii from San Luis Potosí as P. b. aztecus. Merriam (1898) named Peromyscus levipes from Mt. Malinche, Tlaxcala. Thomas... more...

REPORTING OUR UNCLE ABE'S LATEST LITTLE TALE; OUR CORRESPONDENT'S HISTORICAL CHAUNT; THE BOSTON NOVEL OF "MR. SMITH;" AND A FUNERAL DISCOURSE BY THE DEVOUT CHAPLAIN OF THE MACKEREL BRIGADE. Washington, D.C., Jan. 4th, 1863. The more I see of our Honest Abe, my boy,—the more closely I analyze the occasional acts by which he individualizes himself as a unit distinct from the decimals... more...

CHAPTER I BRETHREN OF THE ROAD Dismal in appearance, the painted sign over the mean doorway almost obliterated by time and weather, there was nothing attractive about the "Punch-Bowl" tavern in Clerkenwell. It was hidden away at the end of a narrow alley, making no effort to vaunt its existence to the world at large, and to many persons, even in the near neighbourhood, it was entirely unknown.... more...

I The beginning of this strange adventure was my going to see a motion picture which had been made in Germany. It was three years after the end of the war, and you'd have thought that the people of Western City would have got over their war-phobias. But apparently they hadn't; anyway, there was a mob to keep anyone from getting into the theatre, and all the other mobs started from that.... more...

Chapter One. Somewhere on the West coast of England, about a hundred miles from the metropolis, there stands a sleepy little town, which possesses no special activity nor beauty to justify its existence. People live in it for reasons of their own. The people who do not live in it wonder for what reasons, but attain no better solution of the mystery than the statement that the air is very fine. “We... more...

CHAPTER ILONGFELLOW AS A CLASSIC The death of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow made the first breach in that well-known group of poets which adorned Boston and its vicinity so long. The first to go was also the most widely famous. Emerson reached greater depths of thought; Whittier touched the problems of the nation’s life more deeply; Holmes came personally more before the public; Lowell was more... more...

Chapter One. A young girl dressed in a cloak and hat, and looking sad and somewhat timid, stood in the middle of the large hall of a fine old country house. The floor was of oak, and the walls were covered with dark oak wainscoting, from which hung down several full-length portraits of grim old knights and gentlemen in bag wigs, and ladies in court suits, looking very prim and stern. The hall door was... more...

CHAPTER I THE HUT ON THE CLIFF No well informed resident of Millsburgh, when referring to the principal industry of his little manufacturing city, ever says "the mills"—it is always "the Mill." The reason for this common habit of mind is that one mill so overshadows all others, and so dominates the industrial and civic life of this community, that in the people's thought it... more...

CHAPTER I."A heap of dust alone remains of thee:'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be!"—Pope. In an upper chamber, through the closed blinds of which the sun is vainly striving to enter, Reginald Branscombe, fifth Earl of Sartoris, lies dead. The sheet is reverently drawn across the motionless limbs; the once restless, now quiet, face is hidden; all around is wrapt in solemn... more...