Classics Books

Harriet Beecher Stowe. In a plain home, in the town of Litchfield, Conn., was born, June 14, 1811, Harriet Beecher Stowe. The house was well-nigh full of little ones before her coming. She was the seventh child, while the oldest was but eleven years old. Her father, Rev. Lyman Beecher, a man of remarkable mind and sunshiny heart, was preaching earnest sermons in his own and in all the neighboring... more...

CHAPTER I The restaurant of the Grand Hotel in Rome was filling up. People were dining rather late—it was the end of May and the entertainments were lessening, so they could dawdle over their repasts and smoke their cigarettes in peace. Stella Rawson came in with her uncle and aunt, Canon and the Honorable Mrs. Ebley, and they took their seats in a secluded corner. They looked a little out of... more...

THE NEW HOME "Is that the house!" Milly Ridge exclaimed disapprovingly. Her father, a little man, with one knee bent against the unyielding, newly varnished front door, glanced up apprehensively at the figures painted on the glass transom above. In that block of little houses, all exactly alike, he might easily have made a mistake. Reassured he murmured over his... more...

THE TENT ON THE BEACH It can scarcely be necessary to name as the two companions whom I reckoned with myself in this poetical picnic, Fields the lettered magnate, and Taylor the free cosmopolite. The long line of sandy beach which defines almost the whole of the New Hampshire sea-coast is especially marked near its southern extremity, by the salt-meadows of Hampton. The Hampton River winds through... more...

CHAPTER I THE KIRKWOODS BREAK CAMP "Stuff's all packed, Phil, and on the wagon. Camera safe on top and your suit-case tied to the tail-gate. Shall we march?" "Not crazy about it, daddy. Why not linger another week? We can unlimber in a jiffy." "It's a tempting proposition, old lady, but I haven't the nerve." Kirkwood dropped an armful of brush on the smouldering... more...

RODMAN THE KEEPER.The long years come and go,And the Past,The sorrowful, splendid Past,With its glory and its woe,Seems never to have been.—Seems never to have been?O somber days and grand,How ye crowd back once more,Seeing our heroes' graves are greenBy the Potomac and the Cumberland,And in the valley of the Shenandoah!When we remember how they died,—In dark ravine and on the mountain-side,In... more...

STORY I THE KINKYTAILS GO TO SCHOOL Once upon a time, not so very many years ago, there were two little monkey boys who lived with their papa and mamma off in the woods in a funny house at the top of a tall tree. These little monkeys were the cutest and most cunning chaps you would want to see, even if you went in an airship to the circus. I have already told you something about one of them—a red... more...

THE SEE OF DROMORE. The see of Dromore, though founded by St. Colman, seems for several centuries to have comprised little more than the abbey of that great saint and its immediate territory. In the synod of Rathbreasil (a. d. 1118), in which the boundaries of the various dioceses were defined, no mention is made of Dromore, and the territory subsequently belonging to it was all comprised within the... more...

Lines Sing on, sweet feathered warbler, sing!Mount higher on thy joyous wing,And let thy morning anthem ringFull on my ear;Thou art the only sign of springI see or hear. The earth is buried deep in snow;The muffled streams refuse to flow,The rattling mill can scarcely go,For ice and frost:The beauty of the vale belowIn death is lost. Save thine, no note of joy is heard—Thy kindred songsters of the... more...

On The Trail of Deserters. The year of 1871 had been so full of incidents and far reaching results for the Fourth Cavalry and its new Colonel, Ranald S. Mackenzie, that it is somewhat difficult to go back into the dim vistas of that period and select the one incident, or absorbing event which would be either of greatest magnitude or afford the most thrilling interest— This capture of ten deserters,... more...