Classics Books

CHAPTER I. MY FIRST SEANCE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. Not being acquainted with any "materializing medium," so termed, I obtained from Mr. Luther Colby, of Boston, a letter of introduction to Mrs. H. B. Fay, of that city, stating that I was desirous of visiting her seances. I called upon the lady and presented the letter, but found that she was out of health, and, for the present, had discontinued... more...

Love came somewhat late to Dr. Sylvester Murt. In fact, it took the epidemic of 1961 to break down his resistance. A great many people fell in love that year—just about every other person you talked to—so no one thought much about Dr. Murt's particular distress, except a fellow victim who was directly involved in this case. High Dawn Hospital, where 38-year-old Dr. Murt was resident... more...

BY MEANS OF A PROLOGUE       It is a pleasure to present a work based on facets that discover, or once again manifest, the Liberator’s prodigious personality and work.     Providence, which seems to pamper the tasks of historians, since they are who best show God’s maximum work when studying men’s acts, has placed the inexhaustible quarry of Simon Bolivar's life and work before... more...

CHAPTER I. 'THE DAYS OF THE GUILLOTINE' Neither the tastes nor the temper of the age we live in are such as to induce any man to boast of his family nobility. We see too many preparations around us for laying down new foundations, to think it a suitable occasion for alluding to the ancient edifice. I will, therefore, confine myself to saying, that I am not to be regarded as a mere pretender... more...

It was eight o’clock at night and raining, scarcely a time when a business so limited in its clientele as that of a coin dealer could hope to attract any customer, but a light was still showing in the small shop that bore over its window the name of Baxter, and in the even smaller office at the back the proprietor himself sat reading the latest Pall Mall. His enterprise seemed to be justified, for... more...

Miguel reached Pasajes late Friday afternoon. On alighting from the train he found Ursula's boat moored to the shore. "Good afternoon, Don Miguel," said the boat-woman, showing genuine joy in her face, where the fires of alcohol were flaming more than ever brilliantly; "I was beginning to think that I should not see you again." "Indeed!" "How should I know?... Men are... more...

The translation of Goethe's "Prose Maxims" now offered to the public is the first attempt that has yet been made to present the greater part of these incomparable sayings in English. In the complete collection they are over a thousand in number, and not more perhaps than a hundred and fifty have already found their way into our language, whether as contributions to magazines here and in... more...

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...

And so I am to write a story—but of what, and where? Shall it be radiant with the sky of Italy? or eloquent with the beau ideal of Greece? Shall it breathe odor and languor from the orient, or chivalry from the occident? or gayety from France? or vigor from England? No, no; these are all too old—too romance-like—too obviously picturesque for me. No; let me turn to my own land—my own New... more...

August, 1790. The bard, who paints from rural plains,  Must oft himself the void supplyOf damsels pure and artless swains,  Of innocence and industry: For sad experience shows the heart  Of human beings much the same;Or polish'd by insidious art,  Or rude as from the clod it came. And he who roams the village round,  Or strays amid the harvest sere,Will hear, as now, too many a... more...