Classics Books

FOR ***   NO eyes shall see the poems that I write  For you; not even yours; but after long  Forgetful years have passed on our delight  Some hand may chance upon a dusty song   Of those fond days when every spoken word  Was sweet, and all the fleeting things unspoken  Yet sweeter, and the music half unheard  Murmured through forests as a charm unbroken.   It is the plain and ordinary... more...

Chapter I. The Plainsman The man was riding just below the summit of the ridge, occasionally uplifting his head so as to gaze across the crest, shading his eyes with one hand to thus better concentrate his vision. Both horse and rider plainly exhibited signs of weariness, but every movement of the latter showed ceaseless vigilance, his glance roaming the barren ridges, a brown Winchester lying cocked... more...

THE SCHOOLMASTER IN TROUBLE. Carl crept stealthily up the bank, and, peering through the window, saw the master writing at his desk. In his neat Quaker garb, his slender form bent over his task, his calm young face dimly seen in profile, there he sat. The room was growing dark; the glow of a March sunset was fading fast from the paper on which the swift pen traced these words:— "Tennessee is... more...

Chapter I A very little boy stood upon a heap of gravel for the honor of Rum Alley. He was throwing stones at howling urchins from Devil's Row who were circling madly about the heap and pelting at him. His infantile countenance was livid with fury. His small body was writhing in the delivery of great, crimson oaths. "Run, Jimmie, run! Dey'll get yehs," screamed a retreating Rum Alley... more...

Three years ago there was one man in Europe who had a political sight so clear that his words then written seem to-day uncanny in their wisdom. This man saw the present war; he saw that Belgium would be invaded by Germany; he saw that the Germans hated England with a profound and bitter hate; that German diplomatic blunders had placed that nation in almost complete isolation in the world; that the... more...

CHAPTER I Through Stormy Seas The Final Preparations in New Zealand The first three weeks of November have gone with such a rush that I have neglected my diary and can only patch it up from memory. The dates seem unimportant, but throughout the period the officers and men of the ship have been unremittingly busy. On arrival the ship was cleared of all the shore party stores, including huts, sledges,... more...

CHAPTER I MINOR POETS OF THE SOUTH The first poetic writer of this country had his home at Jamestown. He was GEORGE SANDYS who came to Virginia in 1621, and succeeded his brother as treasurer of the newly established colony. Amid the hardships of pioneer colonial life, in which he proved himself a leading spirit, he had the literary zeal to complete his translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, which... more...

A Deceptive Dedication I I have shown the manuscript of this book to a well-known author. One of those staid, established authors whose venom has been extracted by the mellow years. My author is beyond rancour and exploit; he has earned the right to bask in his own celebrity, and needs to judge no more, because no longer does he fear judgment. He is like a motorist who has sowed his wild petrol. He... more...

CHAPTER I THE WARDEN'S LODGINGS The Founders and the Benefactors of Oxford, Princes, wealthy priests, patriotic gentlemen, noble ladies with a taste for learning; any of these as they travelled along the high road, leaving behind them pastures, woods and river, and halted at the gates of the grey sacred city, had they been in melancholy mood, might have pictured to themselves all possible... more...

CHAPTER I. "When do you start, Tom?" "At midnight." "Well, good-by; sock it to 'em; send us in some fat orders." "I'll do it, or die; good-by." And then I sat down to think it all over. Our traveling man was off on a wedding tour, and I had agreed to take his place for this one trip. As the hour drew near for me to start, my courage proportionately sank, until... more...