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Showing: 6931-6940 results of 6974

INTRODUCTION TO SIR GYLES GOOSECAPPE. This clever, though somewhat tedious, comedy was published anonymously in 1606. There is no known dramatic writer of that date to whom it could be assigned with any great degree of probability. The comic portion shows clearly the influence of Ben Jonson, and there is much to remind one of Lyly's court-comedies. In the serious scenes the philosophising and moralising, at one time expressed in language of... more...

(SCENE 1.)     Enter Don Pedro Gusman, Henrico and Manuell, his sons;    Don Fernando and Eleanora, his daughter, and Teniente. Pedr. Gentlemen, y'have much honourd me to takeSuch entertainement, but y'are welcome all.'Twas my desire to have your companyAt parting: heaven knowes when we shall meete againe. Ten. You are for France then too? Man. I wayte on my father. Pedr. Henrico. Ferd. Eleonora.... more...

THE TRAGEDY OF NERO, Newly Written. Imprinted at London by Augustine Mathewes, and John Norton, for Thomas Jones, and are to bee sold at the blacke Raven in the Strand, 1624. The Tragedie of Nero. Actus Primus. Enter Petronius Arbyter, Antonius Honoratus. Petron. Tush, take the wenchI showed thee now, or else some other seeke.What? can your choler no way be allayedBut with Imperiall tytles?Will you more tytles[1] unto Caesar give? Anto.... more...

INTRODUCTION. The first edition of this publication was mostly compiled during the leisure hours of the last half-year of a Senior's collegiate life, and was presented anonymously to the public with the following "PREFACE. "The Editor has an indistinct recollection of a sheet of foolscap paper, on one side of which was written, perhaps a year and a half ago, a list of twenty or thirty college phrases, followed by the euphonious titles of 'Yale... more...

HARD FACTS. 'These are the facts, Miss Wharton; hard facts no doubt, but you wished for the truth, and indeed I could not have hidden it from you even if I had wished to do so.' So said a keen but kindly faced old gentleman, as he sat in an office surrounded by despatch and deed boxes which proclaimed his profession to be that of a lawyer. The young lady to whom these remarks were addressed, and who was a pretty girl of twenty-one, dressed in... more...


CHAPTER I. The inner room of a tobacconist's shop is not perhaps the spot which a writer of fiction would naturally choose as the theatre of his play, nor does the inventor of pleasant romances, of stirring incident, or moving love-tales feel himself instinctively inclined to turn to Munich as to the city of his dreams. On the other hand, it is by no means certain that, if the choice of a stage for our performance were offered to the most... more...

CHAPTER I. In the days of the Cæsars the country surrounding Rome vied in splendour and luxury with the capital itself. Throughout the whole region appeared the villas of Roman patricians, abodes of aristocratic comfort, where every artist, from the sculptor to the—cook, had done his utmost to render them attractive and beautiful. These noble patricians, many of whom had incomes of eight or nine millions, often found themselves in... more...

THE CHILD-WORLD A Child-World, yet a wondrous world no less,To those who knew its boundless happiness.A simple old frame house—eight rooms in all—Set just one side the center of a smallBut very hopeful Indiana town,—The upper-story looking squarely downUpon the main street, and the main highwayFrom East to West,—historic in its day,Known as The National Road—old-timers, allWho linger yet, will happily recallIt as... more...

by Various
A FEW WORDS ABOUT AMERICAN SLAVE CHILDREN. Children, you are free and happy. Kind parents watch over you with loving eyes; patient teachers instruct you from the beautiful pages of the printed book; benign laws, protect you from violence, and prevent the strong arms of wicked people from hurting you; the blessed Bible is in your hands; when you become men and women you will have full liberty to earn your living, to go, to come, to seek pleasure... more...

A CHARIOT OF FIRE When the White Mountain express to Boston stopped at Beverly, it slowed op reluctantly, crashed off the baggage, and dashed on with the nervousness of a train that is unmercifully and unpardonably late. It was a September night, and the channel of home-bound summer travel was clogged and heaving. A middle-aged man—a plain fellow, who was one of the Beverly passengers—stood for a moment staring at the tracks. The... more...