General Books

CHAPTER I Once upon a time, more years ago than anybody can remember, before the first hotel had been built or the first Englishman had taken a photograph of Mont Blanc and brought it home to be pasted in an album and shown after tea to his envious friends, Switzerland belonged to the Emperor of Austria, to do what he liked with. One of the first things the Emperor did was to send his friend Hermann... more...

The Periodical Souse, the Never-Again Feeling and the Ride On the Sprinkling Cart Once there was an Indian who had a Way of putting on all his Feathers and breaking out of the Reservation. For three Weeks at a Stretch he gave a Correct Imitation of the Shining Light who passes the Basket and superintends the Repairs on the Parsonage. He was entitled to a Mark of 100 for Deportment. With his Meals he... more...

THE ROYSTERING BLADES Out in the Celery Belt of the Hinterland there is a stunted Flag-Station. Number Six, carrying one Day Coach and a Combination Baggage and Stock Car, would pause long enough to unload a Bucket of Oysters and take on a Crate of Eggs. In this Settlement the Leading Citizens still wear Gum Arctics with large Buckles, and Parched Corn is served at Social Functions. Two highly... more...

In the warm sun of the southern morning the great plantation lay as though half-asleep, dozing and blinking at the advancing day. The plantation house, known in all the country side as the Big House, rested calm and self-confident in the middle of a wide sweep of cleared lands, surrounded immediately by dark evergreens and the occasional primeval oaks spared in the original felling of the forest. Wide... more...

IN A COLLEGE GARDEN.      Senex. Saye, cushat, callynge from the brake,               What ayles thee soe to pyne?             Thy carefulle heart shall cease to ake                 When dayes be fyne                 And greene thynges twyne:               Saye, cushat, what thy griefe to myne?     Turtur. Naye,... more...

CHAPTER I. The Dodds were dead. For twenty year they had slept under the green graves of Kittery churchyard. The townfolk still spoke of them kindly. The keeper of the alehouse, where David had smoked his pipe, regretted him regularly, and Mistress Kitty, Mrs. Dodd's maid, whose trim figure always looked well in her mistress's gowns, was inconsolable. The Hardins were in America. Raby was... more...

EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION. As I sat, one evening, idly musing on memories of roers and Boers, and contemplating the horns of a weendigo I had shot in Labrador and the head of a Moo Cow from Canada, I was roused by a ring at the door bell. A literary friend to whom I have shown your MS. says a weendigo is Ojibbeway for a cannibal. And why do you shoot poor Moo Cows?—Publisher. Mere slip of the pen.... more...

"Why, how d'do, Mrs. Miggs? Come right on in. Ma's jist run over t' Smith's a minute t' borruh some thread and some m'lasses and a couple uh aigs. Aw! yes, come on—she'll be right back. Let's see: S'pose we set on th' sofa and I'll show yuh th' album, so's yuh'll kinda begin t' know some of our folks. We like t' be... more...

Now the new Rubber rousing new Desires,The Thoughtful Soul to Doubling Hearts aspires.=When the Red Hand of Dummy is laid down,And even Hope of the Odd Trick expires! Ah, make the Most of what We yet may Take,Before we lose the Lead, and let Them make=Trick after Trick! While we throw down High Cards,Sans Lead, sans Score, sans Honor, and sans Stake! A Book of Bridge Rules underneath the... more...

HIS BIRTH. Dr. Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's, was born a.d. 1667, in Hoey's Court, Dublin, the fourth house, right hand side, as you enter from Werburgh-street. The houses in this court still bear evidence of having been erected for the residence of respectable folks. The "Dean's House," as it is usually designated, had marble chimney-pieces, was wainscotted from hall to... more...