Religious Books

"For wild, or calm, or far or near,I love thee still, thou glorious sea."—Mrs. Hemans. "I bless thee for kind looks and wordsShower'd on my path like dew,For all the love in those deep eyes,A gladness ever new."—Mrs. Hemans. It is late in the afternoon of a delicious October day; the woods back of the two cottages where the Dinsmores, Travillas and Raymonds have spent the last... more...

CHAPTER I. "Art is long, and Time is fleeting,  And our hearts, though stout and brave,Still, like muffled drums, are beating  Funeral marches to the grave." LONGFELLOW. It was a lovely summer morning, glorious with sunlight, sweet with the fragrance of flowers and the songs of birds. The view from the bay-window of the library of Crag Cottage, the residence of Mr. George Leland, architect... more...

A NEW HOME 'Meet is it changes should controlOur being, lest we rust in ease.'—Tennyson. A golden cornfield in the still sunshine of a warm August afternoon. In one corner of it, bordering a green lane, a group of shady elms, and under their shadow a figure of a young girl, who, gazing dreamily before her, sat leaning her head against an old gnarled trunk in quiet content. A small-shaped... more...

CHAPTER I. "What a storm! there will be no going out to-day even for the early stroll about the grounds with papa," sighed Lucilla Raymond one December morning, as she lay for a moment listening to the dash of rain and sleet against her bedroom windows. "Ah, well! I must not fret, knowing who appoints the changes of the seasons, and that all He does is for the best," her thoughts ran... more...

CHAPTER I. WILLIAM'S FIRST GRIEF. In one of the many beautiful spots which the traveller sees in making a voyage up the Hudson, stands the village of M——. It attracts the notice of all tourists, for it seems to occupy the very place in which a painter or a lover of the picturesque would have chosen to place it. Its inhabitants love to boast of its antiquity, for it was founded by the original... more...

THE FAIRIES' LIFE. In the deep shadow of the Highlands, at the foot of the old Crow Nest Mountain, is a wild and beautiful hollow, closed around on every side by tall trees, interlaced together by the clasping tendrils of the honeysuckle, and the giant arms of luxuriant wild grape-vines. The mossy edge of this magic circle is thickly embroidered with violets, harebells, perfumed clover-blossoms,... more...

CHAPTER I. IN WHICH PHIL HAS A TALK WITH HIS FATHER, AND REVIEWS HIS PAST HISTORY. "I must go to Chicago, father," said I, one evening, after we had been discussing our domestic relations with more than usual earnestness. "Why go to Chicago, Philip? What put that idea into your head?" replied my father, with a kind of deprecatory smile. "I don't feel as though I could live any... more...

CHAPTER I. It is a busy, talking world. —ROWE. "I think I shall enjoy the fortnight we are to spend here, papa; it seems such a very pleasant place," Elsie remarked, in a tone of great satisfaction. "I am glad you are pleased with it, daughter," returned Mr. Dinsmore, opening the morning paper, which John had just brought up. They—Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie, Rose and Edward... more...

A party of travellers were wending their way across a wide-spreading prairie in the north-west territory of America. As far as the eye could reach, the ground was covered with waving tufts of dark-green grass, interspersed with flowers of varied hue, among which could be distinguished the yellow marigold and lilac bergamot, with bluebells, harebells, and asters, innumerable; while here and there... more...

"Every state,Allotted to the race of man below,Is in proportion, doom'd to taste some sorrow."—Rowe. The Ion family were at home again after their summer on the New Jersey coast. It was a delightful morning early in October: the dew-drops on the still green grass of the neatly kept lawn sparkled in the rays of the newly risen sun; the bright waters of the lakelet also, as, ruffled by the... more...