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Showing: 61-70 results of 202

Boys and Girls This is your book.You may read it.It tells a story.Read about the cows.They give milk.It is milk for you and me. Winifred Randellformerly withThe Laboratory School, The University of Chicago The Pasture The cows are eating.They like green grass.The sun is shining.Cows need sunshine.They give milk every day.It is milk for you and me.   Milking Time This is a clean barn.The... more...

PREFACE. A recent work by M. Guyau was originally announced under the title of The Non-Religion of the Future, and, doubtless, an impression is generally prevalent that, with the modification or disappearance of traditional forms of Belief, the fate of Religion itself is involved. The present volume is a plea for a reconsideration of the Religious question, and an inquiry as to the possibility of reconstructing Religion by shifting its basis... more...

HORATIUS. A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX. According to legend, Tarquinius Superbus, or Tarquin the Proud, the last of the early kings of Rome, was driven out of the city, partly on account of his own tyranny, and partly because of the misdeeds of his son Sextus Tarquin. The immediate cause of the expulsion of the Tarquins was "the deed of shame," committed by Sextus against Lucretia, the wife of one of the Roman governors. After... more...

by Various
Our Holidays If all the year were playing holidays,To sport would be as tedious as to work. Shakspere. King Henry IV, Part I. ST. SATURDAY   BY HENRY JOHNSTONE Oh, Friday night's the queen of nights, because it ushers inThe Feast of good St. Saturday, when studying is a sin,When studying is a sin, boys, and we may go to playNot only in the afternoon, but all the livelong day.St. Saturday—so legends say—lived... more...

LESSON I. The Author's Address to the Pupil. 1. I present to you, my little friend, a new book, to assist you in learning to read. I do not intend that it shall be a book full of hard words, which you do not understand. 2. I do not think it proper to require children to read what they cannot understand. I shall, therefore, show you how you may understand what is in this book, and how you may be able, with very little assistance from your... more...


CHAPTER I PAUL THE PEDDLER "Here's your prize packages! Only five cents! Money prize in every package! Walk up, gentlemen, and try your luck!" The speaker, a boy of fourteen, stood in front of the shabby brick building, on Nassau street, which has served for many years as the New York post office. In front of him, as he stood with his back to the building, was a small basket, filled with ordinary letter envelopes, each labeled "Prize Package."... more...

Chapter I. A Triangular Alliance. 'Edina, Scotia's Darling seat!All hail thy palaces and towers!' Edinburgh, April 189-. 22 Breadalbane Terrace. We have travelled together before, Salemina, Francesca, and I, and we know the very worst there is to know about one another. After this point has been reached, it is as if a triangular marriage had taken place, and, with the honeymoon comfortably over, we slip along in thoroughly friendly fashion. I... more...

Chapter I. We emulate the Rollo books. 'Sure a terrible time I was out o' the way,Over the sea, over the sea,Till I come to Ireland one sunny day,—Betther for me, betther for me:The first time me fut got the feel o' the groundI was strollin' along in an Irish cityThat hasn't its aquil the world aroundFor the air that is sweet an' the girls that are pretty.'—Moira O'Neill. Dublin, O'Carolan's Private Hotel. It is the most absurd... more...

CHAPTER I A BOY AND HIS DOG Penrod sat morosely upon the back fence and gazed with envy at Duke, his wistful dog. A bitter soul dominated the various curved and angular surfaces known by a careless world as the face of Penrod Schofield. Except in solitude, that face was almost always cryptic and emotionless; for Penrod had come into his twelfth year wearing an expression carefully trained to be inscrutable. Since the world was sure to... more...

CHAPTER I PHIL THE FIDDLER "Viva Garibaldi!" sang a young Italian boy in an uptown street, accompanying himself on a violin which, from its battered appearance, seemed to have met with hard usage. As the young singer is to be the hero of my story, I will pause to describe him. He was twelve years old, but small of his age. His complexion was a brilliant olive, with the dark eyes peculiar to his race, and his hair black. In spite of the dirt,... more...