Literary Collections Books

INTRODUCTION. It will naturally be expected, upon a new issue of works which may be said to treat exclusively of a people who form such an important and interesting portion of the empire as the Irish peasantry do, that the author should endeavor to prepare the minds of his readers—especially those of the English and Scotch—for understanding more clearly their general character, habits of thought,... more...

Chapter 1 Many years ago, how many need not be recorded, there lived in his ancestral castle, in the far north of Scotland, the last Earl of Cairnforth. You will not find his name in "Lodge's Peerage," for, as I say, he was the last earl, and with him the title became extinct. It had been borne for centuries by many noble and gallant men, who had lived worthily or died bravely. But I think... more...

LOUIS AGASSIZ[1] It would be unnatural to have such an assemblage as this meet in the Museum and Faculty Room of this University and yet have no public word spoken in honor of a name which must be silently present to the minds of all our visitors. At some near future day, it is to be hoped some one of you who is well acquainted with Agassiz's scientific career will discourse here concerning... more...

CHAPTER I OF PROFIT AND HONESTY No man is free from speaking foolish things; but the worst on't is, when a man labours to play the fool: "Nae iste magno conatu magnas nugas dixerit."      ["Truly he, with a great effort will shortly say a mighty trifle."     —-Terence, Heaut., act iii., s. 4.] This does not concern me; mine slip from me with as little care as they are... more...

CHAPTER I THE COWARD Spring had come. Despite the many wet and gusty days which April had thrust in rude challenge upon reluctant May, in the glory of the triumphant sun which flooded the concave blue of heaven and the myriad shaded green of earth, the whole world knew to-day, the whole world proclaimed that spring had come. The yearly miracle had been performed. The leaves of the maple trees lining... more...

A MIST WRAITH The autumn afternoon was fading into evening. It had been cloudy weather, but the clouds had softened and broken up. Now they were lost in slowly darkening blue. The sea was perfectly and utterly still. It seemed to sleep, but in its sleep it still waxed with the rising tide. The eye could not mark its slow increase, but Beatrice, standing upon the farthest point of the Dog Rocks, idly... more...