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Showing: 41-50 results of 1453

by Various
VOL. 37. No. 17. WEEKLY.DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING CO., ELGIN, ILLINOIS.GEORGE E. COOK, EDITOR.APRIL 26, 1914.   The tide was low, and a dark line of rocks showed up clearly in the still water. "I wonder what those rocks are really like," said Toby rising slowly from his seat. "It looks almost as if we could paddle out to them," said his twin sister Nancy, as she pushed her red curls under her sun-bonnet. "I vote we try!" exclaimed... more...

by Various
VOL. 37. No. 18. WEEKLY.DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING CO., ELGIN, ILLINOIS.GEORGE E. COOK. EDITOR.MAY 3, 1914.   It was a warm May afternoon: all the little flowers were stretching up their heads to catch the rain that was falling patter-spatter everywhere. Francis stood by the window pouting. He had been playing lovely games outside, and now the rain had spoiled his fun. Mother was at her sewing machine. She felt sorry for Francis, he was... more...

by Various
MODEL COTTAGE. A Cottage in the Style of Heriot's Hospital, Edinburgh. The elevation is shown in fig. 1, the ground-plan in fig. 2. Accommodation.—The plan shows a porch, a; a lobby, b; living room, c; kitchen, d; back-kitchen, e; pantry, f; dairy, g; bed-closet, h; store-closet, i; fuel, k; cow-house, l; pig-stye, m; yard, n; dust-hole, q. The Scotch are great admirers of this style, as belonging to one of their favorite public... more...

by Various
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. BY JNO. B. DUFFEY.() As, wandering forth at rosy dawn,When sparkling dew-drops deck the lawn,From glen and glade, and river-side,We bring young flowers—the morning's pride.And, bound in wreaths, or posies sweet,With flowers our favored ones we greet;For flowers a silent language own,That makes our maiden wishes known.A language that by love was wrought,And by fond love to mortals taught;A language, too, that... more...

Linda’s Crazy Quilt. BY FANNIE WILLIAMS. “Oh, dear!” sighed Linda Trafton, turning over the pages of a closely-written, school-girlish letter, which her brother Fred had tossed into her lap, on returning from the post office. “I do wish I could get silk pieces enough to make a crazy quilt. Cousin Dell writes all about hers, and it must be very pretty.” “Crazy quilt! That’s about all... more...


CHAPTER I.MATT HIRES OUT. It was a raw, cold day in early April. Since morning, the clouds had been gathering, and they now hung, dark and heavy, over both land and sea. The wind, too, which had been steadily increasing for hours in violence, now blew little short of a gale. It evidently was going to be a terrible night, and that night was nearly at hand. No one realized this more than the boy who, with a small bundle in one hand and a stout... more...

"Don't be angry, ma'ma—I wont jest any more, if it displease you, but I will make a plain confession." "Well," said Mrs. Clifford, "let me hear it." "I have not one feeling which I wish to conceal from you. There have been moments when I liked Mr. Franklin," and a pretty color crossed her cheek, "but I have been struck with a peculiarity which has chilled warmer sentiments. He appears phlegmatic and cold. There is about him a perpetual... more...

Time and opportunity make men—and high talent in any profession or sphere of life is valueless unless called into action. This is strikingly exemplified in the career of the person with whom we now have to do. Samuel Walker was born in the county of Prince George, Maryland, in the year 1815. His family, though respectable, had neither fortune nor influence sufficient to advance his interests; and at an early age he was thrown on the world,... more...

In which the reader is introduced to several of the dramatis personæ. On the evening of the 25th of March, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-nine, the ship Gentile, of Boston, lay at anchor in the harbor of Valetta. It is quite proper, gentle reader, that, as it is with this ship and her crew that you will chiefly have to do in the following yarn, they should be severally and particularly introduced to your... more...

CHAPTER I. I am no visionary—no dreamer; and yet my life has been a ceaseless struggle between the realities of everyday care, and a myriad of shadowy phantoms which ever haunt me. In the crowded and thronged city; in the green walks and sunny forests of my native hills; on the broad and boundless prairie, carpeted with velvet flowers; on the blue and dreamy sea—it is the same. I look around, and perceive men and women moving... more...