The Three Tigers As to Tiger Number One, what he likes best is prowling and hunting. He snuffs at all the interesting and exciting smells there are on the breeze; that dark breeze that tells him the secrets the jungle has hid: every nerve in his body is alert, every hair in his whiskers; his eyes gleam; he's ready for anything. He and Life are at grips. Number Two is a higher-browed tiger, in a... more...

TORD OF HAFSBOROUGH It was Tord of Hafsborough,   O’er the verdant wold would ride,And there he lost his hammer of gold,   ’Twas lost for so long a tide. It was Tord of Hafsborough,   His brother he addressed:“Thou shalt away to the Norland hills,   My hammer be thy quest.” It was Lokke Leyemand,   A feather robe o’er him drew;And away to the Norland mountains high   O’er the... more...

INTRODUCTION Introducing a reader to Christy Mathewson seems like a superfluous piece of writing and a waste of white paper. Schoolboys of the last ten years have been acquainted with the exact figures which have made up Matty’s pitching record before they had ever heard of George Washington, because George didn’t play in the same League. Perfectly good rational and normal citizens once deserted a... more...

A NIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF THE TUILERIES It was in the time of the Second Empire. To be exact, it was the night of the 18th of June, 1868; I remember the date, because, contrary to the astronomical theory of short nights at this season, this was the longest night I ever saw. It was the loveliest time of the year in Paris, when one was tempted to lounge all day in the gardens and to give to sleep none of... more...

I In Petersburg in the eighteen-forties a surprising event occurred. An officer of the Cuirassier Life Guards, a handsome prince who everyone predicted would become aide-de-camp to the Emperor Nicholas I. and have a brilliant career, left the service, broke off his engagement to a beautiful maid of honour, a favourite of the Empress's, gave his small estate to his sister, and retired to a... more...

THE EXODUS The sun was a regular lie-abed on this Autumn morning, banked about by soft clouds and draperies of mist; but they glowed pink along the horizon—perhaps blushing for Old Sol's delinquency. The mist hung tenderly over the river, too—indeed, it masked the entire Valley of the Lumano—lying thick and dank upon the marshes and the low meadows, but wreathed more lightly about the... more...

CHAPTER I THE FRONTIER Last spring, 1846, was a busy season in the City of St. Louis. Not only were emigrants from every part of the country preparing for the journey to Oregon and California, but an unusual number of traders were making ready their wagons and outfits for Santa Fe. Many of the emigrants, especially of those bound for California, were persons of wealth and standing. The hotels were... more...

EDITOR'S PREFACE. "Turner's Harbors of England," as it is generally called, is a book which, for various reasons, has never received from readers of Mr. Ruskin's writings the attention it deserves. True, it has always been sought after by connoisseurs, and collectors never fail with their eleven or twelve guineas whenever a set of Artist's Proofs of the First Edition of 1856... more...

CHAPTER ONE The ring around the sun had thickened all day long, and the turquoise blue of the Arizona sky had filmed. Storms in the dry countries are infrequent, but heavy; and this surely meant storm. We had ridden since sun-up over broad mesas, down and out of deep canons, along the base of the mountain in the wildest parts of the territory. The cattle were winding leisurely toward the high country;... more...

I. Thou tak'st no heed of me,I am as naught to thee;         Cruel Beloved, arise!Lovely and languid thou,Sleep still upon thy brow,         Dreams in thine eyes.From out thy garment flowsFragrance of many a rose—         Airs of delightCaught in the moonlit hoursLying among the flowers         Through the long night.Look on my face how pale!Will naught my love... more...