CHAPTER I "I don't know what to say, my dear." "Why, surely, James, you are not thinking for a moment of letting him go?" "Well, I don't know. Yes, I am certainly thinking of it, though I haven't at all made up my mind. There are advantages and disadvantages." "Oh, but it is such a long way, and to live among those French people, who have been doing such... more...

"OUR STEWARD OF HOUSEHOLD." At somewhat more than halfway distance between Weymouth on the skirt of the Atlantic, and the good old city of Bristow by the Severn sea, on the thin iron line that crosses the wide end of the western peninsula between those places,—and which in the early days of railway enterprise was cleverly, but of course futilely, stretched as a boom, designed to... more...

The poetry of each age may be considered as vitally connected with, and as vividly reflective of, its character and progress, as either its politics or its religion. You see the nature of the soil of a garden in its tulips and roses, as much as in its pot-herbs and its towering trees. We purpose, accordingly, to compare briefly the poetry of the past and of the present centuries, as indices of some of... more...

At the end of the preceding book a pause was necessary. With this begins the long chain of my misfortunes deduced from their origin. Having lived in the two most splendid houses in Paris, I had, notwithstanding my candor and modesty, made some acquaintance. Among others at Dupin's, that of the young hereditary prince of Saxe-Gotha, and of the Baron de Thun, his governor; at the house of M. de la... more...

The Plan of the Book. In the preparation of this book the author has had two great plans in mind: To prepare a work which will enable any person, who can speak to a class or an audience, to give a helpful, inspiring illustrated talk; to place in the hands of parents everywhere a book to enable them to teach the children a simple, fascinating method of drawing and, at the same time make the great truths... more...

CHAPTER I — FRANCE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 1412-1423. It is no small effort for the mind, even of the most well-informed, how much more of those whose exact knowledge is not great (which is the case with most readers, and alas! with most writers also), to transport itself out of this nineteenth century which we know so thoroughly, and which has trained us in all our present habits and modes of... more...

"It's a dead world," Thompson spoke. There was awe in his voice, and in spite of his sure knowledge that nothing could happen to him or to his crew here on this world, there was also somewhere inside of him the trace of a beginning fear. Standing beside him on the rooftop of the building, Kurkil spoke in a whisper, asking a question that had been better unasked. "What killed it?"... more...

PROLOGUE Fairmead, Western Canada. It is a still, hot day in autumn, and there is a droning of mosquitoes where I sit by an open window, glancing alternately out across the Assiniboian prairie and somewhat blankly at the bundle of paper before me, ready to begin this story. Its telling will not be an easy matter, but one finds idle hours pass heavily after a life such as mine has been, and since the... more...

CHAPTER I "A GENTLEMAN to see you, Doctor." From across the common a clock sounded the half-hour. "Ten-thirty!" I said. "A late visitor. Show him up, if you please." I pushed my writing aside and tilted the lamp-shade, as footsteps sounded on the landing. The next moment I had jumped to my feet, for a tall, lean man, with his square-cut, clean-shaven face sun-baked to the hue of... more...

FOREWORD It is with great pleasure I accede to the request of Canon Scott to write a foreword to his book. I first heard of my friend and comrade after the second battle of Ypres when he accompanied his beloved Canadians to Bethune after their glorious stand in that poisonous gap—which in my own mind he immortalised in verse:—O England of our fathers, and England of our sons,Above the roar of... more...