TO THE QUEEN. MADAM, I have the honour to place in your Majesty's hands the hitherto uncollected and unpublished Prose Works of WILLIAM WORDSWORTH —name sufficient in its simpleness to give lustre to any page. Having been requested thus to collect and edit his Prose Writings by those who hold his MSS. and are his nearest representatives, one little discovery or recovery among these MSS.... more...

I. If it be no small task for a man of the most favored antecedents and the most fortunate surroundings to rise above mediocrity in a great nation, it is surely a more remarkable achievement for a man of the very humblest origin possible to humanity in any country in any age of the world, in the face of obstacles seemingly insurmountable, to win high honors and rewards, to retain for more than a... more...

Dulaq rode the slide to the upper pedestrian level, stepped off and walked over to the railing. The city stretched out all around him—broad avenues thronged with busy people, pedestrian walks, vehicle thoroughfares, aircars gliding between the gleaming, towering buildings. And somewhere in this vast city was the man he must kill. The man who would kill him, perhaps. It all seemed so real! The noise... more...

CHAPTER I. AS THE SPIRIT MOVED The village lay in a valley which had been the bed of a great river in the far-off days when Ireland, Wales and Brittany were joined together and the Thames flowed into the Seine. The place had never known turmoil or stir. For generations it had lived serenely. Three buildings in the village stood out insistently, more by the authority of their appearance and position... more...

CHAPTER I. OLD Lady Lydiard sat meditating by the fireside, with three letters lying open on her lap. Time had discolored the paper, and had turned the ink to a brownish hue. The letters were all addressed to the same person—"THE RT. HON. LORD LYDIARD"—and were all signed in the same way—"Your affectionate cousin, James Tollmidge." Judged by these specimens of his correspondence,... more...

The sky is dull and grey, Piercing and chill the blast, Each step resounds on the frosty ground, Winter is come at last. Mamma sits by the fire Her little ones round her knees. "How cosy we are, Mamma," they cry, "Tell us something, if you please." "Tell us about King Winter, And about Jack Frost, his man; We'll not be noisy or naughty at all, But as good as ever we can."... more...

CHAPTER I. THE BEGINNING OF A MARVELOUS JOURNEY. “Dick! Dick! Wake up, I want to tell you something.” Marjorie stood outside the boy’s bedroom door, and called in as loud a whisper as she dared, fearing lest she should awaken the rest of the household. There was a scuffle and a patter of bare feet inside, and Dick appeared at the door rubbing his eyes, evidently only half awake. “What’s... more...

INTRODUCTION. Augustine defines a hymn as “praise to God with song,” and another writer calls hymn-singing “a devotional approach to God in our emotions,”—which of course applies to both the words and the music. This religious emotion, reverently acknowledging the Divine Being in song, is a constant element, and wherever felt it makes the song a worship, irrespective of sect or creed. An... more...

CHAPTER I. CHILDHOOD. My debut upon the world's stage occurred on February 26th, 1845. The scene of this first important event in my adventurous career, being in Scott county, in the State of Iowa. My parents, Isaac and Mary Ann Cody, who were numbered among the pioneers of Iowa, gave to me the name of William Frederick. I was the fourth child in the family. Martha and Julia, my sisters, and... more...

1846 New Year's came in with a ringing of bells and firing of pistols. Four years more, and the world would reach the half-century mark. That seemed very ancient to the little girl in Old New York. They talked about it at the breakfast-table. "Do you suppose any one could live to see nineteen hundred?" asked the little girl, with wondering eyes. Father Underhill laughed. "Count up and... more...