VOL. 37. No. 15. WEEKLY.DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING CO., ELGIN, ILLINOIS. GEORGE E. COOK, EDITOR.APRIL 12, 1914. "Why, Myra, what is the matter?" Mabel had found Myra crying in a little sheltered place where the little neighbors sometimes played together. Mabel lived in a big house and Myra in a little one, but they were neighbors, and loved each other just the same. "I don't mean to cry... more...

Our first prize. The first faint pallor of the coming dawn was insidiously extending along the horizon ahead as H.M. gun-brig Shark—the latest addition to the slave-squadron—slowly surged ahead over the almost oil-smooth sea, under the influence of a languid air breathing out from the south-east. She was heading in for the mouth of the Congo, which was about forty miles distant, according to the... more...

CHAPTER I COMMENCEMENT DAY AT MISS TOLLIVER’S “O Phil, dear! It is anything but fair. If you only knew how I hate to have to do it!” exclaimed Madge Morton impulsively, throwing her arms about her chum’s neck and burying her red-brown head in the soft, white folds of Phyllis Alden’s graduation gown. “No one in our class wishes me to be the valedictorian. You know you are the most popular... more...

INTRODUCTION. It is with the utmoſt diffidence that the following pages are ſubmitted to the inſpection of the Public: yet, however the limited abilities of the author may have prevented her from ſucceeding to her wiſh in the execution of her preſent attempt, ſhe humbly truſts that the uprightneſs of her intention will procure it a candid... more...

In the first place, Miss Minchin lived in London. Her home was a large, dull, tall one, in a large, dull square, where all the houses were alike, and all the sparrows were alike, and where all the door-knockers made the same heavy sound, and on still days—and nearly all the days were still—seemed to resound through the entire row in which the knock was knocked. On Miss Minchin's door there was... more...

To Mr. J. Howard Moore: Feb. 2, '07. DEAR MR. MOORE, The book has furnished me several days of deep pleasure and satisfaction; it has compelled my gratitude at the same time, since it saves me the labor of stating my own long-cherished opinions and reflections and resentments by doing it lucidly and fervently and irascibly for me. There is one thing that always puzzles me: as inheritors of the... more...

PREFACE The kind reception given to the rough notes from the Author's Diary, which appeared first in the daily papers in Canada, encouraged the production of this book. These notes, in order to make them more readable, have been put in narrative form. There is no pretence that this is a history of the war. It is only a string of pen pictures describing life and incidents of the campaign common to... more...

CHAPTER I. THE HIKE THROUGH THE SMOKY RANGE. "Did anybody happen to see my knapsack around?" "Why, you had it just a few minutes ago, Step Hen!" "I know that, Bumpus; and I'd take my affidavy I laid it down on this rock." "Well, don't whine so about a little thing like that, Step Hen; it ain't there now, and that's a fact." "Somebody's gone... more...

INTRODUCTION. When a small impression of these quaint old books issued from the Chiswick Press, many years ago, under the auspices of the late Mr. S. W. Singer, that gentleman merely designed the copies struck off for presentation to a select circle of literary friends who, like himself, felt a warm interest in every relic of the past which helped to illustrate Shakespeare and ancient English manners.... more...

ACT I Scene 1 [Scene: A garden of the palace at Fiori; four years later.] [Discovered seated Laura, Francesca and Fidelio, Laura embroidering,Fidelio strumming his flute, Francesca lost in thought.] LAURA. You,—Fool! If there be two chords to your lute,Give us the other for a time! FRANCESCA. And yet, Laura,I somewhat fancied that soft sound he made.'Twas all on the same tone,—but 'twas a... more...