CHAPTER I. CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH OF THE SAINTLY CURÉ. JEAN Baptist Marie Vianney, afterwards to become famous as the curé of Ars, was born May 8th, 1786, at Dardilly, in the South of France, not far from the City of Lyons, and was the fourth child of humble country folks. His father, Mathieu Vianney, and his mother, Marie Beluse, possessed some land adjoining their simple dwelling. Despite the fact... more...

VAGABONDIA. Off with the fettersThat chafe and restrain!Off with the chain!Here Art and Letters,Music and wine,And Myrtle and Wanda,The winsome witches,Blithely combine.Here are true riches,Here is Golconda,Here are the Indies,Here we are free—Free as the wind is,Free, as the sea.Free! Houp-la! What have weTo do with the wayOf the Pharisee?We go or we stayAt our own sweet will;We think as we say,And... more...

A HAPPY HOUR'S COMMAND Down in the Woods, July 2d, 1882.-If I do it at all I must delay no longer. Incongruous and full of skips and jumps as is that huddle of diary-jottings, war-memoranda of 1862-'65, Nature-notes of 1877-'81, with Western and Canadian observations afterwards, all bundled up and tied by a big string, the resolution and indeed mandate comes to me this day, this... more...

It was the first day under the operation of the new Act. Everyone was a little nervous about the outcome, and John Jones, the Barrister, was no exception to the general rule. At three o'clock he was in the full swing of an impassioned appeal to the Jury. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Jones," said the Judge, glancing at the clock, "but I am afraid I must interrupt you. I cannot hear you any... more...

PREFACE From the extreme West of the Indo-European world, we go this year to the extreme East. From the soft rain and green turf of Gaeldom, we seek the garish sun and arid soil of the Hindoo. In the Land of Ire, the belief in fairies, gnomes, ogres and monsters is all but dead; in the Land of Ind it still flourishes in all the vigour of animism. Soils and national characters differ; but fairy tales... more...

A PRELIMINARY WORD The writer of this Tale ventures, in his own person, to address a very few words, chiefly of explanation, to his readers. A leading situation in this 'Story of Bartram-Haugh' is repeated, with a slight variation, from a short magazine tale of some fifteen pages written by him, and published long ago in a periodical under the title of 'A Passage in the Secret History of... more...

THE STOLEN TREASURE There is a certain little girl who sometimes tries to find out when I am not over busy, so that she may ask me to tell her a story. She is kind enough to say that she likes my stories, and this so flatters my vanity that I like nothing better than telling them to her. One reason why she likes them, I suspect, is that they are not really my stories at all, the most of them. They are... more...

You say that Matthew is your own son, Mr. Emmett? Yes, Rev'rend Doane, and a better boy never stepped, if I do say it as shouldn't. I've trusted him to drive team for me since he was eleven, and you can't say more than that for a farm boy. Way back when he was a little shaver so high, when the war came on, he was bounden he was going to sail with this Admiral Farragut. You know boys... more...

CHAPTER I.THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION. erle, I may be a little old-fashioned in my notions; middle-aged people never adjust their ideas quite in harmony with you young folk, but in my day we never paused to count fifty at a full stop." Aunt Agatha's voice startled me with its reproachful irritability. Well, I had deserved that little sarcasm for I must confess that I had been reading very... more...

A business meeting of the Lady Hyacinths Shirt-Waist Club was in progress. The roll had been called. The twenty members were all present and the Secretary had read the minutes of the last meeting. These formalities had consumed only a few moments and the club was ready to fall upon its shirt waists. The sewing-machines were oiled and uncovered, the cutting-table was cleared, every Hyacinth had her box... more...