CHAPTER I To Cornelius Cethegus Cæsarius, a Friend: I send these notes to you rather than to any other man. Why? First of all, because I know not where you are, so the missive will probably be lost. Doubtless that would be the best thing which could happen, especially for the man who would then be spared reading these pages! But it will also be well for me that these lines should lie--or be lost--in... more...

BOSTON: A FOREWORD To love Boston or to laugh at Boston—it all depends on whether or not you are a Bostonian. Perhaps the happiest attitude—and the most intelligent—is tinged with both amusement and affection: amusement at the undeviating ceremonial of baked beans on Saturday night and fish balls on Sunday morning; at the Boston bag (not so ubiquitous now as formerly); at the indefatigable... more...

CHAPTER I.   If you take the turn to the left, after you pass the lyke-gate at Combehurst Church, you will come to the wooden bridge over the brook; keep along the field-path which mounts higher and higher, and, in half a mile or so, you will be in a breezy upland field, almost large enough to be called a down, where sheep pasture on the short, fine, elastic turf. You look down on Combehurst and its... more...

CHAPTER I WANTED: A MAN—THE MAN FOUND Just at the most severe crisis of the war between France and Germany, over thirty years ago, a London newspaper, in describing the situation, remarked that France wanted not men, but a Man. During a whole generation which followed after the close of the gigantic and sanguinary conflict between the Northern and Southern States of the American Republic, a similar... more...

CHAPTER I. Hôtel des Princes, Paris. It is a strange thing to begin a "Log" when the voyage is nigh ended! A voyage without chart or compass has it been: and now is land in sight—the land of the weary and heart-tired! Here am I, at the Hôtel des Princes, en route for Italy, whither my doctors have sentenced me! What a sad record would be preserved to the world if travellers were but to fill... more...

A'RON, a Moor, beloved by Tam'ora, queen of the Goths, in the tragedy of Titus Andron'icus, published among the plays of Shakespeare (1593). (The classic name is Andronicus, but the character of this play is purely fictitious.) Aaron (St.), a British martyr of the City of Legions (Newport, in South Wales). He was torn limb from limb by order of Maximian'us Hercu'lius, general... more...

Preface. The historical portion of this tale has been partially narrated in one of my previous volumes, “In All Time of our Tribulation,” in which the Despenser story is begun, and its end told from another point of view. That volume left Isabelle of France at the height of her ambition, in the place to reach which she had been plotting so long and so unscrupulously. Here we see the Nemesis come... more...

Fair Italy, the land of song and cradle of the Arts, has been so often written about, and so well described both in prose and in verse, that I feel there is a presumption in my attempting to say anything fresh of that classic land, its art treasures, and its glorious past. But within the last few years a new Italy has sprung into existence—the dream of Cavour has been realized; and, contrary to all... more...

"But why Turkish?" asked Mr. Sherlock Holmes, gazing fixedly at my boots. I was reclining in a cane-backed chair at the moment, and my protruded feet had attracted his ever-active attention. "English," I answered in some surprise. "I got them at Latimer's, in Oxford Street." Holmes smiled with an expression of weary patience. "The bath!" he said; "the bath! Why... more...

PREFACE Of making selections of ballads there is no end. As a subject for the editor, they seem to be only less popular than Shakespeare, and every year sees a fresh output. But of late there has sprung up a custom of confusing the old with the new, the genuine with the imitation; and the products of civilised days, ‘ballads’ by courtesy or convention, are set beside the rugged and hard-featured... more...